He doesn’t speak much when it happens like this. Just looks at you—like really looks at you—from under heavy lashes, something molten behind his eyes that makes your stomach flutter and your thighs tense without meaning to.
You’re already laid out for him, clothes stripped off your body, thighs parted with quiet trust. It’s not lust, not really. It’s more like something that aches inside of him and threatens to eat him from the inside out.
If he doesn’t eat you first.
Simon’s hands are warm and rough as he slides them up the backs of your thighs, holding you open like you’re a precious gift he hasn’t yet earned.
His voice is low when he murmurs, “Just wanna taste, love.”
You’re already soaked. He hasn’t even began to touch you yet, but you’re already twitching with every breath of air against your cunt. Every slow press of his lips to your skin—your hip, your inner thigh, the crease just beside where you want him most.
And when he finally lowers his head, when his mouth meets you it’s not rushed. It’s devotional Tongue slow and flat, dragging through your folds like he wants to savor every drop. He groans softly at the taste, burying himself deeper like it’s something sacred.
You can’t help it—your fingers wind into his blond hair, tugging. He hums against your clit, sending shivers racketing through your body.
It’s messy. Wet. Unhurried.
You would assume he’s a man starved. Like this is how he decompresses—from the noise, the blood, from everything the world has turned him into.
None of that exists when he’s here.
Tongue flicking and curling lips suckling slow on your clit, burning fingers that grip the softness of your hips as he grounds himself to you.
Your thighs tremble, threatening to close around his head. Only a low rumble of laughter and a muffled, “That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t hold back.”
You think he might be able to finish just from the act alone—from the taste of you, the way you moan his name and writhe under him. You don’t even have to ask, he knows well before you do.
He knows when your moans shift—pretty, high pitched moans replaced with deep, almost guttural groans that hiccup between whines. The tension that coils low in your belly.
He stays, nestled between your thighs for the whole show. Tongue flicking just right, over and over and over—
You come like you’re possessed—back arching, lips stretched wide, eyes nearly crisscrossing behind your skull.
And Simon?
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
He just presses a ghost of a kiss to your inner thigh, deciding to rest his head there and gaze hungrily at you in your glow.
When you finally come down and try to meet his eyes, they’re no longer on you; but rather, your poor bundle of nerves.
And the way he looks at it—looks at you. It almost makes you concerned…
i do think that luke has an oral fixation. needs to suck and lick something. likes to suck on your fingers to sleep. kisses and latches onto the hem of your shirt while snuggling. wouldnt hesitate to suck on your panties if he’s feeling particularly needy.
⸺ 'old man' used romantically, mw4 beard price, infidelity, oral sex (f!receiving), piv, price is a genuinely bad father, age gap (price is old!!), overstimulation, daddy kink, past mentions of virginity loss & 'cherry popping', light teasing & humiliation kink, outfit & hair descriptions. 18+ only / all characters are 18+.
previous. | masterlist.
“Come on then, give your old man a kiss. Put that down for a second.”
You looked up from the impeccably dressed box of chocolate-coated strawberries in front of you—Price's sorry excuse of a make-up present for disappearing on a military stint unannounced—blinking slowly at him like a feline, your legs kicking behind you with ballet-slipper-pink shimmering on your toes. You weren't supposed to be there and you knew it.
He could practically see the gears turning in your head. His very own calendar kitten, gauging whether the specimen in front of her was a hazard or a toy. Or rather, in this case, if John was a worthy playmate. Though it was too late from the moment you hopped into his Jeep, for what it's worth, you were still cautious, thoughtful—he liked that, even if it only served to delay the inevitable. Big or small, a cat is prideful.
His belt was level with your face when you lifted your head, his hands resting on the buckle as he shifted his weight. Your lips puckered around the heart-shaped treat and a ragged breath hissed past his teeth, strawberry juice popping in your mouth. The tent in his pants was hard to miss, but it's totally not your fault for holding out all that time, spending your time licking juice off your fingertips. Totally, wholly, completely, not your fault.
Before you could reach for a tissue from the nightstand, Price's hand slid to your jaw, swiping his thumb over your sugary lips. The same hand guided you up to kneel in front of him on the foot of the bed, the spill of your cheek in his palm. “Stop,” you giggled despite yourself as his thumb breached your mouth, reaching up to touch his wrist. He bent over your kneeling form, slanted his mouth over yours.
“You taste sweet.” At first, you'd thought the remark rather cheesy—a sign of old age, perhaps—but it was literal. An observation, one which he superseded with another, fuller kiss, sucking on your bottom lip for size. “I could just eat you right up,” Price teased with an affectionate growl, nipping the tip of your nose with his lips and eliciting a giggle right from your chest, your fists going up to bat his chest just before you fell over backwards on the bed.
The sheets billowed around you as you landed while giggling behind your hand, your hair spread out like ivy along the gaudy floral print bedding. You felt yourself being dragged further down the bed weightlessly until your legs dangled off the edge, the springs of the cheap motel mattress squeaking as the pressure shifted, his arms going under your thighs.
Mr Price, nice and warm between your legs. Price. Your boyfriend's surname.
You peered down at him as if seeing him for the first time and wrinkled your nose with renewed embarrassment. “Hi, down there,” you murmured through a nervous laugh. The gauzy overhead lights swathed the room in a murky amber like swimming through honey, his stark blue eyes oddly anchoring through the fuzzy shadows.
“Hey there, pet.” The hem of your babydoll top tented over his head as he skimmed his lips across your navel, his wiry pepper-and-salt beard tickling your sensitive skin. A satisfied hum rumbled in his throat upon feeling the tremor of your skin under him—the way your breathing immediately fell out of rhythm.
The button of your denim shorts popped off with a soft clink and he dragged the shorts down with your panties without delay.
“Comfy?” Price asked, squeezing the ball of your heel in his big hand and rubbing the soles soothingly, then drifting his hand up to your calf as he held your knees open around his head. His warm breath fanned against your slick cunt unhurriedly, a shudder going through you as you wrought your fingers through his hair and dropped your head back.
“Oh, shush.” Between your legs wasn't the best place for conversation, you thought, your cheeks burning, though Price seemed perfectly in his element, mouthing against your inner thighs. It didn't seem right to affirm how good all of this, something so wrong, felt—you liked it far more than you should—but actions speak louder than words anyway.
He lowered his face to the top of your mound, kissing softly, a heavy breath rumbling through his chest as his big hands roamed along your hips and your belly with a certain reverence. You certainly weren't his to love and to hold, but the taste of you, so tangible and pooling on his tongue, felt like holding you in the palm of his hand, the heartbeat between your thighs a persistent flutter.
Before you, Price's relationship with his son may as well have been nonexistent. That was especially true after the fateful night when his son decided to rekindle their relationship to introduce his new girlfriend, and brought home… you. The same broad Price had shagged one year ago. A mindless one night stand between deployments. Price had popped your cherry before Tommy even got to third base.
It wasn't cheating at the time; you weren't dating anybody back then. Not officially, at least. You wanted to gain some experience before standing ten toes in with the guy you were seeing, learn what you were getting yourself into so you could do it right, on your own terms, when the time came.
Price could've, should've kept it that way—clean, in the past. You probably wouldn't have been able to stay with Tommy after knowing what his dad sounded like in bed, but you would've moved on eventually. But Price, when presented with the forbidden fruit right in his backyard, knew right then that he wasn't going to stay away. It wasn't in his nature. Tommy may have been the result of a mistake—another, one night stand—but you were no mistake. No one could convince him otherwise. He chose you and continued choosing you between every, 'We shouldn't be doing this,' and, 'We should stop meeting like this,' leading into bed.
His tongue dipped between your folds, just tasting, lapping up the slick that gathered there with your hips twitching against his mouth, his throat bobbing as he looked up at you and tilted his head.
“Is this cunt off limits, baby?” There it was. You hesitated, feeling quite dumb and exposed with your legs spread around his shoulders while he reminded you that you in fact weren't supposed to be doing this, and wanting to beg him not to stop now. Quite frankly, Price was having fun. Watching you get all wound up and off-balance with an amused crinkle around his eyes, though he presented a sympathetic croon at your plight. Price was unfair.
He bit a fair chunk of your thigh for a reaction. “Come on, baby, tell me. Should I stop touching you here?” You shuddered as the pad of his thumb circled your clit languidly, tugging on his hair on instinct, a traitorous trail of arousal running down the cleft of your ass.
“Stop it--”
“Stop touching-?”
“No!” A whiny, petulant noise unlike anything you've heard from yourself filled your ears, you may as well have been kicking your feet. “Stop bein' gross.”
That earned a truly hearty chuckle from Price—the old, distinguished kind, crow's feet deep. Pearly strands stuck to his fingers as he pulled his hand away from your seam, caressing your thighs as if calming a small, angry animal. “Gross? You're right, baby, we should stop. I mean, look at you—you're soaked. This is just filthy, darling. You don't want these dirty old hands touching you, do you? This is gross.”
“That's not what I-” You were getting all puffed up and red, he knew. Overwhelmed, even. It required too much brainpower to keep up with his games while your cunt was all achy, and his mouth was right there. “Please don't stop, Iʼm so, so wet, I don't wanna think about him right now-”
All in one, long-winded breath.
“Atta girl.” The vibrations of his voice rumbling through your sensitive bundle of nerves made you gasp out, his middle and ring finger plunging inside your cunt before you could ever catch your breath. The achy throb between your legs was tuned into a deep, perfect fullness that left no room for thought as his fingers curled inside you.
You never mentioned 'him' in these moments, refused to acknowledge his existence altogether. But that was too safe, too easy. Price didn't offer you the respite of ignoring reality, to languish in a safe little bubble where you forgot your obligations to your lover for a while. That might have went over with another man, but not one like Price, who thought the forbidden—Or perhaps just seeing you compromise your morals for the pleasure he gave you—was half the fun.
Spit and arousal alike dripped down your cunt while he slurped and lapped at your center, thick, deft fingers squelching inside you. His lips closed around your hood, sucking gently as he let out a muffled groan that pulsed through you. "Christ,” Price hissed against you, drawing your hips closer as you mashed your cunt against his mouth. “There's my girl. Don't fucking come until Iʼm inside you. Wanna feel you come all over me.”
The sound of his zipper unfurling made your eyes fly open, met with the blurry sight of a water-damaged ceiling through tears you didn't realize had sprung in your ears. His moans down below had grown more feverish by the minute, and you realized he was fucking his fist. You propped yourself on your elbows as you guided Price's head down on you and let your gaze fall over him, the fabric of his trousers stretched across his thighs as he kneeled on the carpet with his hard cock in his free hand.
“Price-” You preened his name brokenly, only to earn a muffled grunt from him against your clit, his tongue flattening against your folds with each lap. The muscles in his forearm jumped and tightened, veins standing out as he crooked his fingers and worked that spot in sharp, merciless curls. Too close—your thighs cinched around his ears, your fingers curling in his hair like you meant to drag him off, but you only pulled him closer.
Price slid his fingers from your cunt with a wet spray and a whimper fell from your lips, your hips jerking against the air uselessly.
You scrambled up the sheets as he climbed onto the bed, one knee on the mattress, then another. “You close, sweetheart?” Price cooed while settling between your legs, knees pressed wide to accommodate the breadth of his waist, your thighs tender from being scratched by his beard. His big hands haphazardly reached for the fabric of your top and ripped it over your head.
“I-Iʼm close-” You nodded your head, fisting up the sheets restlessly. His heavy cock rested against your seam, dragging back-and-forth through the mess while your walls clamped around nothing. “Please, need it-”
“Fuck—” Your breath mingled together as he pushed inside your heat with a guttural sound, your sloppy cunt practically drawing Price all the way in. “—That's it,” he grunted, “Gonna come for your daddy, luvie?”
You were already close—so close—every nerve pulled taut from what he'd just done to you, but it felt humiliating to finish as soon as he was inside, like some inverse of a teenage boy. Yet, your messy head of hair nodded wildly in the crook of his shoulder, wobbly legs criss-crossed behind his back.
The air knocked out of you as Price bottomed out fully, breathless cries spilling from your lips as your walls spasmed around his girth. His hips pummeled into you impatiently until your release slicked the way for his desperate strokes, a lewd, heavy slap of skin connecting with his beefy body bearing down on you, mattress springs groaning. A weak, trembling hand pressed against his stomach, trying to push him back, but his hand closed around yours, pinning it to the mattress as he drove into you through the oversensitivity, a guttural groan rumbling from deep in his chest.
“Ssh, I know, darling, I know,” he murmured, voice ragged, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It's my turn now. You can take it.”
— writing cheap sleazy porn intended to be sold at half-price bookstores as usual. just a quick oneshot to give my brain a break from my longer wips! you guys should be grateful i took a break from bingeing TWD to post something. + sorry if there's any inconsistencies in the tenses, iʼm a little rusty with using past tense ever since i started writing fics.
Deaf!Simon Riley and the vibrations of your voice (18+)
Simon Riley has been deaf for the past few years of his life due to sudden acoustic trauma from explosions and gunfire. He never had a problem with it, in fact, he never really talked or listened to people in general when he was able to hear. The tinnitus still rings out in his head, still makes him press his pillow against his ears at night, but at least he didn’t have to listen to anything else.
It wasn’t until you came along that he wished he could hear again, but something about the simple intimacy of feeling your voice rather than hearing it made him feel like this is how it was always meant to be for him.
He liked the fact that you would still speak to him as he reads your lips, that you didn’t shy away when he would occasionally reach up to touch your cheek just to feel the vibrations of your voice. Of course, you accommodated him as well, learning how to articulate your words better for lip reading, how to use sign language, but when he would ask you to speak about anything and everything you always did.
You never fail to make his world feel loud in a space that was so consumingly quiet before.
And when it came to sex, it was never anything short of passionate. It was a different kind of intimacy you had never experienced before him.
Your back is pressed against the sheets, Simon’s chest against yours, and his face is buried in your neck as he thrusts into you deep, and hard. His hips roll against yours, spreading your legs wider, stuffing your wet pussy full of his aching cock. Every single moan falling from your lips, every last babbled word you can get out as he fucks you dumb, he drinks it all in with his lips pressed to your throat to feel the vibrations flood through his body.
He is always particular about that, rightfully so, to the point where he’ll fuck you any way you want but he needs to feel you to cum. To feel your wet, warm walls wrapped tightly around him, clenching down on his length when his tip knocks against your cervix. To feel your cries of pleasure when he angles his hips just right to brush against your sweet spot.
Your fingers tangle in the hair at his nape, tugging slightly, earning a low groan rumbling out from the depths of his chest. Your nails rake down the rough skin of his back, leaving red, angry marks in your wake. Wrapping your legs around his waist, the new angle allows him to dig deeper, leaving you a moaning mess under him.
The skin of his abdomen glides on your clit, stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves when he thrusts in and grinds his cock on your cervix. Your nipples drag against his chest, hard and swollen, aching for his lips. You press soft kisses to his shoulder, biting ever so slightly and licking away the pain until it fades into pleasure again.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, molding your pussy to him, stretching you, pleasuring you, all because of him. He fills you to the brim, leaving no space inside of you empty for long, before pulling back out and doing it over and over again. Stars burst behind your eyelids when he zeros in on your sweet spot, his precision maddening, his consistent thrusts enough to bring you impossibly close to your climax.
He can feel you getting closer, can feel the frantic vibrations, can feel the way your heart speeds up when you squirm your hips under him to find more of the friction you so desperately crave. Simon gives into your body every single time, thrusting harder, pounding deeper, slamming his hips against your faster the more eager he grows to feel you cum on his cock.
Each thrust knocks the breath out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for air, each exhale turning into sounds of pleasure. His skin is warm and sweaty on yours, one hand gripping the fat of your hip, the other caging your head in, keeping you steady while he pounds into you relentlessly. His face stays buried in your neck, his lips trail up and down as he sucks and bites against the one spot he knows you like, and when your walls clamp down around him, he hits your sweet spot one more time and you’re cumming for him.
Moans rip free from your throat as your body grows rigid and your muscles draw taut underneath him. Cum gushes from your pussy, leaking out around his cock, dripping from his skin and making a mess on the sheets below. He groans, deep and low, rolling into you to drag out your high for as long as possible before he brings himself to that same sweet release.
He lifts his face from your neck, wrapping his hand around it instead, still allowing himself to feel the vibrations but settling on placing his lips against yours. Your lips move with his, finding his rhythm, moving in tandem the closer he gets and you continue to moan which he swallows greedily.
Only when your body twitches with overstimulation, only when your nails dig into the skin of his back, only then does he drive himself to the hilt and spill his seed. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out in continuous streams from his swollen, sensitive tip, hitting your cervix and leaking out around him when nothing else will fit.
His kiss turns slower while his movements come to a stop, swiping his tongue against your soft lips before pulling away with a wet pop, breaking the strings of saliva connecting the two of you. The sight of you so blissful underneath makes him feel like this is the prettiest you have ever been.
Tears stain your cheeks, your eyes half-lidded and bloodshot. Your mouth hangs open ever so slightly, drool dripping from your chin, as whimpers and whines continue to fall the more you feel his cock twitch deep inside of you. You look so raw, so vulnerable, so his. His to please, his to love, his to cherish.
Your voice may belong to everyone else, but the vibrations of your body will always belong to him.
Ghost has still got blood cooling on his gloves, the metallic tang thick in the air as the last body hits the floor with a wet thud. He tilts his head, listening to the quiet that follows, thumb already moving toward his comms to report in to Price.
Then he sees you.
Crouched in the corner behind a stack of crates, knees drawn up, eyes wide and shining in th low light. Civilian. Wrong place, worse timing. Which is unfortunate for you. His orders were clear: no witnesses and no loose ends.
Ghost starts toward you with that slow, rolling prowl, boots heavy on the concrete, thighs flexing under blood spattered gear.
He expects you to flinch. To run. To beg.
Except… you don’t.
You don’t even flinch when he stops right in front of you, towering, blood still dripping from his gloved fingers onto the concrete near your shoes. He raises his gun slightly, angled toward your head, ready to end it quick.
That’s when it happens.
Your gaze drops.
Straight down his chest, over the blood spattered vest, and locks onto the thick, heavy print of his cock on the front of his pants. Your lips part. Your breath hitches. And something in your eyes… shifts. Goes dark and heated, pupils blowing wide with want instead of fear.
Ghost freezes.
The gun lowers an inch. He tilts his head, staring down at you like you’re some glitch in reality. He’s covered in other men’s blood, fresh kill still warm on his hands, and you’re looking at his dick like you want it down your throat right here in the slaughterhouse.
It throws him completely. Throws off the soldier part of him that is cold and clinical. His cock twitches hard at the realization, thickening further under your stare, and he knows you see it. You don’t look away. If anything, your thighs press tighter together, cheeks flushing despite the corpses behind him.
A beat of silence stretches.
“Bloody hell,” he rumbles, stepping closer until his boot nudges your leg. One massive hand reaches down, gripping your chin roughly with blood smeared gloves, forcing your head up. “Did’t expect a filthy lil’ thing like you t’cream your knickers watching me work. Got a death wish, have ya? Or’ve you just got a thing for monsters?”
You’re still staring. Still heated. Ghost’s thumb drags across your lower lip, smearing a faint streak of red, considering the dilemma.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!reader x Jack Abbott
Summary: It wasn’t supposed to happen. One wrong turn past the perimeter, one breath of unknown, drifting pollen, and suddenly Joel is pounding on Jack Abbott’s door with you burning up in his arms. Now it’s the middle of the night, the town's asleep, and the only medic who won’t report the two of you is the one staring at you down like he already knows this is going to get real bad.
Warnings: 18+, Smut, THREESOME, slight fluff, Age gap (Joel is 60, Jack is 50 and reader is in her 20s), sweet!joel, gentle!jack, fictional sex pollen, double penetration, inaccurate medical/scientific shit, needy!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, lots of fluid and cum lol, nipple play, finger sucking, medical kink, gloves kink?, pet names, clit rubbing, oral f!receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, medical exam, sub!reader kinda
A/N: guess who watched The Pitt and fell for yet again another old man...also! I finally learned how to do this cool gradient text thingy and now i feel even more aesthetic✨ none of this below makes sense like AT ALL but just ignore it and enjoy the smut pookies <333
"Open the goddamn door, Abbott!"
Joels boots hit the wooden steps of Jack Abbott's clinic hard enough to rattle the whole damn porch. His first knock wasn't even a knock—it was a fist slamming into the wood, a desperate, violent slam that echoed through the otherwise quiet streets of Jackson.
The night air was thick with a cold that etched deep into bones, wind so strong it moved trees and houses. But Joel couldn't feel it. Not when you were burning up in his arms, your body almost a furnace pressed tight against his chest, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps that tore at his heart one by one.
Your skin was slick with sweat despite the chill, and your eyes—those sweet eyes that usually held so much warmth, so much life—were glassy, trying to focus but failing to land on anything.
Then, a light flickered inside. The lock scraped, and the door swung open to reveal Jack Abbott, still half-dressed in a worn pullover over his undershirt, his grey hair mussed from sleep that had clearly been interrupted.
"What the hell happened?" He asked, eyes going worried.
Joel didn't answer.
He just moved, carrying you past Jack and down the narrow hallway that led to the small clinic room Jack kept in his home.
The space was clean but lived-in: a metal examination chair in the center, shelves lined with bottles and worn medical texts, a couch, a single lamp casting a warm, yellow glow over the worn wooden floor.
Jack Abbott arrived in Jackson a little over two years after Joel did.
He had been traveling with a small group before, acting as their medic, but the constant moving wore him down.
Jackson was the first place in years that felt safe enough to stop, so he stayed when Maria asked him if he wanted to, while the others moved on.
Within a few months, he turned one of the unused small houses near the edge of town into two spaces: a tiny clinic in the front and a small living area for himself in the back.
People started calling it Abbott's clinic.
Joel met him after a patrol accident left him with a deep cut.
Jack stitched him up with quiet, steady confidence, and Joel respected him immediately.
He didn't ask too many questions, no bullshit, no small talk. Over time, Joel kept ending up at Jack's door, Jack kept patching him, and a quiet, practical friendship formed between them.
So when Joel set you down on his examination chair he knew you were in good hands.
His hands stayed on you, steady, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.
Jack followed close behind, already pulling out a pair of latex gloves from a box on the counter.
The snap of rubber against his wrists was sharp in the quiet room. He moved to your other side, his eyes scanning you with the practiced efficiency of someone who had seen too many emergencies in too many late hours.
"Joel." He said it firmly, not a question. Then softer, more insistent. "Joel. Talk to me. What happened?"
Joel dragged a hand down his face, the stubble rough against his palm.
"We—" He stopped. Swallowed. And then started again, his voice lower. "We weren't supposed to be there."
Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Where?"
"The old storage yard. Past the perimeter."
The silence stretched for one beat, two, three and Joel could see the thoughts racing behind those dark eyes—the implications, the danger, the sheer stupidity of it.
Jack let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "You two were past the forbidden perimeter?"
Joel nodded once, feeling guilty, miserable.
"She saw…" He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head. "Hell, I don't know. Rabbits or somethin'. Wanted a closer look."
His voice cracked on the last words—with frustration, with...with anger at himself, at the moment of weakness that had led him to agree, to let you wander just a little too far, just a little too deep into the overgrown brush beyond the safe zone.
You had smiled at him. God—that sweet, hopeful smile that made it impossible to say no. And now you were here, burning up and it was all his fault.
"She breathed in this cloud of…dust. Pollen. Somethin'."
Jack only stared at him, open mouth, gaze caught somewhere between disbelief and the cold calm of a man processing information.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, very quietly, he said: "Joel."
"It ain't important right now," Joel snapped, the words cutting through the air like a blade. But the edge softened almost immediately as his eyes flicked back to you, and his voice dropped to something quieter, more fragile. "Just—just fix her, alright?"
Jack held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and turned his full attention to you.
He leaned in, his movements careful, deliberate, as he reached for a small penlight from besides him. "Alright, sweetheart. Let's take a look at you."
He leaned closer, bringing the penlight up to your eyes. But your head lolled slightly, and you squirmed on the chair, a low, restless sound escaping your throat. Jack paused, his hand hovering near your jaw.
"Easy now. I need you to hold still for just a second, okay?" He tilted his head, meeting your gaze from behind the flashlight. "C'mon. Look at me."
Your eyes—glassy, unfocused, pupils blown wide—drifted toward him.
Jack clicked on the penlight, shining it first into your left eye, then your right, watching the way your pupils reacted—or failed to react. His brow furrowed. He hummed low in his throat, a sound that made Joel's stomach clench.
He clicked off the penlight, put it back into his place, and straightened up. He met Joel's gaze, his expression thoughtful.
"Pupils are dilated and sluggish. Could be a neuroactive toxin," he said, his voice carrying the weight of professional assessment. "Some kind of alkaloid, maybe. That targets the central nervous system." He paused, then added, almost to himself, "But her skin is flushed, and her pulse is tachycardic. Heart rate's way up. Could be pyrexia, but…" He trailed off, then turned back to you, his voice gentle again. "How did this flower look? Can you tell me anything about it?"
Your lips parted. "Trans…translucent. Purple."
Jack's eyes sharpened suddenly.
He turned away, crossing to the cluttered desk in the corner where a worn leather notebook sat among scattered papers. He opened it and the silence stretched while he flipped through it.
"Damn it," Jack muttered under his breath.
Joel stiffened. "What?"
Jack didn't look up. He kept turning pages, his finger tracing lines of cramped handwriting. "I've seen mentions of this before. Not many though, just scattered reports from patrol medics out west. And a couple of passing mentions in some old pre-outbreak botany notes I found in the library archive." He stopped on a page, reading it intently. Then he let out a slow breath and turned to face Joel.
"Reports of what?" Joel pressed, his voice tight.
Jack hesitated. It was a hesitation that Joel had never seen on him before.
He set the notebook down and crossed his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Joel.
"A mutated flower. Causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse…and some....sexual changes."
Joels head snapped up. "It ain't the time for jokes, Abbott."
But Jack didn't flinch. "I'm not joking. That's what the reports called it. I told you—it causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse." He paused, letting the words settle. "The body's been flooded with a compound that mimics extreme sexual arousal. It's not toxic on its own, but if left untreated, the fever and heart strain can cause complications."
Joel stared at him and when he turned back to you, he saw the way your fingers curled and uncurled against the metal and the way a soft, breathy sound escaped your lips as you shifted restlessly on the chair.
"Complications," Joel repeated, his voice hollow. "What kind of complications?"
Jack moved closer, his expression softening as he looked at you. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand gently against your forehead, feeling the fever that radiated off you in waves.
"If we don't address the underlying arousal-based symptoms, the body will keep ramping up. Heart rate spikes. Temperature climbs. Eventually, the system burns out." He pulled his hand away, his voice dropping lower. "The only effective treatment recorded in those reports is…direct physical release. Sexual stimulation to completion, multiple times, until the compound is flushed from the system."
He held up a hand as Joel opened his mouth, ready to protest. "Look, I know how it sounds. But I've seen enough strange things in this world to know that nature doesn't care about what sounds reasonable."
Joel turned away, his hand dragging through his hair, frustration in his face.
"So what are you tellin' me? That I gotta—" He couldn't even finish the sentence.
"I'm telling you that she needs care, Joel. And that care is going to involve intimacy. Whether that's with you, or with me helping her through it medically, or both—that's up to you. But she can't wait much longer." Jack's voice was calm, steady, the voice of a man doing his job. The room fell silent again. The only sounds were your labored breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house.
Joel then turned back, his eyes meeting yours. He saw the fear in them—and something else, something raw and needy that he didn't know how to name.
And suddenly—
"Please," you whined, the word thick and broken. "Please…need…need something."
Your body was a furnace, burning from the inside out. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed, screaming for relief. The fabric of your shirt clung to your skin, damp with sweat, and it felt like a cage. Your hands moved before your mind could catch up—grabbing at the hem, tugging, pulling.
Joel's eyes widened. "Hey, hey—hold on—"
But you couldn't hold on anymore.
You were beyond reason, beyond shame. You squirmed against the chair, your movements jerky and frantic, yanking your shirt over your head and tossing it aside.
Joel caught your wrists gently, trying to slow you down, but you twisted out of his grip, your fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans, the zipper, pushing them down your hips with a desperate, whimpering sound that tore at Joel's chest.
"Honey—" Joel started, his voice cracking.
But Jack held up a hand, his expression calm but intent. "Let her. The compound is driving her body to seek release. Fighting it will only make it worse, Joel."
Joel's hands fell to his sides. He watched, helpless, as you rid yourself of the last of your clothing, tossing jeans and panties to the floor until you were bare on the examination chair, your skin flushed and slick with sweat, your chest heaving with every ragged breath.
Your legs fell open without thought, your hips rolling against the cold metal, searching for friction that wasn't there.
"Need…please…I need something…" Your voice was a broken loop, tears starting to stream down your cheeks.
Joel's throat tightened. He looked at Jack.
When Jack met his gaze, there was no judgment in those dark eyes—only the weight of a man who understood the gravity of the situation. Jack's hand paused over your body, as he turned to Joel, his expression asking a silent question.
May I?
Joel stared at him for a long, breathless moment. Then he nodded, his voice low and rough. "Do what ya gotta do. I trust you."
Jack's shoulders relaxed a fraction and he moved to the foot of the chair, positioning himself between your spread legs.
"I ain't no gynaecologist," Jack said, his voice carrying a hint of dry humour. "But I need to see if it's really the flower we're talking about. The reports mentioned specific physical changes."
Joel clenched his jaw, stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders, holding you steady as you squirmed beneath him. You looked up at him, your eyes glassy and wet, and you whimpered.
"Please…let him…"
Joel let out a shaky breath. He looked at Jack and gave a short, sharp nod.
Jack leaned in. His gloved fingers found your thighs, then he gently parted your labia with precision.
He murmured to himself, cataloging observations as he worked. "Labia swollen. Significant engorgement. Vulvar tissue appears hyperemic, engorged with blood flow consistent with severe vasocongestion."
You gasped as his thumb accidentally brushed against the hood of your clit, a jolt of electricity shooting through your core. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a desperate, wordless sound escaping your lips.
"Easy," Jack murmured, more to himself than to you.
He shifted his grip, using his thumb and forefinger to part the inner folds, exposing your entrance. It was gaping, red, and glistening with a clear, almost viscous fluid that had already pooled on the chair beneath you.
Joel's hands tightened on your shoulders, his knuckles almost white.
He trusted Jack—hell, he was the only man in this godforsaken place he trusted you with. But he still couldn't help the way he felt. A little too protective. Maybe even jealous.
"Her insides feel swollen," Jack said. He pressed two fingers—index and middle—against your opening, testing the resistance. The muscles fluttered and clenched, straining against the intrusion before it even begun. "Loss of tone in the pelvic floor muscles. Usually, there's some natural tension, but here…it's like her body is actively pulling things in."
And then he pressed inside.
The latex-covered fingertips breached you with a wet, slick sound that echoed in the small room.
You cried out—not in pain, but in need that tore through every nerve ending. Your back arched off the chair, your head thrown back, Joel's name falling from your lips in a desperate, ragged moan.
"Oh, fuck—!"
Jack didn't move. He held his fingers still, buried to the second knuckle, his eyes fixed on your face, watching your reaction with clinical detachment even as his body betrayed a slight tension.
"She's extremely sensitive. The internal tissues are swollen and hot—probably a few degrees above normal body temperature. The flower is causing nerve hypersensitivity."
Your hips bucked again, grinding against Jack's hand, seeking more. Every bit of shame leaving your body.
But the pressure of his fingers inside you was maddening—not enough, never enough. You whimpered, a high, thin sound that turned into a gasping sob as Jack slowly began to withdraw his fingers, dragging them along your inner walls.
And then, suddenly, an orgasm hit you without warning.
It crashed through you like a wave, sudden and violent, pulling a strangled scream from your throat. Your entire body clenched, your inner muscles spasmed around Jack's retreating fingers, and a gush of fluid flooded out of you, soaking his gloved hand and dripping onto the chair in thick, sticky ropes.
Jack pulled his hand back, his fingers coated in the warm, translucent fluid. He held them up, examining the consistency with narrowed eyes.
Joel could only stare, his mouth hanging open.
His gaze flicked from your flushed, trembling body to Jack's dripping fingers, and then back to your face, where tears and sweat had mingled in a mask of desperate relief and craving.
"Did she just…?" Joel's voice was hoarse, cautious.
Jack nodded slowly, wiping his fingers on a clean cloth. "Ejaculate. Yeah. That's…that's exactly what that was. The flower causes her body to reach climax extremely quickly—and just as quickly, the need returns. It's like the release doesn't satisfy anything; it only opens the door for more."
You were already squirming again, your hips rolling against the empty air, your breath coming in sharp, frantic pants. "Please…more…need more…"
Jack set the cloth aside and picked up the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it around your upper arm.
He pumped it up, watching the gauge as the numbers climbed.
"This is an unusual procedure," he said, his voice flat. "Her body will need release. Repeatedly. And even then, the effects might last for hours—until the compound works its way out of her system."
Joel ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the grey strands in frustration. "Jesus Christ. Is there any medicine? Anything you can give her to stop this? To slow it down?"
Jack shook his head, the blood pressure cuff hissing as he released the pressure. "No. This is all about managing symptoms. The fever, the blood pressure, the dehydration. The only thing that treats the root cause is—" He paused, glancing at Joel. "—well, you know..."
He pulled off his gloves with a snap, tossing them into a bin. Then he grabbed a fresh pair, pulling them on with practiced efficiency.
"I could now let you two go," Jack said, turning to face Joel fully. "Let you handle this on your own. Just fuck like goddamn rabbits for the next few hours. But her blood pressure is 160 over 110. That's stroke territory if we're not careful. And her fever is also still climbing."
You whimpered on the chair, your hand reaching out blindly. "Please…Joel…I need…"
Joel caught your hand, pressing it to his chest. "S'okey, honey. I'm right here. Don't be scared." He leaned down, pressing another kiss to your damp forehead, his voice softening to a trembling murmur. "I got you. I ain't goin' nowhere."
He turned to Jack, his eyes hard and resolute. "I'll do it. You keep her fever and blood pressure in line. I trust you."
Jack nodded.
He pulled the chair behind your head, positioning himself so he could put cool towels on your forehead and monitor the equipment.
"I'll keep the cold packs on her neck and forehead, monitor her vitals. You handle the rest."
Joel let out a long, shaky breath. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the nearby counter. He moved between your legs, his boots scraping against the worn linoleum.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking down at the mess you've had made.
Your pussy was a complete wreck; swollen, red, glistening with a mix of your own fluids and the lingering evidence of your climax. Your clit stood out, big and glossy, twice its usual size. Your hole gaped, soft and open, the muscles twitching with unfulfilled need.
Joel had never seen you like that. Not even when he fucked you countless times the night before.
Jack's voice came from behind your head, quiet and steady. "I know. That's the flower."
Joel looked at your face—your tear-streaked cheeks, your parted lips, your eyes glassy and fixed on him with desperate, animal hunger. He placed his rough, calloused hands on your inner thighs, spreading you wider.
"You'll be fine, babygirl," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "I'll take care of you."
Joel's jaw tightened, his gaze flicked anywhere but towards Jack as he unzipped himself and wrapped a calloused hand around his own cock.
He stroked himself slowly at first, trying to will himself hard despite the awkward weight of another man's eyes in the room. Embarrassment flushed his neck, but the sight of you—needy, swollen, and waiting—pushed him forwards.
He needed to do this for you, his sweet girl, no matter how strange it felt with his old friend watching.
Joel lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance before he pushed inside in one steady thrust.
A high-pitched moan tore from your throat, your hips bucking up to meet him as your walls fluttered and sucked him deeper.
"Continue," Jack said quietly, nodding once, his voice calm and measured.
Joel grunted, hips snapping forward.
The wet, splashing sounds of your soaked pussy filled the small clinic room with every thrust, obscene and loud.
He punched into you harder, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet, sensitive spot inside while your cunt milked him greedily, rhythmic pulses drawing him in.
"You need to talk to her the way you guys always do it, Joel," Jack instructed, still monitoring your pulse. "Keep her grounded."
Joel's eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded, voice rough. "D-does that feel good, honey?" He drove deeper, breath hitching. "Prettiest cunt all fuckin' swollen. Look at you, takin' me so good."
You whined, the praise sending fresh heat through you.
Jack suppressed a smirk, trying to focus instead on the steady thrum beneath his fingers. "Pulse is elevated but stable," he murmured. "Pupils are still dilated."
And without warning, another orgasm crashed over you.
This time, your thighs fell further apart as a raw cry teared from your throat, back arching off of the examination chair. Your cunt clamped down, once, twice, then opened. A hot, gushing stream bursted hard, pushing Joel's cock out and making a splashing sound in the quiet room.
"Joel—"
Joel's breath hitched as your cries echoed off of the walls, his eyes widening when the hot flood gushed against his groin.
"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes landed on Jack's calm ones, and a wave of embarrassment hit him. He was standing there like this was nothing, like the whole scene wasn't awkward as hell, and Joel just couldn't decide if that made it better or worse.
Jack nodded, his eyes landing on your clenching tummy. "Normal reaction."
Joel cursed again, gripping his slick cock and thrusting back inside your still-quivering pussy.
"Wanted to see those bunnies, huh?" he rasped, tsking with his tongue as he set a punishing rhythm. "Now look at what happened to you."
Each thrust made your squelching cunt echo wetly around him.
Jack's gaze sharpened as he noticed drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. "Hm. Another autonomic response; excessive salivation," he noted, and glanced at Joel mid-thrust. "Mind if I help keep her calm?"
Joel nodded without breaking his rhythm. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted you to feel better.
"Easy now. Breathe for me." Jack slid two latex-gloved fingers past your lips. "I'm just gonna help you."
And you immediately sucked them in, tongue swirling, a broken whimper escaping around them. "Please, doctor…"
Jack's breath got caught in his throat, his own cock twitching to life, growing visibly against his pants even though he was trying to he professional.
"S'okay, sweetheart." he soothed, fingers gentle but firm in your mouth.
You sucked on them with desperate, whining pulls, saliva coating the gloves.
Joel shook his head, voice strained. "God damn flowers."
"I know," Jack replied, eyes flicking down to where Joel's cock disappeared into your soaked cunt. "Reports were way worse. It's like heat for humans—constant need until the cycle breaks."
Joel kept thrusting, the filthy wet sounds growing louder, his thumb finding your sensitive clit, giving only gentle, light rubs. You moaned around Jack's fingers, whimpered, your body arching from the stool as another orgasm ripped through you.
He buried himself deep, grunting as he came too, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt while your walls clenched around him.
Jack's free hand stroked your hair. "You're doing so well," he whispered. "That's it. Let it all out."
Joel slowly pulled out, watching thick ropes of his release trickle down from your swollen pussy. He tucked himself back in, thinking that would be enough.
But the needy ache in your core hadn't faded. Your hips still rocked, eyes glassy, silently begging for more. Your cunt started clenching again, desperate to be stuffed.
Jack pulled his fingers out of your mouth, taking his gloves off.
"She's…she's still not done," he said, his voice softer now, laced with an uncertainty that wasn't there before.
He swallowed. "The flower's effects are cumulative. She's had three orgasms so far, but the pollen load was significant."
Jack's fingers trailed down your cheek, your jaw, until they rested on your collarbone. "Your heart rate's still high." He glanced at Joel. "Can you hold her steady? I need to examine her cervix again."
Joel nodded, his hand moving to cradle your head. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his breath was warm against your cheek, pressing a kiss on your nose. "You hear that, baby? Doctor Abbott's gonna take a look. Just breathe, okay?"
Jack pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, the snap of latex loud in the quiet.
He positioned himself between your legs again, his fingers gentle as he parted your slick folds.
Your cunt was still a swollen, pink mess—puffy and raw, dripping with Joel's cum and your own release.
Jack's brows furrowed deeper, his tongue wetting his lips. "No tearing. But she's inflamed. The tissue is still pretty engorged." He pressed two fingers just inside your entrance, and you gasped, your hips bucking. "Still sensitive. Very sensitive."
Joel watched, his eyes dark, the grip on your hand tightening. "What do we need to do?"
Jack withdrew his fingers slowly. "I think…I think she needs stimulation again. But maybe a different angle. She's been stimulated vaginally. The flower's compounds are absorbed through the mucous membranes, so oral stimulation might also help" He looked at Joel, and for the first time, a faint blush colored his cheeks. "I could…only if that's okay with you, I could use my mouth. On her. It's the gentlest way. Fingers or a toy might be too rough with the swelling."
Joel's eyebrows rised. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at Jack with a mixture of surprise and unsureness. But he trusted him. "You're the doctor."
Jack's answer was a shaky breath.
He knelt down, his prosthetic clicking softly as he positioned himself between your spread thighs. He looked up at Joel, eyes wide, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I won't do something that you don't want."
"You won't," Joel said, and there's a quiet certainty in his voice. "You're good at what you do. And you care. That's all that matters."
Jack leaned in, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh first, a soft, hesitant kiss. He started murmuring to you, his words muffled against your skin. "It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me help you."
He trailed his mouth up, leaving a wet path, until he reached your pussy.
He hesitated at first, his breath hot against your swollen folds, and then his tongue darted out, flicking tentatively over your clit.
You cried out, a sharp, high sound, your hips jerking.
Joel shushed you, his hand stroking your hair. "Easy, easy, honey. Let him work."
Jack's tongue moved in slow, careful circles, his eyes closed, his whole being focused on the task. He was so gentle—so so gentle it almost hurt. He let his tongue flatten, just barely, dragging the softest, wettest line from the bottom of your slit all the way up to the hood of your swollen clit.
When he reached the nub, he didn't flick or circle.
Instead, he parted his lips just enough to take the tiny bud between them, not sucking, not even really holding—just resting it there, letting his breath ghost over it. He knew you were sensitive so he gave it a single, featherlight pulse of his tongue, like a heartbeat, before releasing it just as gently.
He pulled back for a moment, looking at Joel. "She's still very wet. The pollen keeps secreting fluids. That's good—it means her body is actively metabolizing."
He pressed another kiss onto your inner thigh, his hand coming up to cup your mound, his thumb rubbing soft circles. "You're doing so well. Just a little more, okay? I'll make it good."
Joel watched, his breath coming heavier. He was hard again, his cock pressing against his jeans.
He didn't touch himself, though. He just held you, his eyes locked on Jack's mouth as it worked over you, his own throat tight with something that feels like gratitude and jealousy all tangled together.
"I got her, Joel," Jack said between gentle strokes of his tongue, his voice strained. "She's responding. Clenching. She's—" He broke off as you moaned, your body beginning to tremble again. "She's close. Another one."
Joel leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "Let go, baby. Let Jack take care of you. You can do it."
Your orgasm build, slow and deep, and when it finally broke; it's was a rolling, shuddering wave that pulled a desperate sob from your chest.
He didn't stop, his tongue gentling through the aftershocks, drawing out every last tremor until you're limp, your body sagging into the chair.
"Good, yeah, that's real good," Jack pulled back, wiping his chin with his hand while looking at the fluids you released. "She did well."
You breathed out, already feeling your cunt spasm again, in need of another release.
Jack checked your fever and your blood pressure again, letting out a soft breath, turning to face Joel. His voice was low and gentle, unhurried. "It's still not stabilizing the way I'd like. Her heart rate's come down which is good. But her blood pressure's still sitting high, and her temperature's not dropping."
Joel's grip on your hand tightened. "God dammit. What else can we do?" He asked. "You said oral would help."
Jack nodded slowly. "It did help. It brought her some relief. But the pollen is trapped in her pelvic tissue now. To fully clear it, she needs a stronger parasympathetic response. I think at this point, oral alone won't reach that deep."
He paused, thinking.
"There's another option," he said, looking at Joel first, then down at you. "It's a bit more...involved. But I think it would work. I've read it in the reports."
Joel's brows furrowed. "Just tell me."
"Dual stimulation. It could trigger a more complete autonomic response. Simultaneous penetration of the vaginal and anal canals would increase overall parasympathetic activation, potentially clearing the pollen from deeper tissue through intensified contractions and fluid release."
He held up a hand, reassuring. "I know it sounds like a lot. But i've read enough of them in the reports."
Joel looked at you, then back at Jack. His voice was rough but not angry. "You mean, hell—both of us? At the same time?"
"If you're comfortable with that," Jack said, his tone still gentle, almost apologetic. "I wouldn't suggest it if I thought there was another way. But she's still suffering, Joel. I can see it in her eyes. And I don't want her fever to spike again."
Joel stared at the floor for a long moment, then looked at you. Your skin was still flushed, your eyes glassy with need, begging him to do something. You squeezed his hand weakly, a small sound escaping your throat.
He let out a breath. "Fine. If it'll help her. But I swear to god above, Abbott, if she stays like this. Then—"
"Joel… I hear you," Jack murmured, hands half‑raised in a calming gesture. "I'm not…I'm not thrilled about this either. But I won't let anything happen to her. I promise you that."
He then knelt between your legs again, his hands resting lightly on your thighs. "I need to check if she's ready," he said. "The pollen causes natural relaxation, but I want to be sure there's no discomfort."
He pressed a thumb gently against your perineum, then traced it along the rim of your anus.
The touch was featherlight, exploratory but uour body responded without a thought: a shiver, a soft gasp.
Jack looked up at Joel, his expression calm.
"She's already relaxed. No prep needed." He nodded.
Jack shifted his gaze to you. His hand remained where it was, a grounding pressure against your most intimate space. He spoke slowly, his voice a soothing murmur.
"Sweetheart, I'm going to tell you exactly what we're thinking, and you can take your time. There's no rush."
He paused, waiting for your eyes to meet his.
"Joel will be with you the way he always is—inside you, slow and gentle. And I'll be behind you, entering you here," he said, his thumb pressing just slightly inward, "in your bottom. We'll move together, very slowly, matching each other's pace. It'll feel full—intense—but it won't hurt if you're relaxed, and you are. The pollen will release, your fever will come down, and your heart will settle."
He watched your face, his eyes patient and warm.
Joel leaned down, brushing his lips against your nose. "It's your call, babygirl. I'm right here."
Your breathing hitched. The heat inside you coiled tighter, desperate. You looked up at Joel, then at Jack—his dark eyes patient, his hand steady on your body.
You nodded, needy.
"Yes," you whispered. "Please. I need something."
Jack's lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. "That's good. That's real good." He withdrew his hand slowly and looked at Joel.
Joel's jaw tightened. He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, slow and deliberate. Then he looked over his shoulder at Jack, and to the couch in the room. "This couch work for you? She'll be more comfortable there—pillows, somethin' to brace against."
Jack nodded, already moving. "I'll get it set up."
-
Jack cleared the sofa with efficient movements: tossing aside a pillow, spreading a clean blanket over the cushions, positioning two more pillows against the armrest.
His hands moved with practiced precision, but there was a slight tremor in his fingers as he smoothed the fabric.
He was trying to stay professional. It was cute, in a way; this man who had stitched up Joel's wounds and patched up Jackson's sick, now preparing a makeshift bed for something more intimate.
And you wouldn't lie if it didn't excite you.
While Jack worked, Joel stayed with you. He cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs tracing the line of your cheekbones.
"Hey," he murmured, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. "Look at me."
You did. His eyes so soft. Tender. The same eyes that had watched over you during patrol, that had softened when you begged him to take you to the forbidden parameter just to see those stupid, wild rabbits and play with them.
"It's gonna be alright," he said. "You trust me?"
"Always," you breathed.
"Trust Jack?"
You glanced towards the sofa, where Jack was adjusting the last pillow. He caught your gaze and offered a small, reassuring smile—the same smile he gave before setting a broken bone, before delivering difficult news.
Professional. Always kind and gentle.
"Yes," you said. "I trust him."
Joel leaned in and kissed you then. Slow, thorought, a kiss that promised you stability. His lips moved against yours with a gentle pressure, his tongue brushing the seam of your mouth, tasting you. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other found the small of your back, pulling you just slightly closer.
When he broke the kiss, you were breathless. He rested his forehead against yours.
"Good girl," he whispered. "You're doing so good. Now let's get you comfortable."
Without warning, Joel slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you off of the exam chair as if you weighed nothing.
You gasped, your arms instinctively winding around his neck.
Jack had positioned himself on the far end of the sofa, sitting sideways, his legs spread, a condom wrapper discarded on the side table.
He was already hard—you could see the outline of his cock straining against his jeans, and when he shifted, the fabric pulled tight.
"Come here," Jack said, his voice a low murmur. He patted the cushion besides him. "There we go."
Joel lowered you gently onto the sofa, your knees sinking into the plush cushion. You were facing him, your hands braced on his broad shoulders, while he sat down too.
And behind you, you could feel the heat of Jack's body.
"Alright," Joel said, his hands sliding from your shoulders down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps. "He's gonna take care of you from behind. And I'll be right here." He tapped your chin, making you look at him. "Right in front of you. You need to stop, you tap my arm twice. You need a breath, you say my name. You hear?"
"Yes," you whispered.
"Good girl."
He touched you gently, his hands guiding your hips, your knees, until your back was closer to Jack and you were still facing Joel. He then positioned you on your knees, the cushion soft beneath you, your thighs spread just enough to accommodate what was coming.
Jack's breath caught.
His eyes roamed over you; the curve of your ass, your pretty waist, and your back.
"You're in control," Jack said, and his voice was strained but still carrying that professional cadence, the doctor's calm. "I'm gonna put on a condom, then you can take it at your own pace."
You heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Then the slick sound of him rolling it on. You looked over your shoulder, watching him position himself—knees spread, cock standing up from his body, the condom sheathing him in a thin layer of latex.
His cock was thick, smaller than Joels, standing full and erect from a nest of dark and grey curls. His head was already a dark plum shade, slick with pre-cum bubbling on top, indicating that he was already hard all the while he examined you earlier.
"Whenever you're ready, sweetheart." Jack said, and there was a raw edge to his voice now, the professional slip giving way to something hungrier. "Lower yourself onto me."
You reached behind you, fingers brushing his thigh. He flinched—a tiny jolt, involuntary. You saw his cock twitch, the head bobbing slightly.
"Please," you whispered.
Jack's jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. He forced himself to nod, keeping his hands on his own knees. "It's okey. I'm right here."
You braced one hand on the back of the sofa, the other reaching down to guide him. Your fingers found the head of his cock, slick with latex.
You positioned it against your entrance—the tight ring of muscle that had just been stretched—and pushed back.
"There she goes." Joel murmured.
The pressure was intense.
A fullness that bordered on overwhelming.
You felt every ridge, every inch as you sank onto him, your body yielding slowly, grudgingly. Jack's breath hissed through his teeth, a sharp, bitten-off sound. His knuckles were white where he gripped his own thighs, the tendons in his forearms standing out with the effort of staying still.
Joel breathed out, holding onto your waist as he guided you gently down.
"Good," Jack managed, his voice strangled. "That's…that's perfect. You're doing so well."
He was fully sheathed inside you then—your ass stretched around his cock, the sensation so deep it seemed to reach into your belly. You felt full, split open, but not in pain. Just…finally filled the way you needed it.
In front of you, Joel watched your face with an intensity that made your stomach flip. His hand left your waist and stroked your thigh, a slow, grounding rhythm, his thumb tracing the crease where your leg met your hip. "You're my good girl." He whispered.
His own cock was hard, straining against his jeans, but he made no move to touch himself.
All his focus was on you.
"You got her?" Joel asked Jack, his voice low and gravelly.
"Yeah," Jack said, and his hands finally moved, settling on your hips. Not to guide you, not to push—just to steady. His palms were warm through the thin gown. "She's fully seated. Go ahead, Joel."
Joel's eyes never left yours. His cock thick and flushed, already slick with precum and your release from earlier.
He shifted closer, his knees bracketing yours on the cushion, his cock pressing against your wet, waiting entrance. He didn't push in immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your lips—soft, lingering.
"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "Breathe for me. Deep and slow. I can feel you clenching already—you're so ready, baby."
"Yes," you breathed.
He pushed in.
The sensation was indescribable—Joel's cock filling your cunt from the front, Jack's cock stretching your ass from behind.
They were separated by only a thin wall of flesh, and you could feel every movement of each man through the other. Joel's thickness pressed against Jack's length, a constant, intimate pressure that made you gasp.
Joel groaned low in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "There we go, honey. There we go. You feel so perfect around me."
Behind you, Jack's grip tightened on your hips. "Jesus christ."
"I know," Joel said. "I know."
Joel stopped there, buried full, and let out a low breath against your neck. Then he looked down.
Your cunt was stretched wide around his shaft, the lips pulled apart, pink and slick with your own wetness. Below that, Jack's cock stuffed deep in your ass, making the whole patch of skin between your legs look swollen, used, full.
He watched the way his own cock disappeared into you, how the flesh clung to him like it didn't want to let go.
He then pressed a palm flat against your belly, rubbed slow circles just above where he's buried to calm you down.
They stayed still for a long moment—both of them buried inside you, your body stretched and full and trembling. Joel's breath was warm against your cheek. Jack's chest pressed against your back, his heart hammering against your shoulder blades.
"We're gonna move when you're ready. Slow and deep. Get your body to get used to it." Jack said behind you, gripping your waist.
Joel huffed as a nod, giving your cheek a kiss before his hand touched your mound, spreading you to watch himself.
Then they began to move. Small, shallow thrusts.
At first, it's barely more than a pulse—a subtle shift of both cocks deep inside you, rocking in place. Your pussy flutters around the first, a gentle squeeze that welcomes the tiny motion. Your ass clenches around the second, holding him tight as he budges fractionally in and out.
You gasped, burying your head into his neck.
"Shh, it's okey." he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You can take it, babygirl."
His lips found your cheek, soft and lingering. He pulled you back just enough to meet your eyes—half-lidded, glassy, still lost in the haze of pleasure. His thumb traced over your cheekbone, wiping a smear of drool from the corner of your mouth.
"So damn beautiful, aren't you?"
Behind you, Jack's breathing was heavy, controlled. He was pumping inside you, careful not to be fast, his hands resting on your hips with a gentleness that belied the tension in his shoulders.
Over your shoulder, his gaze met Joel's.
A silent conversation passed between them. A nod.
A confirmation. We're good. She's good. Keep going.
"She is doing good," Jack murmured.
Joel nodded, his hand sliding down your side, fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip. "Best girl," he said, low and warm. "Yeah, baby?"
A sound tore out of you then.
Loud, ragged, utterly needy. It rose from somewhere deep in your chest—a whine that had no shape, no words, just pure, aching want.
Jack smiled. "Is she drooling again?"
Joel pulled back just enough to look at your face. Your lips were parted, slack, a glistening string of saliva stretching from your lower lip to your chin.
Your eyes were all hazy, unfocused, your breath coming in shuddering gasps.
"Mmhmm," Joel hummed. "Look at you, baby. All drooling to your chin. Messy thing."
Jack couldn't help but chuckle, his cock twitching inside you. His hand came up from behind then. His finger in latex, pressed against your lips without hesitation. The touch was light though, asking permission, even now.
Your mouth opened, and you took him in.
You closed your mouth around him and sucked, hard, hollowing your cheeks, pulling him deeper. A deep, shuddering satisfaction rolled through your chest.
Your eyes fluttered closed. This was what you needed. Something to suck on. Something to anchor you.
Jack's hissed out. "There you go. That helps, huh?"
Joel's hand slid down your belly, past the slick, glistening mess of your thighs, until his thumb found your clit. It was swollen, angry red, twice its normal size and pushing out from its hood like a small, desperate pearl. The barest brush of his calloused thumb made your whole body jolt, a shockwave of sensation that ripped through you.
"Easy, Joel." Jack murmurs, his voice a low. "Her clitoris is sensitive right now. If you apply too much direct pressure, she might get overwhelmed. Try lighter, circular motions, just around the hood. Let her build."
Joel nodded, his eyes analysing your face as he touched the little nub gently. Slow, deliberate circles, barely any pressure.
Your back bowed, arching into Jack's chest, your mouth clamping down on his finger, sucking for dear life.
The orgasm that ripped through you was sudden, violent but perfect. It started in your clit, that single point of pressure and radiated outwards in hot, electric waves. Your cunt clenched around Joel's cock, your ass tightening around Jack's.
A broken cry escaped around the latex in your mouth.
"That's it," Jack groaned, pushing his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling your throat convulse around the tip. "Just like that, sweetheart. You got it."
Joel's smile was soft, his eyes wet with something profound. He kept his thumb moving in slow, steady circles, drawing out every last tremor of your climax.
"You're doing so good for us, baby. Flushin' all that pollen out, huh?"
You nodded as best you could, gasping, drool pooling around Jack's knuckles.
They held still then, pausing their thrusts and letting your body catch up, letting the aftershocks of your releasre ripple through you.
Jack's free hand moved to your wrist.
His thumb pressed into the delicate skin, feeling the rapid thrum of your pulse. He counted silently. Then he moved his hand to the side of your neck, feeling the beat there, strong and wild. He pressed his palm to your forehead, then your cheek.
"Fever's going down," he said, the doctor's cadence threading back through the ragged lust in his voice. "Pulse is still a touch elevated. One more good one should flush the last of it out of her system completely."
He pulled his wet finger from your mouth with a
slick pop. A string of saliva connected his glove to your lower lip, stretching thin, then breaking.
Your mouth stayed open, seeking, needy so Joel planted open mouthed kisses on the corner of your lips.
"S'so much, Joel," you whined, the words slurred and breathless. Your voice cracked. "S'too much. Can't—can't take—"
"I know, babygirl." Joel leaned in and pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips stayed there, warm and steady. "I know. But you can. You're almost there. One more. Just one more for us."
"Gonna be a good girl for me?" He asked. "For Doctor Abbott, too?"
Joel glanced over at Jack, catching the faint flush rising in his cheeks. Jack swallowed dropping his gaze, and that tiny, embarrassed gesture pulled a low chuckle out of Joel.
You whined, nodding your head quickly. Your head lulled back, dropping to Jack's neck and looking up at him.
"Are you?" he murmured, looking at you, the words slipping out before he could stop them—quiet, direct, and meant only for you.
Joel’s brows lifted, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.
Your eyes went wide at his question. You nodded before you even realized you were doing it, breath catching as you stayed pressed against him.
Then, before you could turn around, Joel started thrusting upwards again. Slow, deep, deliberate.
Each stroke was a long drag against your walls, a languid exploration of the slick, hot grip of your cunt.
Jack started matching him, finding the counterpoint rhythm—sliding deeper as Joel pulled back, filling the space Joel left. His eyes were still on you, steady, nodding against the thrusts and counting them.
The fullness was overwhelming, the stretch a perfect pressure that occupied every empty inch inside you.
A whine broke from your mouth. Your head stayed on Jacks shoulder, while your eyes landed on Joels face again.
He grunted, speeding his hips, calloused hands on your thighs moving you to the rhythm he built.
"Someone's close," Jack said, his voice low.
"She is," Joel agreed breathless, hair falling damp to his forehead. "My sweet girl."
You moaned—sweet, broken, the sound rising from your chest like a prayer. Your head fell still Jack's shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed. Sweat glistened on your skin, beaded on your collarbone, trickled between your breasts.
Jack's hands slid up your damp stomach then.
They were slow, exploratory, tracing the lines of your ribs, the soft swell of your belly.
His palms cupped your breasts, lifting them slightly, feeling their weight. His thumbs found your nipples—hard pebbles against the cool latex of his gloves. He rolled them gently, watching your face for reaction.
"These are also very sensitive," he observed. The clinical observation was a thin veneer over the raw truth—he just wanted his hands on you. And he started to become bold enough to do so.
His thumbs circled and circled, pressed and pressed while pinched ever so lightly.
You whimpered, your hips bucking upward, grinding against Joel's thrusts.
"They are," Jack repeated, more to himself. "Good. That's good."
Joel watched your face, his pace quickening. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and a vein stood out on his neck.
"Look at me, darlin'. C'mon. Let me see those eyes."
You forced your lids open. Joel's gaze was locked on yours—dark, tender, burning.
"There you go," He growled. "Look at my babygirl...enjoying herself on two cocks, yea?"
Your cheeks flushed red at his words, closing your eyes again.
The slick, wet sounds of your bodies filled the room. Jack's fingers stayed on your nipples, rolling, tugging, pinching in rhythm with the thrusts.
"Hey, look at me." Jack said behind you, firm.
You did, looking into his eyes lazily.
"You're close. I need you to focus on us, is that clear?" He asked, eyes searching for any discomfort in your face.
Your eyes went wide at the sudden firmness in his voice. You nodded quickly, breath catching as you tried to steady your focus on him like he asked.
Joel let out a low, hum. “Yeah,” he said, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. “Listen to him.”
The pressure was building again—impossible, overwhelming. You were close, just like Jack said. Your thighs trembled. Your belly tightened. A hot coil wound in your core, drawing tighter with every stroke.
"C'mon," Joel urged, his voice dropping to a growl. "Give it to me, sweetheart. Let go. I'll catch you."
Jack's hips slapped against your ass, faster now, deeper. "Cum for us, sweetheart." he whispered against your ear. "Release it all. One more time."
And you did.
A hot gush came out of you—not a trickle, not a spasm, but a flood. It poured from your cunt, soaking Joel's cock, your thighs, his lap, the blanket beneath you.
A broken cry tore from your throat, raw and desperate, as you squirted hard, the release feeling like the fever finally leaving your body.
Your vision went white.
"Fuck," Jack groaned. He pulled out in one slick motion, the condom still snug on his cock. He ripped it off, stroking himself twice, three times, and spilled into the latex with a raw, shuddering groan that seemed to come from deep in his chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Joel's arms were around you instantly.
He dragged you flush against his sweaty chest, your weight settling on top of him as he fell back against the couch cushions.
He was still inside you, buried deep, and he didn't stop. He thrusted up into you—four powerful, driving strokes, each one hitting that perfect, swollen spot.
"One more, sweetheart. C'mon. One more for me." He whispered into your ear.
You squirted again—a weaker gush, a final release that flooded his belly and pooled beneath you. You cried out, burying your face into his neck.
Joel let out a guttural grunt, his hips stuttering as he came, hot and thick, pumping into you with a desperate, possessive rhythm. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place.
Your body went limp, boneless, slack against Joel's chest. Your face burrowed into the hollow of his throat, into the damp, salty warmth of his skin.
His heartbeat thudded against your cheek, strong and steady.
The world finally went soft, and your body relaxed.
Jack on the other hand, moved with quiet efficiency besides you. His hands were gentle as he pressed two fingers to the hollow of your throat, counting the steady thrum of your pulse.
He lifted one of your eyelids gently, checking your pupil response. A small flashlight flickered in his hand—when had he grabbed it? You had no idea. He pressed his palm to your forehead, your cheek, the side of your neck.
"She's asleep," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Completely out. Pulse is seventy-two. Pupils reactive. Skin temperature normal. Pollen's probably fully out. She's going to be just fine."
Joel's arm tightened around you, a possessive, protective reflex.
He pressed a long kiss to the crown of your head, breathing you in. His hand came up to stroke your hair, smoothing the damp strands away from your face.
"God damn," he said to the ceiling, his voice a worn-out rasp. "That was wild."
He turned his head. Jack was on his feet, pulling his jeans up his hips, fastening his belt. Reaching for his flannel shirt. His movements were precise, unhurried, but there was a tremor in his hands that betrayed the cost of control.
"Thank you," Joel said. "No more bunnies for this Honeygirl."
Jack paused mid-motion, chuckling, his hand on the collar of his shirt. He looked at Joel, then at your sleeping form, tucked into the curve of Joel's throat. Your lips were parted, your breath even and deep.
He gave a single nod.
All that needed to be said, understood perfectly between them.
He finished buttoning his shirt and padded quietly into the kitchen. The faucet ran. A glass clinked. He was already preparing water for when you woke up, already thinking ahead.
Joel held you closer, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles.
He pressed another kiss to your hair, then let his eyes close, just for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing, the proof that you were safe.
The way i googled the weirdest things guys...i've literally learned so much about the body LMFAO. if anybody sees my history they would think i've gone crazy. Also this is definitely not an excuse to write medical kink no no🫣
I hope this met some expectations, i'm still very very new to writing Jack abbott so please bear with me!!!
a/n: this is my first published fic in a very, very long time so constructive criticism is welcomed! I have an idea for an angsty pt. 2 so lmk if u want it hehe
Training under Luke Skywalker was difficult.
Despite being a polite and gentle man, his methods of teaching were strict and calculated - each lesson was designed to have a specific outcome and he always made sure she came out of it with the skill and knowledge he intended. This often meant early mornings and late nights, aching muscles and a brain that felt like jelly after focussing on strengthening her connection to the Force.
The most difficult part of training under Luke Skywalker, however, was Luke Skywalker himself.
She had been new to this galaxy when he found her. She honestly doesn’t quite know how she even managed to get from Earth the planet of Tatooine. It involved her bizarrely finding a broken down ship in the woods near her house and somehow getting taken into space by the inhabitants of said ship, ending up galaxies away and missing the primitive planet Earth.
The men that brought her to the desert planet were smugglers, who swore they saved her life because they were certain that whatever debt collectors they had chasing after them would’ve killed her if they knew that she’d seen them. And yet, after many weeks of travelling and not getting along, they just left her on this rock to fend for herself with no knowledge of where she was or how to get home, like true saviours.
Thankfully, however, due to having to help her kidnappers fix their ship after every firefight they got into, she'd found a talent in mechanics, and managed to get by working for Peli Motto, fixing up whatever rust buckets came through her hangars in Mos Eisley Spaceport.
Peli’s hangars were usually home to bounty hunters and smugglers, working for the Bounty Hunters Guild or the Hutts and were just as rough and grimy as you’d expect them to be. And while the odd everyday traveller would come through, it was rarely a special occasion and usually ended with the older woman she called her boss scaring them off with her no-nonsense attitude, always telling it like it is.
So when a ship landed and Peli stopped mid-curse when she turned and saw the x-wing sitting in her Hangar, back straightening when she saw the pilot, the Earthling woman knew he had to be serious business.
She moved to stand beside Peli, watching the lid of the ship lift to reveal who was possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen unbuckling himself from his seat. She found that her own back straightened without realising it as she watched him, clad in black, perfectly fitting robes, pristine black boots and a single gloved hand. She side eyed Peli for any hint or explanation as to who this was and why he seemed so important.
Peli caught her gaze but ignored her, boisterously walking over to the ship, welcoming him as the mystery man lifted himself out of the cockpit.
His feet hit the ground and he regarded her boss with a polite smile, resting his clasped hands behind his back as he gave her a small bow in thanks.
She decided to walk out after Peli, moving out from under the shade of the tool shop and into the sunlight of the open hangar. The blonde man's eyes lifted to meet hers, as if knowing she’d been there all along and gave a small nod, a look on his face that seemed almost… determined. Like he had something planned.
After a while of Peli talking his ear off and offering him any repairs he needed or even a service on his ship free of charge, he finally explained that he was there for a reason. And boy, was it not what she expected.
He introduced himself as Luke Skywalker and the young woman shared a look with Peli, eyes wide. She recognised the name from the Holothrillers she and her boss would watch together late at night in the tool shop, as they ate their bland dinners with greasy hands while Peli elaborated on some of the plot points, explaining how the actions in the films had actually affected the rest of the galaxy in real life and where she was and what she was doing when the events happened.
The younger woman had quickly grown enamoured by the story, asking Peli a million and one questions about the Empire and Luke Skywalker and she’d since only known him as the farm boy who became a Jedi and defeated the Empire. A Historical figure. A man she’d never meet. And yet, here he was.
He explained that he was on a mission to rebuild the Jedi Order, and that he had been searching for others who were Force-sensitive to help rebuild it with him. He said he’d already contacted many. Used the Force to find them and travelled to ask them for their assistance, offering to train them if they needed. But they’d all turned him down.
There had been rumours of a band of Inquisitors, Jedi Killers, still on the hunt, despite the Great Jedi Purge ending over 6 standard years ago, not long before the fall of the Empire. This rumour had made the surviving Jedi, Force-users and parents with Force-sensitive children anxious to reveal themselves for fear of their lives.
It was an understandable fear, one that the lone Jedi found reasonable. Though, it was tiresome to travel to so many different planets to make the same speech, only to get turned down out of fear.
Luke explained that he could feel the Earthlings' connection to the Force. It was distant and lacking strength, but still, there was something there that could be worked upon, that could be strengthened with the correct training. He’d travelled there, to her workplace and makeshift home just to ask her to join him, to train with him and become a Jedi Knight and use her knowledge to train others and keep the Jedi Order alive. To rebuild what was lost to the Dark Side for many years.
Maybe it was her ignorance on the matter due to her brief time in this galaxy, or maybe it was simply the desperate look in his beautiful eyes. But after a bit of convincing and advice from Peli to do what she felt was right - she’d accepted his offer.
The next day, they’d travelled to Ossus where Luke and many builder droids had been and were continuing to build a new Jedi Temple, to be fit with enough rooms and space to train whole generations of Force-sensitive children when the time was right. But for now, the only occupants of the large Temple were just her and her new Master, Luke Skywalker.
He’d had servant droids take her measurements and get her fitted for her own set of Padawan robes as well as a whole new wardrobe of sleep and casual attire, suitable for the Temple. And despite being thankful for the new, perfectly-fitted apparel, she fought tooth and nail until the droids finally allowed her to keep her ill-fitting, grease-stained overalls in the back of her wardrobe, only after they had been deep-cleaned. She knew she may never get the chance to wear them again, much to her dismay, but she couldn’t bear to part with them.
She was a lot older than most Padawan ever were. Most were trained as young children through to adulthood, where they’d be deemed true Jedi Knights by the age she already was, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There were only a handful of Jedi left, after all, and even less who were willing to aid the New Jedi Order.
So, in an attempt to make up for lost time, she tried her absolute hardest, diving head-first into her training. She spent her days learning from her Master and her nights in the Temple library, studying the history of her predecessors, staying up much too late and waking up much too early just to do it all over again.
She was passionate and hardworking, things that she prided herself on. Her work ethic prevailed over anything else… Usually.
See, she had an issue. She was great with history. She’d gotten to a point just mere weeks into her training that she could recite a play-by-play of the Clone Wars if asked to, and found herself absolutely enthralled by every piece of information that she absorbed in that library, going through the thickest history books within a single day if she ever got the privilege of having one off - which was rare. But she excelled in this area because she could do it alone.
Connecting with the Force, physical training or anything else she had to work on with Master Luke was where she struggled. Simply because, well…
She found him so distracting.
At first, it was nearly unbearable. She would flush every time he would touch her to position her body during training. She'd get caught up thinking about him when she was meant to be meditating. She'd stutter when he'd ask her questions that should've been simple to answer, like how she slept or about the book she’d stayed up too late reading.
It was like she was in high school again, crushing over a boy so badly that even the mildest of interactions had her smiling goofily at herself when she lay in bed that night, excited to go to sleep just so she could see him again the next day. But this was worse. Much, much worse.
Because not only was this man her teacher, her Master. It was also written, directly into the scriptures that she read every night before she went to sleep.
A Jedi does not act for personal power or wealth.
But only seeks knowledge and enlightenment.
This scripture, whilst it encourages selflessness and promotes the importance of preserving the knowledge of not only the Jedi, but the galaxy itself, the things that make up the environment around them, also means something deeper, more complicated. And it’s everywhere - all throughout the Jedi Code.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
When master Luke had first shared the Mantra with her a few weeks ago, and recited the oath she must take, she had asked him to elaborate. To explain every rule she was meant to follow and every promise she had to keep. She’d been excited. Eager to learn more of her new life, and the things that lay within it.
But the news had been crushing to her. When she realised that attachment was not frowned upon, not thought of as taboo, but forbidden entirely, she’d gone quiet.
The thought rolled through her head over and over, until it didn’t sound real anymore and Luke's usually relaxed face fell into a small frown, watching her absorb the information.
”I…” She began, a lump forming in her throat that she had to swallow. “I’m to never get married? … Never have children?” She asked, tears welling in her eyes.
He was hesitant to respond, able to see, able to feel the sadness within her. The weight of this new knowledge, crushing. He sighed, saddened to have to hurt her further by reconfirming;
“Emotions can cloud our thoughts. These clouds can lead us into unfathomable darkness.” He’d responded, bluntly. “Only those who find a way to rise above the darkness are deemed worthy to become Jedi.”
It was a hard hurdle to get over, to accept, having always thought of herself as the kind to fall in love, get married and settle down. Become a mother, start a family. Eventually. When she met one who was worthy of her love and her, theirs.
But over time, she grew to accept her new way of life. As her connection to the Force grew, so did her understanding of the Dark Side and the necessity of that rule.
With her academic knowledge of the Force, her determination and the uphill battle that was shoving her crush down. Way deep, deep down. She began excelling at her training. She was able to meditate fully with little to no distraction, had found their day exercises across the creeks and forests of Ossus easier to handle and she even managed to blush only a little when he touched her body during their hand-to-hand combat lessons.
It was now, only in her free time that she found herself thinking of him. After he dismissed her for the day and she was no longer required to have to think of him professionally. It was only in the safety of her quarters, in the dark of night as she lay in bed, that she allowed herself to think of his bare hand touching her skin and the fire she felt in her stomach whenever it did. His chest, warm and inviting, vibrating with his voice as he told her how to position her hands to produce the most amount of force in combat. His biceps, that she’d only seen once, on a particularly hot day on the sunny planet they inhabited and he had been stretching after training, muscles flexing with the movement of his arms.
She groaned with frustration, pressing her pillow into her face to muffle the sound.
An uphill battle, indeed.
-
The next day had been the same as any other. Morning meditation, breakfast and then Force training. But Master Luke pleasantly surprised her when he had made mention of learning something new.
It was midday on Ossus as they sat across from each other, under the shade of a large tree. Stacks of rocks surrounded them, evidence of previous training and meditation sessions. She wore a soft, excited grin on her face, eager to learn. His sandy hair was neat as he spoke to her, saying her name gently.
“In your studies, have you read about Mind Probing?”
Her grin faltered.
Oh, dear Maker, no.
She nodded gently, heat threatening to rise to her cheeks as anxiety slowly filled her and she was thankful that she’d gotten better at mentally shielding, hoping that her Master could not feel her nerves through her Force signature.
She remembers the exact paragraph that she read on Mind-Probing simply because she had had to put the book down as dread filled her at the realisation that she would need to be taught this at some point. She had no clue it would be so soon.
Master Luke’s face remained his usual calm. If he’d noticed her panic in any way, he didn’t show it, nodding in approval and continuing to speak.
“Good.”
She hated the shiver that ran through her at his praise.
“The Force's influence over the minds of other beings can be a valuable tool in the right hands, but it can be easily abused as well.” He began, resting his hands on his knees. “As you will have read; Those on the dark side have been known to use the Force to read the thoughts of other beings and, if necessary, search their minds for information.”
The young woman nodded, trying to keep her face straight as she anxiously toyed with the fabric of her pants. Master Luke’s face showed pure relaxation as he continued.
”It is important for a Jedi to be capable of protecting themselves against such an intrusion, which is why we are going to be practising shielding against the probe.” He finished, observing her silently for a long moment.
She averted her gaze, looking down at a piece of fabric she’d been running her nail over, unable to look at him in the eye, for she was scared of just how much he would be able to see in hers.
“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question, but merely a statement of truth. One that was impossible to deny, so she didn’t.
She nodded, looking back up at him as she did so. She paused her anxious fidgeting to bring her hands into her lap, eyebrows furrowing as she searched for the right words to say.
“This process is known for being exceptionally painful for the subject undergoing the probe." He stated before she could bring herself to speak. “Is it the pain you fear?”
She was silent for a moment, knowing that if she simply lied and said yes, her Master would see right through her even with her mental shields up. Because, well… she was an absolutely terrible liar.
Master Luke had caught her out a few times; when she’d tell him that she didn’t stay up too late, or that she’d drank plenty of water that day. He always told her that her face gave her away; like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
She let out a small sigh.
“Among other things… yes.” She admitted, a blush dusting her cheeks.
Master Luke observed her for a moment longer before nodding gently, a look of understanding in his eyes.
“I understand that it’s invasive.” He began, raising his gloved hand, as if taking an oath. “I can assure you that I will not look further into your mind than what’s necessary.” He promised, earnestly.
She flushed, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights as she blinked away her embarrassment. She hated that she seemed to be so easy for him to read. Has she always been like this? Or does Luke's connection to the Force make him exceptionally good at picking up people's emotions?
It often made her wonder if he was truly as blind to her attraction for him as he made himself out to be. Surely if he could tell what she was thinking now, he wouldn’t be so blind as to miss her fruitless pining.
And if that was the case, then maybe whatever he sees in her head today will be of no surprise?
She breathed deeply, straightening her back and placing her hands back on her knees, as if she was about to start meditating.
She nodded, breathing out a quiet ‘okay’ as permission.
He mimicked her posture as he spoke.
“When I enter your mind, you will be able to feel me. I will have full access to your thoughts and your memories.” He began, watching her face carefully to ensure she understood his words.
“It will, in fact, be painful and you may find it hard to concentrate. However, your goal is to find me within your mind and push me out.”
She let out a nervous breath, rolling her neck and shoulders back to loosen them, taking some time to ground herself and connect with the environment around her. Using the Force to extend her senses and calm her. She nodded, only closing her eyes after witnessing Master Luke close his, seeming satisfied with her consent.
She took a brief moment to relax. Focussing on breathing and emptying her mind to bring herself to a light meditative state, hoping to prepare herself for the experience and calm her anxiously beating heart in one fell swoop whilst she waited for the man in front of her to invade her mind.
It started as something she could sense. Like a disturbance in the air around her, interrupting the usual waves of energy she was used to.
It exudes calm, much like Luke himself, and starts out as feeling quite unimposing. Unthreatening. She thinks to herself that the sensation is odd - unlike anything she has felt before. But the hair on the back of her neck stands as it approaches her. Almost like a tendril, seen with unseeing eyes through her Force signature, skulking through her environment like a serpent looking for prey. She finds herself bristelling at its proximity, goosebumps rising on her skin as she feels its disturbance wade through her energy. Its calm was unwavering, yet the knowledge of its intention made her nervous.
She gulped as it paused in front of her, waiting and patient.
She tried to brace herself, tried to find a way to preemptively build up a wall in her head to prevent it from entering. Yet still, when it struck, she was unprepared.
She whimpered when it hit her, a pain shooting through her skull, like a hundred migraines occurring at once. Her body tensed and her face screwed up in pain, a blur of sensations and imagery and emotion blew through her and her breathing quickened. A strangled cry escaped her lips.
But suddenly, she could see.
Luke was sitting in front of her, under their tree. The picture was hazy, as though a camera was going in and out of focus but he was there all the same; discussing Mind Probing, the wind blowing through his hair as she thought about how beautiful he was. Just as she had just moments ago.
She felt another bout of pain, gritting her teeth to prevent from crying out as the imagery changed, to the mediation they’d done earlier that day. Then again, to her breakfast.
Images of her most recent days flowed through her, the pain getting worse and worse as the memories sped past, the pressure in her mind expanding as the memories went further back, to when they first started training together. When all she thought about was Luke. Her stolen glances, her silent pining.
Through the pain, she felt a pang of embarrassment in her chest, panic shooting through her body as she clutched the fabric of her pants. She struggled to get ahold of herself, to capture her own thoughts through the fog of Luke in her head and the pain making its way down her spine.
Watching him as he stretched. Gazing him up and down.
She let out a grunt as she felt him pushing further, her eyelashes growing wet as tears built up in her eyes as she forced herself to breath strangled breaths, searching desperately for a way to push him out.
She imagined a wall - a barrier. Similar to the one she used for her usual mental shielding, but it was weak against his effort. He pushed against it.
His arms through his tunic. The feeling she got between her legs when she stared at his hands for too long.
She let out a strained sob, eyebrows furrowing and teeth gritting as she began pushing, the image growing blurry with her effort.
She could feel him resisting, pushing himself against the imaginary wall she’d built, trying to wiggle himself through.
She found her embarrassment begin to bubble, flipping inside her chest and morphing to anger. Frustration. The fire of the new emotion helped her as she imagined the wall moving forward, back through her thoughts and memories, shoving against the intrusion, slowly forcing him back out.
The pain grew easier to handle the further forward she pushed, but her mind and body grew tired. She put everything into pushing him back, back to the beginning where he kept her fighting for another moment, pushing against the barrier she struggled desperately to keep up.
She could feel the sweat beading at her forehead as she fought, a shaky breath escaping her as she pushed and pushed and pushed until he eventually, finally, he relented, letting go so suddenly that she hadn't even realised what was happening as a blur of imagery and emotions blew passed her, feeling as though she was falling; hurtling through the Force.
For a moment, she thought she may have gotten lost in her own head. Somehow made a mess of herself and had spun out of control in her own mind.
But as she slowed, an image grew clearer, not of Luke, but of herself.
She sat in the Temple, at the dining table where they ate all their meals, nose buried in one of the historical texts that she could hardly put down, looking awfully concentrated.
She lifted a spoon full of soup up, not daring to take her eyes off the book for even a second as she struggled to find her own mouth, completely missing and dipping her chin in the spoon of soup.
A rush of amusement ran through her own body as she watched herself, feeling the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as affection bubbled in her chest, heart beating the tiniest bit harder.
Confusion swam through her mind, not understanding quite what was going on. So, she pushed forward, the imagery changing, swirling wispily around her as if in a dream.
She could see herself again, during their runs through the bamboo forest, hopping on the stones across the creek.
She pushed once more, only to see the ceiling of a room she didn’t recognise and was overcome with pleasure, thoughts of herself flooding her mind as her pleasure increased; the ghost of a deep moan emerging from the memory.
Without warning, a flash of white surrounded her and she felt as if she was travelling a million miles an hour, hurtling through memories once again as she was shoved out with so much force, she physically toppled back.
She took heaving breaths as confusion clouded her, bringing a hand up to her sore head, groaning. She lay on her back for a moment before moving an arm underneath her to lift herself up into a half-seated position, resting her weight on one arm as she used her other hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, catching her breath.
She opened her eyes, the sun was blinding as they focussed on the figure in front of her, taking a second to adjust in her disorientation. The blurriness cleared to reveal Master Luke in front of her, red faced and mouth agape, looking absolutely mortified.
Understanding flooded her as she finally realised what she had just experienced. Her eyes widened, blinking in awe as she opened her mouth to speak but found herself hesitating.
She pushed herself up fully, resting her weight on her hand.
"D-did I just-" she began but stopped short when Luke stood up.
She watched as he lifted himself off the grass, smoothing out his tunic and pants, face now back to its usual blank state but cheeks still fiery red and for the first time ever, he was avoiding eye contact with her.
"Master Luke, I'm sorry, I didn't-" She wanted to grovel at his feet after what she'd done, apologise for having invaded his personal space. But he raised his hand, signalling her to stop.
He was silent for a second, seeming to need to collect himself before speaking, looking down at his feet as he cleared his throat.
"I think that's enough for today. We'll pick back up tomorrow." His voice had a polite tone, but there was a roughness to it that she hadn't heard before, like he was holding back frustration.
She wanted to speak again, to apologise. She even opened her mouth to do so, but found any potential words dead in her throat.
"You're dismissed." He looked down at the younger woman for a brief second and nodded curtly before beginning to walk back to the temple, his strides longer and faster than she was used to, leaving her under the shade of their tree to process what had just happened.
She spent the rest of the day alone, trying her hardest to train independently, despite having been dismissed by Luke, but finding herself so distracted that she decided to just finish training early anyway, heading back to the temple and pottering around, trying to rid herself of the guilt that sat in the pit of her stomach.
She knew Luke must’ve been really upset when he didn’t show up for dinner. When the servant droid placed her plate in front of her and hadn’t returned to place one on the other side of the table, she felt her heart sink a little more.
She sighed, moving her padawan braid behind her shoulder and began eating solemnly.
She felt terrible for what she did, invading his privacy like that. Having made him look at her the way that he did, unable to look her in the eye. Like he had been betrayed.
But the worst part of it all, what kept eating away at her; she hated to admit it. Hated to be in direct violation of the Jedi Code by being so utterly selfish by finding that the guilt that bubbled in her gut, did not come from the invasion of privacy, but from the knowledge that she had enjoyed what she saw. The image played over and over again in her head, involuntarily, as if it was a malfunctioning hologram, skipping over itself to replay all over.
The guilt followed her to bed that night, where instead of smiling up at her ceiling like she often did, her fingers twitched by her sides as she lay awake, filled with the knowledge that he had pleasured himself while thinking of her.
It took every ounce of self restraint to not do the same - knowing she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye tomorrow if she did.
The next morning was bright and warm as she breathed deeply under their tree, body relaxed and mind empty as the rocks around her hovered silently.
Luke was usually already under the tree when she arrived, having been meditating for Maker knows how long before she even left the Temple, but when he hadn’t been sitting in his usual place when she walked up the small hill today, she had accepted, with much disappointment, that she would be training on her own for the day.
She was, however, pleasantly surprised when she felt a familiar presence enter her senses. Despite her eyes being closed, she could see him, walking toward their tree, looking at her with his usual neutral expression as he adjusted his leather glove on his right hand, no sign of the blush that graced his cheeks yesterday afternoon.
Although, she noticed something about him immediately. That something was different. It took her a moment of mulling it over to realise that it was that his presence in the Force seemed… hollow, almost. Like something was missing.
She quickly realised that he was guarded. Shielding himself from her.
“I was starting to think I’d be training on my own today.” She stated when he’d gotten close.
He was silent for a moment and she could see him pause in front of her, looking down at her as he seemed to collect his thoughts.
”I’m sorry for running late.” He said, moving toward his usual place in front of her.
She could hear the rustling of his clothes as he moved his hands to his sides, looking at her with that unreadable look that she loved and hated. His breathing was relaxed but he had a tenseness in his shoulders that was not usually there.
“Don’t apologise,” She began, opening her eyes slowly to look up at him properly. “I’d be upset at me too, after what I did yesterday.”
He said nothing as he stared at her, face relaxed except for a soft furrow of his brow. She sighed, lowering the rocks around her gently to the ground and moving her hands into her lap, toying with her fingers.
“I… invaded your privacy. I entered your mind without your permission, and I apologise for that.” She said, thankful that she could finally get the apology out in the open, after sitting with the weight of it on her shoulders since the second she’d seen his face yesterday.
She found it hard to look directly at him, as despite him being a beautiful and kind man, he was intimidating. He was often hard to read, even when he wasn’t shielding himself from her. When unguarded, he usually emitted an aura of calm. Pure neutrality. The same way she felt when she just finished meditating. But his presence was also always intense. Heavy.
And now, with his shield up and no way to feel his usual calm demeanor, the only thing she could feel was his intensity.
Maybe it was her attraction to him that made him feel so intimidating to her, maybe it was just the way that he was, but she felt herself grow nervous. However, she chose to keep herself open. Allowed him to feel her anxiety, her guilt, her pure sincerity, if he chose to pay attention - and she knew he always did.
He breathed in deeply, looking away from her to take a seat across from the younger woman, now eye level with her. She felt a small shift in the air around them, filling her with a gentle wave of emotion. Calm.
He’d opened himself up to her, just a little.
She looked at him again, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
“It was an accident.” He stated, simply. A soft, reassuring smile on his lips. “You pushed too hard and when I left your mind, you followed me into mine. I should’ve prepared myself for it but I didn’t.” He moved, straightening his back and relaxing his shoulders, evidently preparing to join her in meditation.
“I accept your apology and I’d like to offer you one of my own. For not informing you of the possibility.”
She smiled, joining him in adjusting her posture as she nodded.
“It’s okay.” She confirmed, closing her eyes once again, grateful to feel the weight of anxiety lifted off her chest. The day moved like every other, training as normal, eating together as always.
But there was something different between them now. A shift in their dynamic.
It was subtle at first - she assumed it was simply the fact that they’d moved past a hitch in their platonic relationship. A teaching moment between Master and Padawan, moving past their personal feelings and focussing on the training at hand.
However, as the days passed, lingering glances had turned into shy eye contact. Her blushing cheeks at his touch were met with knowing smirks. Their dinners, usually littered with small talk and questions about Jedi training, turned into meaningful conversations. Hells, she’d even made him laugh a few times and boy, was she ecstatic to discover that Luke Skywalker, the most serious and quiet man she knows, Jedi Knight, has the sweetest, most boyish giggle she’s ever heard. She revelled in the sight of his toothy smile, cheeks creasing with the size of his grin.
Her heart pounded even just thinking about it as he led her to a new location of the Temple, one that had still been getting built by worker droids when she first arrived to Ossus for training. The room was large and open, with a lifted podium in the centre, where he led her before handing her a wooden pole, the handle surrounded in metal and wrapped in leather, to replicate the weight of a mechanical hilt.
Her eyes widened.
”Saber training?” She said, awestruck as she gazed up at Luke, who looked down at her with the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nodded, moving to stand in front of the shorter woman, hands behind his back as he watched her.
“I’d like you to position yourself in a fighting stance.” He said simply, face blank once again, calm yet intimidating aura ever present.
Despite their recent change of dynamic in their free time, he rarely shifted his focus off of training her properly.
There had been a few times where she tried to keep their light conversation from dinner or breakfast going into their lessons, but had each time been met with a telling look or sometimes even a gentle scolding, her name rolling off of his tongue with a disciplinary tone. A reminder to stay focussed.
She gripped the hilt of the wooden saber in her hands and shuffled her feet shoulder-width apart, bending her knees slightly, trying to mimic the stance she’d seen in the Holothrillers that Peli and her would watch on Mos Eisley.
Once in position, she looked at Luke, waiting for him to provide further guidance.
He observed her, gaze slowly trailing down her body as he took in her position, tilting his head as he did so, seeming ponderous.
Her stomach fluttered at the sight of his eyes taking her in with his very serious expression, his jaw tightening as he observed her.
He started to move, his hands staying behind his back as he slowly circled her, his footsteps echoing in the open space, their sound becoming her only knowledge of his location after he exited her vision, reminding her once again of her weakness in the Force when preoccupied and not meditating. Their recent Force training sessions had been consistent with that Maker-forsaken Training Remote. The burns on her legs and feet from its tiny beams are proof enough of her ineptitude with the Force when distracted. They would soon have to make a trip into the city for more Bacta at the rate she’s going through it.
His sudden appearance directly behind her startles her, jumping when he begins speaking. She swears she can hear the hit of a smirk in his voice, amused by her skittishness.
“Your instinctual position proves almost perfect.” He begins, “However, we need to make a few small adjustments.”
He takes a step closer and the only thing she can sense without the aid of the Force is the sound of his clothes rustling as he moves and the sound of his leather glove stretching with his fingers. Her grip on the hilt of the wooden saber tightens as she anticipates his touch, her senses heightened as her heart began to pound.
Her breath hitches when she feels his gloved hand touch the back of her thigh, pushing as he does so.
“Bend your knees a little more.”
She does as he says, lowering herself with his hand guiding her, revelling in the feeling of his fingers. The smooth leather of his glove makes her yearn for the touch of his skin against hers. She can’t help but think of him gripping her thigh, moving her however he wants.
His hand pulling away pulls her out of her thoughts, the ghost of his touch tingling her skin, making her legs feel weak.
He then gently places both hands on her shoulders, just soft enough to stabilise her as he brings himself closer, warm chest nearly touching her back as he uses the outside of his boot to push on the inside of her right foot, spreading her legs the tiniest bit more.
The unexpected action makes face flush and her toes curl in her shoes as she has to consciously focus on keeping her breathing steady. Mind wandering, immediately.
”Keeping your feet further apart helps with agility when in combat.” He stated, factually, his breath on her ear and she has to try not to shiver at the feeling.
He removed his hands slowly, trailing down her upper arms before retreating fully as he moved to stand in front of her again, keeping his distance close.
The young woman took deep breaths, closing her eyes to take a moment to relax before opening them again, her dilated pupils taking him in. His face stayed neutral, exuding relaxation as he watched her and she hoped she didn’t look as desperate as she felt, practically panting with want, too aware of every part of her body that yearned for his touch, from her hands, to her feet, to the apex of her thighs.
She grew tired as she kept her shield up, strengthening it as her thoughts wandered, trying to focus on anything other than his eyes or his hands or his stupid unreadable face.
She took another deep breath.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. His demeanor remained unchanged as he looked down to her hands gripping the hilt before he raised his own, gloved fingers gripping the saber while the other hand reaches for hers.
She let out a shaky breath when his skin touched hers as he repositioned her hands, swapping them around whilst he held her saber for her.
She hoped she wasn’t reading too far into it when his hand lingered on her fingers for a moment longer than it should’ve.
“Always lead with your dominant hand.”
He moved away again, walking with his hands behind his back as he observed just as he did before, eyes roaming her body for signs of imperfection. His head moved as he looked her over, circling her once again, his gaze burning into her skin.
His demeanor made her feel like a rabbit in a lion's den. And her face flushed at the knowledge that she liked it.
The rest of saber training had felt torturous. Not only because of his lingering touches, but because watching her Master wield a saber with ease, his tunic tightening around his muscles, his breathing growing ragged with exertion was like collapsing dehydrated in the middle of the desert and seeing an ice cold water bottle sitting just outside of reach. Like being in a prison cell, the key to the door hanging just outside the bars.
Like being infatuated with a man you can’t have.
She touched herself in the refresher to the thought of him, after training.
After dinner, spending some time in the Temple library, opting for a romance book after the excitement of the day, and doing her final meditation for the night, she retired to bed where she tossed and turned more than she usually would.
The events of her day played over in her mind, the ghost of her Masters touch still present on her skin.
She came to wonder if her frustration with her inability to be with the man she so desperately and selfishly pined for, indicated a dark desire. A path to the Dark Side. If, deep down, she really was filled with selfishness and hate.
She’d never identified with the Dark Side, often finding the lust for power obnoxious and all-too similar to Earth's facism, a political standpoint she’s always detested. But the Dark and the Light side of the Force were not a simple matter of opinion or politics.
No, it was almost as though it was destined. Something that the Force predetermined to keep balance within it. So, although she felt no pull to the Dark Side, was her selfish desire for Luke Skywalker a pathway to it? Would this infatuation with her Master create a pull that has already been predetermined?
The thought had her restless and after chasing sleep for an hour and it eluding her, she decided to just continue reading the new book she had started this evening in hopes of putting her racing thoughts behind her.
Flipping the blankets off of her body and shuffling to the edge of the bed, she stood to walk to the other side of her quarters, where the book sat on the table next to a small carpet she used for her evening meditations. Luke had placed it in here, insisting she have somewhere other than just their tree to sit and meditate.
She gripped the book whilst looking down at the cover, an image of a Human man holding a Twi’lek woman by the waist, staring lovingly into her eyes. She sighed down at it almost longingly before moving to make her way back to her bed.
Her feet stopped dead on the stone floor when a small, nagging feeling rose up on the back of her neck. It almost felt like a small tingle, like a bug was crawling on her skin or her hair was grazing her neck. She thought she may have imagined it at first, but it quickly grew in intensity. A shiver ran down her spin and her blood ran cold.
She stood in the centre of her room, waiting. Feeling. Goosebumps rose on her skin as the shiver expanded across her whole body, her feet had pins and needles.
Something was wrong.
Her eyebrows furrowed, her toes flexed against the stone tiles as an image of a black mask appeared in her mind. A flash of blinding red light.
A deep feeling of dread filled her, her chest tightening as the feeling overwhelmed her and she brought a hand up to place her palm against it, feeling her heartbeat rattling in her ribcage.
It was then that she heard a scream. Not in her head, but within the Temple.
Luke.
The book fell to her feet and she took off, ripping her door open and sprinting down the hall, through the common area where they ate together and down the opposite hallway, toward her Masters quarters.
She had never been here before, had never even thought about coming here, out of respect for the unspoken expectation between Master and Padawan. But as she grew closer, the hairs on her arms stood as the overwhelming sense of danger flooded her senses.
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think it over for a second before pulling the door open and running so fast into Luke's room that she nearly tumbled over the area rug on the floor.
Luke laid seemingly unharmed in his bed, writhing and whimpering. But as she watched him, flashes of red light flooded her head and she blinked as they appeared.
“Luke!” She yelled, running to his side, looking down at him under the covers, the word ‘no’ tumbling out of his lips between whimpers and groans.
She was confused, brows furrowing as panic filled her. Was he just dreaming? And if he was just dreaming, why was she sensing it? Experiencing it through the Force?
His shoulders convulsed as he let out wailing sobs. His face scrunched as he began crying and her heart clenched at the sight. His beautiful face twisted into agony, as though he was in mourning.
She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, his bare skin wet with sweat, jostling him in an attempt to wake him.
“Luke, please!” She cried, anxious to get him out of whatever dream he was having. He continued to writhe, his hair stuck to his damp forehead.
She placed a knee on his bed, leaning over him to capture both of his shoulders to shake him.
”Luke! Wake up!” She shouted louder this time, being cautious as to not injure him with her grip.
He gasped as his eyes shot open, the word ‘no’ still escaping his lips as his body jolted out of sleep, startling even more at the sight of her.
She let out a small yelp as he shot up, her hands leaving his shoulders and up to her chest, frightened by his sudden movement.
”it’s okay!” She shouted over his whimpers, “Luke, it’s okay! It’s me!” She pleaded.
Confusion clouded his eyes as his body heaved with ragged breath, bracing one hand on his bed and bringing the other to his chest, flattening it across his sternum as he caught his breath, still whimpering and mumbling, as if still coming out of the throws of his dream.
“Luke, are you ok?” She brought a hand down to his forearm, grazing his skin gently so as to not frighten him again.
He flinched a little at the contact but settled when his eyes caught hers, clearer than they were before and she breathed out a relieved breath, grateful to see the recognition in his face.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to gain control of his breathing. His face was still twisted in confusion and panic.
“I-I can’t-“ He tried to speak but struggled, closing his eyes.
She looked around his room quickly, realising she hadn’t taken note of anything when she’d entered and hoped to find something that could help him now.
She nearly gasped in happiness when her eyes settled on the glass jug of water on the table across from the bed.
“Hang on.” She stated, giving his arm a reassuring tap before hurrying over to the table, picking up one of the upturned glasses on the tray and pouring some fresh water into it.
She brought it back over to his bed, grabbing at his hand to guide it to the glass, where he looked up at her with grateful eyes and a furrowed brow. He nodded in thanks as he gripped it with shaky hands, bringing it to his lips to take a sip.
She then hurried to the other side of the room, grateful to see that their quarters were practically identical. She rushed over his own meditation mat and pulled aside the thin curtains so she could open a set of balcony doors, allowing the cool night breeze to enter the room, something she often did whilst she was meditating in her own room.
She turned to watch him sigh in relief when the breeze hit his wet skin, the messy bed hair on his head moved with it. He removed the glass from his lips, bringing it down to rest in his lap.
It was only now, after her goosebumps died down and the shiver of imminent danger had left her, that she took notice of his appearance.
He was shirtless, the sheet that had initially covered him when she entered pooled on his lap, exposing his chest. He was unexpectedly lean, although she supposed you had to be to be a Jedi; even she had noticed a difference in her body after she began her training almost a standard year ago. The moonlight flooding in from the open door glistened against his moist skin, revealing the contours of his biceps, and as she looked at his arms from her new position in his quarters, she noticed that he wasn’t wearing his signature leather glove and she could now see his broken skin, where something metallic shined in the moonlight from underneath.
As she walked closer, she realised that underneath the skin of his right hand was metal and wiring, the skin around it seeming damaged.
She had heard the stories, heard that he’d had his hand cut off by his own father, but had never known the legitimacy of them. All the books, Holothrillers and verbal retellings had said different things. Some that he was the hero, others that he was the villain. But they all showed the same depiction of his father. A man in a black mask with a red saber.
She sat cautiously on the other side of the bed, watching as he finally caught his breath.
“Are you ok?” She asked, quietly. Despite being the only two in the temple that aren’t droids, the darkness of the night made her feel like she had to whisper, like they were sharing a secret they didn’t want others to hear.
Luke moved to place the glass of water on his nightstand and she mentally scolded herself as she watched his muscles contort with the movement.
“Yes, thank you,’ he began, still capturing his breath as he moved back to look at her. “I apologise if I woke you.” He clasped his hands together in his lap, toying with his fingers as he stared at her with a sheepish expression.
He was embarrassed.
She shook her head, adjusting her position on his bed so that she was sitting on her knees, facing him entirely.
“You didn’t.” She tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear, watching as Luke took in her nightgown and untied tresses. She realised that he had also never seen her like this and probably found it equally as jarring as she did.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was about to start reading my new book to see if it would help when I became overwhelmed with a terrible feeling.” She explained, looking down at her lap. ”I had no clue what it was until I heard you yell.”
Luke suddenly moved, and she looked up at him, seeing a look of surprise on his face as he adjusted his position to face her.
“You could sense it?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded. “Yes. I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like the room just stilled and all I could feel was this overwhelming sense of danger or fear - but it wasn’t my own.” She elaborated, realising that Luke was clearly interested in her experience. She watched as he nodded, silently urging her to continue.
“And then I could see… a figure. A man in a mask. But I wasn't really seeing it. It was like a picture had appeared in my head.”
Luke nodded, a soft smile adorning his face.
“Your connection with the force has grown.” He stated simply, gulping down the last of his ragged breath. He seemed almost proud but there was a distant look in his eye, as if he was still thinking of his dream.
She shuffled closer, moving toward him again, capturing her nightgown in her hand to gather it at her knees so she could move without the fabric getting in the way.
She lowered her voice again as she asked;
”Were you dreaming of Vader?”
His eyes met hers for a brief moment before moving again to stare down at the bedsheets, his face scrunched as he thought, his hair still stuck to his forehead.
“N-no. It was someone else.” She could tell he was thinking back, trying to connect any dots he could find. “I didn’t recognise him. But you feeling it through the Force tells me that this was not just a dream.” He lets out a sigh, bringing his robotic hand up to his hair, smoothing it out.The mechanical pieces clicked quietly as they moved with him.
“A premonition?” She asked, awestricken at the thought. Luke gravely nodded in return, his hand dropping to his lap once again.
”Do you ever know when it will come true?” She questions further, knees knocking with his as she moves even closer to him without thinking, interest piqued. She’d read of Jedi getting prophetic visions and had found great interest in it, having never experienced one before - until now, she supposed.
He looked down at their legs, seeming to think for a moment before responding.
“No, it’s hard to know when it will happen. It may never happen.” He began, his eyes on her exposed knees and the fabric of her nightgown pooled between her thighs.
She came to a slow realisation of the situation they were currently in.
She was in his quarters. In the middle of the night. In his bed. In nothing but a nightgown.
She suddenly hoped the white light of the moon didn’t reveal the blush on her cheeks as he continued speaking, the air around them seeming to have shifted as he, too, realised their predicament.
“The future is always changing. The actions of the present are constantly adjusting the future.” He gazed down at her, his voice thinning as he spoke.
There was something different about him as he sat across from her. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just woken from a nightmare or, as she’d just discovered, a premonition, but he was more expressive. His usually neutral face was still relaxed, a great juxtaposition to how he looked earlier, but his eyes communicated more than she was used to. He continued looking at the way her nightgown flowed around her, eyes glittering in the moonlight. His eyes would meet hers every so often, as if to maintain the guise of innocence as his jaw clenched, the action visible in the contrast of the soft light.
The room seemed heavier, and she wasn't sure if it was the Force, or her imagination, but there was almost a kind of electricity filling the space between them. The new aura around them made her stomach flutter, reminding her of their time saber training earlier today, a memory that has her mental scolding herself once again, sure that she was to make a fool of herself if she thinks too hard about the way he touched her then and the way his body moved under his tunic. What she would give to see him do it shirtless like this.
She swallowed, fingers clenching her nightgown nervously, an action she see’s Lukes eyes catch instantly. Her inner thighs tingle and her heart pounds as she prepares herself to speak.
“Are the dreams of a Jedi often premonitions?” She asked, voice weak as she moved her eyes down to his body, his biceps twitching with every small movement as he toyed with his fingers in his lap. She watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he gulped.
His hair was still tousled, shoulders moving in breaths that still aren’t quite even, his eyes shining with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.
“Not always... But they can be.” His response was delayed, distracted almost. His eyes were lidded as they darted across her face. At her eyes, to her lips and across her cheeks that looked so smooth and so pleasant in the night.
A cold breeze blew through the open balcony window, making the curtains behind her dance and her nightgown move against her body, brushing against her nipples. Her toes curled as they hardened in response, a quiet breath escaped her, nearly inaudible, but he heard it. Of course he heard it.
Luke watched as her hair flowed around her shoulders, not used to seeing it out of its usual braid or bun. She could see his eyes trail down the strands of hair within her padawan braid, down to her collarbones, and he licked his lips when his gaze met her chest, breath seeming to falter at the sight.
His breathing grew heavy again as she leaned forward without thinking, her body moving practically without her permission. She wasn’t even thinking about what she was doing. Her stomach bubbled with longing and all she knew was that she needed to be close to him.
“How do you tell the difference between a dream and something prophetic?” She whispered, pausing so she could look into his eyes, looking at whatever emotion lay beneath them, desperate to know if this was ok, If she was reading this correctly.
There was something there, something akin to desire. But there was hesitation as well. She could see it in the crease between his eyebrows. It made her hesitate, not wanting to push this further if he didn’t want it.
“You just feel it.” He responded shakily, swallowing once more as his eyes darted to her lips, his tongue wetting his own without a second thought. When his eyes met hers again, there was an excited cloudiness there.
She took it as her sign. Her permission to lean in closer, watching him as she did so for any sign of discomfort, but he looked at her lips again and she could’ve sworn he leaned in too.
She could feel his hot breath on her face as she neared and she stopped just before their lips met, waiting for him to make the final move.
He hesitated.
“We shouldn’t do this.” He stated simply but didn’t make a move to pull away, his voice a rough whisper.
Her nose bumped his as she moved the smallest bit to look him in the eye, lips moving further away just by a centimetre
“Do you want me to stop?” She asked. Her question was genuine, but it came out breathlessly. Dreamily. Full of want.
He took a moment to respond, gulping nervously, his breathing shaky.
She was about to pull away, about to apologise for her forwardness when he finally shook his head.
“No.”
He still didn’t move toward her, like he was nervous to make the first move but when she finally brought her lips to his in a gentle kiss, he responded immediately. His lips closed around hers without question, soft and cautious.
Despite her initiating it, he took the lead, repositioning his head to capture her lips with more ease, adjusting his body as he leant in.
She lifted a hand to his cheek, sighing against his lips when he leant into her touch, moving his real hand to the side of her neck, cupping the back of her head to pull her in whilst his mechanical hand rested on her thigh in front of him.
As the kiss deepened, she lifted herself on to her knees, cautiously crawling into his lap, making sure he had plenty of time to stop her if he felt like he needed to, but he welcomed her gladly. His hand on her thigh slid up to her hip to pull her in, the fabric of her nightgown riding up unintentionally as he did.
She settled into his lap, body on fire as her thighs rested around his waist, enjoying the way her bare skin felt against his.
The kiss was heated, breathless and desperate, but remained innocent enough until his grip on her tightened and he pulled her closer, chests completely flush.
A whine left her throat at the feeling of her bare sex brushing against the unmistakable hardness under his sleep pants.
He sighed in response, moving his hand from her neck to her bare thigh, pulling her in closer again, encouraging the movement of her hips.
She ground down on him properly for the first time and he whined into her mouth. The sound was deep and desperate and she could feel it vibrate in his chest against her breasts as it came out.
She moved a hand to the back of his head, lacing her fingers through his hair as she felt Luke’s tongue ask for entrance against her lips.
She moved her hips again when their tongues met, encouraging him to continue. Giving him all the clues he needed to keep going, the reassurance that she was enjoying herself and that she was desperate for more of him.
His hand on her thigh trailed up under the fabric of her nightgown and around the curve of her ass, gripping it as he pulled her against him, jutting his hips up to meet the movement. She gripped his shoulder as her folds rubbed against his length, finding herself frustrated at the barrier of his sleep pants between them.
He placed his other hand under her nightgown, the fabric gathering on his forearms as he explored her bare skin, bringing his hands up to capture her breast in his palm, giving it an experimental squeeze.
She pushed her chest further into his hand whilst she rocked against him, breathing laboured. She sighed when he grunted in appreciation at the weight of her in his palm.
His thumb brushed against her nipple lightly and she pulled away from the kiss to let out a shaky moan, taking a moment to look at him.
“We really shouldn’t do this.” She stated, looking him in the eyes. But her actions betrayed her words, cupping his cheek and rolling her hips again, eyes closing at the feeling. She knew how he felt about this. About the Jedi Code. And wanted to give him any out he may have needed before they went too far.
But he groaned at her excitement, at the feeling of her wetness seeping through his cotton pants, eyes dropping to her neck and collarbone, where he brought a hand up to move her padawan braid over her shoulder with the rest of her hair.
“Do you want me to stop?” He mimicked her words from just moments before, his voice raspy and breathless as he brought his lips to her throat, shivering when he heard her gasp and grip the back of his hair at the feeling.
“Please don’t.” She moaned, revelling in the feeling of his lips dancing across her skin.
He let out a deep chuckle, one she’d never heard from him before, his breath cooling the saliva on her neck, making her whine as he brought his hands down to the hem of her gown and began pulling it up. A wave of excitement ran through her as he removed his lips to lift the fabric over her head, leaving her bare in front of him.
His eyes roamed her body, wetting his lips as he looked down at her breasts, discarding the garment wherever it fell and bringing both of his hands to her chest, thumbs grazing over her nipples once more, a restrained breath leaving his mouth as he watched as her face contorted in pleasure.
She reached a hand between them, tugging at the band of his cotton sleepwear to communicate what she wanted.
She lifted herself up on her knees, giving him space to pull the garment down.
Her thighs quivered with excitement as his length was freed from his pants, pink tip wet with precum and standing flush and straight.
She helped him rid his legs of the fabric so they were both bare for one another, hearts hammering and chests heaving with strained breath as they gazed at each other, the weight of what they were about to do sinking in. They didn’t move for a moment, looking to the other for their final looks of approval, to make sure this was a decision they wanted to make together.
He looked up at her, eyes softening as he brought his hand to her cheek, pulling her in. She captured his lips in a kiss once more, revelling in the spark on her skin where their bare chests connected.
She moved over his lap, rolling her hips once again and they both sighed as her wet folds finally ground against the bare underside of his length. His hand grasped her hip, making her skin feel like it was on fire as his fingers tightened on her body, groaning at the sensation of her slick coating his shaft.
She did it once, twice more before lifting herself on her knees whilst he moved his real hand between their bodies, positioning himself at her entrance.
She lowered herself onto him, watching his face as his tip breached her entrance.
She gasped at the feeling and electricity shot through her. His jaw hung open, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders moved with the inflation of his lungs, eyelids fluttering. He let out a strained moan, his grip bruisingly tight.
They made eye contact as she settled further, taking her time lowering herself on to his length, savouring the feeling of her stretching around his girth.
She moaned when she finally bottomed out, gripping his shoulders to ground her as her thighs quivered. His eyes were blown, pupils dilated as he watched her face, closing them only to place a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, his arms wrapping around her waist as she began to move.
It was agonisingly slow and drove him crazy, the way she moved on him, lifting her hips and feeling him dragging out of her slowly, only to sink back down again at the same pace. Slowly and gently, savouring the feeling of him inside her, like she was committing him to memory.
His grip tightened as he grabbed a hold of her thighs, helping her lift her body, guiding her.
The way he grabbed her made her think he was going to take charge, change the pace and slam her body back down to his. But instead, he matched her pace, moaning into her mouth and jutting his hips in time with hers, needy and desperate but still tender and gentle.
His head dropped to her shoulder as their bodies moved together, leaving sloppy, delirious kisses on her neck every so often while she gripped his hair, moaning into his neck as his fingers gripped her body. The sound of their panting filled the room as their pace quickened, Luke’s breathing growing laboured.
She could tell he was fast approaching his release. Could sense it from the way he grasped at her thighs but also within the air around her, as if the tension in his body filled the room. The coil in his stomach, growing.
His shield must’ve been down.
He moved back, eyes locking with hers as he positioned his mechanical hand between their bodies, the faux skin feeling close to lifelike, but lacking the warmth of his body. She could see the determination in his face, like he knew he was going to finish too fast and wanted to make sure she finished first.
He laid a hand flat on her stomach, reaching his thumb down until he found her clit.
“M-maker.” She gasped, eyes nearly rolling back at the spark his circling thumb sent through her body. If her eyes had been open, she would’ve seen the satisfied smirk he wore when her body stuttered against him, savouring the feeling of her clenching around him. The sounds she was making flowed through him, bringing him closer to his end.
The presence of his pleasure flooded her through the Force, swirling in the air as his release grew near, aiding her journey as well.
As if he could feel it, maybe he actually could, he put more pressure on her clit and her body shivered as she got closer to her climax, struggling to move against him.
He thrust his hips up, using his other hand, still clasped on her waist, to guide her down on to him, taking charge as her body struggled with the extra stimulation. She moaned as his hips bucked into her, his cock filling her beautifully as she throbbed around it, orgasm swirling in her abdomen.
He guided her through it, swirling his thumb around her clit until her thighs convulsed around his waist. Her face contorted in ecstasy, moaning as she reached her climax and Luke finally allowed himself to finish, burying his face in her neck as he whimpered with his release, hips sputtering and biceps flexing with the grip he had on her body, cock twitching inside her.
Her walls throbbed around him as she came down from her high, falling limp against his body, face resting on his shoulder as she caught her breath, enjoying the remaining waves of pleasure as their bodies relaxed into one another.
His hand left her pelvis, moving to engulf her in an exhausted embrace, one hand flat against her back and the other in her hair, thumb rubbing against her jaw.
They stayed there for a while, enjoying being in each other's arms until she eventually pulled back, only to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. He reciprocated sweetly, stroking her hair softly and massaging his fingers into her scalp.
They pulled apart to rest their foreheads together, eyes closed and simply appreciating each other's presence, their heavy breathing slowing as they relaxed.
After a while of comfortable silence, a thought struck her and the young woman smiled, letting out a soft chuckle, hand moving to cover her mouth as she opened her eyes.
Luke pulled back to look her in the eye, a smile toying at his lips.
“What?” He asked with a soft voice.
She giggled, covering her face shyly as she shook her head, hair flowing around her shoulders. “It’s nothing-“ she chuckled again, eyes closing as her shoulders shook with soft laughter.
A toothy grin broke out on his face, his cheeks creasing as he let out his own laugh.
“Well now you have to tell me.” He teased, lifting a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear affectionately.
She smiled at him, hesitating for a moment but so caught up in the intimacy of the moment and the laughter between them that she said it anyway.
“I was just thinking…” she trailed off, looking away as she held back another laugh. “That for a man sworn to celibacy, you sure seem to know what you’re doing.” She hid her face as it came out of her mouth, cheeks flushing as she giggled.
Luke’s eyes widened, a surprised look on his face at the forwardness of her statement and for a moment she was nervous she’d said too much. But she relaxed when he scrunched his nose as a shy smile broke out on his face.
“Oh my-“ he cut himself off with a laugh, bringing a hand up to his face in embarrassment.
She laughed even harder at his reaction, thankful that he’d found himself amused by her joke, bringing a hand to rest on his bicep.
He removed his hand from his face and looked up at her again, a wide smile still playing on his lips.
“I haven’t always been a Jedi, you know.” He offered as an explanation, dropping his hand to play with the ends of her hair.
She smirked, deciding to keep going with her teasing.
“So Tattooines resident farm boy, Luke Skywalker, got around that much, huh?” She poked his cheek playfully when she said it, smiling when he rolled his eyes in jest.
“Not that much.” He shook his head, swatting her hand away gently. “But I did have a friend, Biggs, who loved to talk about all of his experiences.” He exaggerated his words when describing his friend, a boyish giggle left his throat at the memory, his face plastered with his grin.
She smiled affectionately at him as she toyed with his robotic hand that he hadn’t removed from hers, feeling the replicated skin and the mechanics underneath it, watching as the gears moved with every twitch of his fingers.
When his laugh died down, he continued;
“And you know that we aren’t sworn to celibacy.” He teased, still toying with the ends of her hair with his other hand, trailing his fingertips across the bead that secured the braid behind her ear, the hair within it longer than the rest on her head.
“We can technically make love, we just can’t be in love.” He finished, a smirk still playing on his lips but she could hear the way he trailed off, watched as the smile slowly left his face and a sudden sadness filled his eyes.
She smiled softly at him, trying to keep the conversation light.
“Sounds like a loophole to me.” She joked, lacing her fingers with his. He looked down at them, rubbing a mechanical thumb across the back of her hand, the whirring of the gears within it breaking the silence in the room.
She doesn’t know why she says it, why it was on her mind or why she thought it was a good idea to verbalise it, but without thinking, she whispers;
”Those things kind of go hand in hand for me.”
The weight of her words filled the room and she felt mortified the second she said it, in awe of the implied admission in the sentence, but unable to deny it.
His eyes met hers, realisation settling in them as his face fully dropped to one of sadness. Something akin to regret washed over him as he took a moment to respond, mouth opening and closing as he thought of what to say, shaking his head.
The way he said her name reminded her of the times he’d scold her for being distracted, but instead of authority behind his tone, it was disappointment. Heartbreak.
He brought his other hand on top of their clasped fingers.
“This was-“ he stops short, struggling to find the words.
He shook his head, running a thumb over her hand as he tries to collect his thoughts.
“We shouldn’t have…” He can’t bring himself to say any more, but he doesn’t have to.
“I know.” She states, simply. A sad smile ghosts her face as she looks at him, bringing her free hand up to his, cupping his cheek. “I know, Luke.”
Despite his words. Despite what he knows he should be doing; He leans into her touch. Furrowing his eyebrows, gloomy eyes looking into hers as he watched them begin to tear up. His chest tightened at the sight of her eyes welling, gripping her hand tighter.
“C-can we just…” She began, swallowing the lump in her throat in an attempt not to cry. “Can we pretend that it’s ok? Just for tonight?” She asked, pushing his hair back to get a better view of his face, committing the view of his desperate eyes in the white light of the moon to memory.
His stare darted between her eyes, seeming torn. He was silent for a while, jaw clenching as his mind raced. But eventually, he sighed, rubbing his real hand over her forearm, almost reassuringly as he nodded, a sad smile on his face.
She brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, leaning down to peck his lips once more and he held her there, savouring the feeling of her lips on his.
She adjusted herself in his lap, his cock still half-hard inside her and he let out a small, overstimulated grunt, pulling away for a second to look her in the eyes, bringing his hand up to wipe the tear that began to roll down her cheek.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” He promised, cradling her face.
She nodded with a sad smile, leaning in to kiss him again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
The night passed slowly as swapped stories, sharing laughs together in each other's embrace, tangled in the bed sheets as the sound of the curtains shuffling in the breeze filled the room amongst their whispers.
He told her of his time growing up on Tatooine. Of his best friend, Biggs and his aunt Beru and Uncle Owen and all the trouble he’d get in for getting up to mischief in town. He explained how he and Biggs used to race landspeeders and fly small ships whenever they could, often crashing or ending up somewhere they shouldn’t have just because they egged each other on and brought out the worst in each other in the most beautifully chaotic way. He said that doing these silly things had made him realise that he wanted to be a pilot, and had even applied for the Imperial academy, simply because he knew they would train him to fly better than he knew he already could.
He made her giggle at the mention of his childhood memories of Peli, who he hadn’t really known as anything but the mean lady at the Spaceport that wouldn’t let the aspiring-pilots in to look at any of the ships in her hangars, even when the young boys begged.
She shook her head in amusement, unsurprised by his observation of the older woman. A smile graced her lips as she did, only dimming slightly after an oddly homesick feeling struck her, realising that she hadn’t seen her old boss, someone that she considered a friend, in quite a long time.
Luke, whether through the Force or solely from her facial expression, had noticed the shift in her, asking her sweetly to tell him of her past.
He’d known the surface-level things. That she was from a primitive planet in a far away galaxy and became stranded on Tatooine, ignorant to many of the workings of her new home. But he listened intently as she explained how Peli, despite being an abrasive and rude woman on the surface, had selflessly taken the young woman in after seeing the lost look on her face when the ship that she’d landed in not an hour earlier, had taken off without her on it.
She explained how she felt quite neanderthalic, having little to no knowledge of most of the technology she came across or how the currency system worked.
Peli had helped her through it all in the months they lived together by explaining the politics to her, reciting the history she knew of and even teaching her to read and write in other common languages in the afternoons, after dinner and before she retired to her uncomfortable cot in the back of the Tool Shop, where she slept amongst the droids.
Their chatting lasted hours, even after their eyes began to get heavy and they started yawning, unwilling to let the night end. There was a part of her that wondered if he, too, was trying to enjoy it while it lasted, for they knew they had to face reality tomorrow.
She tried not to think of the sunrise and the knowledge of the inevitable serious discussion they would have to have when the time came.
Finding comfort, for now, in the safety of the moonlight as they revelled in feeling as though they had no responsibility, wrapped up in the discussion of their interests and passions outside of training.
They stopped only to share sweet kisses or even to once again become a mess of tangled limbs as he eased them both slowly back into the throws of… what did he call it?
Making love.
Hands gripping at each other's bodies, moans swallowed by each other's mouths, too absorbed with each other to even think about the world around them as she grabbed at his body for purchase, tugging at his hair without thinking.
She nearly felt bad for it, even through her sex-drunk daze, having not intended to grab him so harshly, but she was pleasantly surprised when she felt his hips sputter, moaning into her neck as he came again.
She found herself pocketing that knowledge in the back of her mind for later.
He collapsed on top of her, being cautious to rest his weight on his arms, as to not crush her under him.
She kept her hand in his hair, loosening her grip to gently massage his scalp lazily, arms as weak as the rest of her body as her chest heaved and her legs twitched.
His eyes closed at the feeling of her hand in his hair, revelling in the comfort he found within it and finding himself unwilling for it to stop.
He withdrew from her, both of them wincing with sensitivity and letting out small grunts at the feeling. But instead of rolling to her side or moving off of her, he chose to move down to rest his head against her chest, spreading his body across the mattress and bringing his hands to her sides, holding her dearly as he listened to her erratic heartbeat.
She moved her other arm across his back, embracing him as she tried to calm her breathing and they stayed like that for a while, basking in their post-sex haze as her fingers trailed over his back and through his hair.
She found herself not thinking of the Jedi Code, or of their agreement to speak of the consequences of their own actions tomorrow, but of her happiness. Of the way her stomach fluttered when his fingers twitched against her side or the way her whole body felt tingly with excitement.
He sighed contentedly when she placed a gentle kiss to his head, moving to look up at her and she swears she feels his heart hammer against her stomach when they make eye contact.
She brushes his hair off of his forehead, smiling down at him and shaking her head.
“Your hair is a mess.” She teased, bringing both hands up to rake her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down from its previous nest-looking mop.
He laughed a genuine, hearty laugh as he brought his hand up to his head, helping her fix his hair as a small blush dusted his face.
“You really know how to keep the mood going, don’t you?” He jested, smirking down at her teasingly.
Her smile grew, laughing lightly as she came to the conclusion that she really liked this side of Luke Skywalker.
Relaxed, smiley and even a little goofy. Willing to joke around with her and reciprocating her light-hearted teasing.
His usual seriousness was endearing, one of the things that she’d actually always found attractive about him. But now, watching his eyes crinkle and his smile grow as he shook his head down at her, a gentle chuckle rumbling in his chest; she decided that, yes. She could get used to this.
Their bodies were sweaty and sticking together, hair tousled and messy as they lay gazing at each other with stupid, love-sick grins. It was then that a new thought struck her.
She moved her head, twisting her face into a look of pondering, as if in thought. To sell her performance even more, she brought a finger up to tap on her chin as she hummed, feigning indecision.
After a moment, she widened her eyes, as if to say ‘ah, i know!’
“I think I know how to keep the mood going.” She teased, excited to keep their silly conversations going, desperate to see more of his goofy grin that she found herself enamoured by.
He played along, tilting his head in mock interest as he spoke.
“Oh yeah?” He offered, smirking at the little joke she was playing.
She nodded, a mischief-ridden smile stretching across her face as she looked down at him, loving the way his eyes sparkled with excitement. She raised her eyebrows suggestively as she spoke;
OK, hear me out, here’s a character who I think was unintentionally filmed with the 70S/80S equivalent of the female gaze. Either I’m crazy or there’s something here, this has been rattling around inside my head for days. I hope someone else gets where I am going with this. 💛
the first time you saw him, he was standing in the yard below your father’s solar with the sun in his eyes, chains around his hands and dust on his boots. he looked wrong. wrong in the way a great oak looks wrong in a rose garden. too big, too rough, too plainly made.
your sister leaned beside you at the window, chin lifted. “that must be the hedge knight involved in the trial of seven”
“hedge knight?” you echoed coolly. “he looks like a stable door that learned to walk.” gwin snorted.
below, he shifted awkwardly as a squire tried to fit him with borrowed armor. the plates strained across his shoulders. the leather ties looked pitiful against his forearms. his hair, sun-browned and wind-tangled, refused all attempts at refinement.
“he’ll split the lists in half when he rides,” you said, and yet you did not look away.
the formal introduction was worse. he was a prisoner at the castle after assaulting prince aerion, and when the trial of seven was put into play, you and your sister wanted to catch a glimpse of him after the sentence was made.
gwin went first, offering a shallow, glittering curtsy that mocked more than honored. “ser… duncan, is it?”
“yes, m’lady,” he answered. his voice was deep, so much so it made your heart race. you stepped forward.
up close, he was enormous. there was a faint scar across his brow, another at his jaw. his hands were rough, nicked from blade and labor. you extended your hand as if granting him the greatest privilege in the realm.
he stared at it a moment too long before taking it carefully, as though he feared breaking you.
“you are very… tall,” you said, tilting your head.
a faint flush crept up his neck. “begging your pardon, m’lady.”
“do you beg often?” you smiled sickeningly sweet, and his ears reddened.
you withdrew your hand as if his touch had been an inconvenience. “one must learn proportion as well, ser duncan. armor, wit, ambition. all things must fit.”
you circled him once, slow and appraising, the hem of your gown whispering over stone. gwin flicked a nut at his shoulder. it bounced harmlessly off, and he did not react.
you reached up and flicked his ear, and he blinked down at you. you smiled. “reflexes as well.” you turned away before he could answer.
after supper, you found gwin in the gallery overlooking the courtyard. “ser duncan, do you believe he might come out unscathed?”
“he is dreadfully plain,” gwin declared.
“yes,” you agreed. your heart did something strange.
“he is absurdly large.”
“yes.”
“unrefined.”
“entirely.”
gwin turned to you, suspicious. and then in a tone entirely different from the one you used in daylight, you said quietly, “…he is quite nice-looking…”
gwin’s brows flew up. you pressed on, unable to stop yourself now that the words had escaped. “i mean he’s strong. and there is something… earnest.” you grimaced at the word. “not clever. not courtly. but earnest.”
your sister only stared. “you like him,” she whispered.
“i do not like him.”
“you do.”
you huffed. “it is merely… observation.”
she grinned wickedly. “you think him handsome!”
it was mean, and you knew it. you felt a flutter in your chest that you hated. you were a lady of the ashfords. you didn’t crush on hedge knights!
the lists were a chaotic mess of noise and color…
“i don’t know why aerion even cares about him,” you said, pouting.
the trial of the seven winds was a disaster. the crowd in the stands was cruel, their laughter like daggers. you stood near the barriers, your silk gown rustling as you watched the giant knight struggle.
and after the trial was over,
baelor was dead.
the air still smelled like dust and blood. duncan could barely breathe without pain. the courtyard felt haunted. his ribs ground every time he moved. the maester bound them tight, but it did little to dull the ache. every breath was a shallow war.
your sister’s nameday was ruined, the mood sour and black, and you had decided that duncan would bear it.
“do hedge knights mourn differently?” you called down. “or are you simply too dull to understand the cost of your recklessness?”
gwin quietly approached him as he left the castle after meeting with prince maekar, her eyes softer than usual, and called out an apology to the giant, forgiving him. then just before he walked away she shouted out,
“she was frightened for you. that is all.”
he hadn’t understood then. he does now.
he finds you alone at dusk, by accident, perhaps. or perhaps not. you stand near the stables, staring into nothing, the torchlight turning your face to gold and shadow.
“you are leaving, are you not? go on, get,” you say without looking at him.
he steps closer to you, and you stiffen.
“come to collect more mockery?” you ask lightly. “i’ve quite a bit left.” he studies you and sees your hands are trembling.
he says quietly, “gwin apologized.”
you go still. “for what?” you ask coldly.
“for you.”
your chin lifts. “how insulting. i require no apology delivered by proxy.”
“she said you were frightened.”
you laugh, sharp as broken glass. “frightened? of you? ser, i have seen war horses more terrifying.”
he steps closer still, and your breath hitches just slightly. “she said,” he continues, voice low, “that you thought i would die.”
“do not be absurd.”
“she said that’s why you’ve been crueler. that you do not know how to be anything else when you’re afraid.”
“afraid?” your eyes flash. “of a common hedge knight breaking his ribs? the realm is hardly poorer for the loss.”
that does it.
something in him snaps. he moves before he fully thinks. you retreat instinctively until your back meets the stable wall, blocking your escape. he looms over you, massive, breathing hard.
“you think me completely foolish?” he says, voice rough with pain and fury, and you shove at his chest. he winces, the feeling pulsing through his ribs, but does not move far. “you care for me no matter which way, m’lady… your sister said so.”
“you are delirious,” you snap. “from injury. or stupidity.” his hand catches your wrist when you try to push him again. you freeze. his grip is warm, his hand large and calloused.
“you were scared,” he says quietly, now completely certain, and your throat tightens.
“i was not.”
“you were.”
“i was not!” your voice cracks, and there it is. he sees it. the sheen in your eyes, the tremor in your lower lip.
“i could have died,” he says.
“many men did.”
“i could have. i fought because it was right, to defend the innocent,” he says. “it’s been made clear you are cruel when you are frightened. and you were terrified.”
“i was not.” your voice is smaller now.
“yes,” he says. “you were.”
you try to pull free again, but he doesn’t hold you tighter. he simply looks at you. “you’re a fool, ser duncan. you’re dirty, peasant, liar, attention-seeking oaf. you’ve gone and got prince baelor killed. you belong in the mud, not here.”
“you think you’re better than everyone. but you’re just a scared little girl,” he growled, his eyes flashing with anger. “aren’t you?” he releases your wrist, and for a moment you think he’s letting you go. instead, his large, calloused hand moves with a speed that belies his size, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. he doesn’t pull, not hard, but the grip is absolute.
“you stand there in your fine gown, talking down at me,” he continues, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. “you call me a fool, a peasant. you think that silk and a family name make you strong. but they don’t. they just make you soft. spoiled.” he uses that word, letting it hang in the air between you, heavy with contempt.
he moves faster than you can blink.
his other arm bands around your waist, lifting you effortlessly. a startled gasp escapes your lips as your feet leave the ground. he doesn’t carry you far, just two steps to a wide, wooden railing that separates an empty stall from the walkway. he sets you down, but not on your feet. he bends you over some rough-hewn wood, the edge pressing uncomfortably into your stomach.
your hands fly out to brace yourself, palms flat against the dusty planks. the position is demeaning, exposing. you are utterly at his mercy. panic, cold and sharp, begins to rise again.
“don’t,” you breathe, the word muffled by the wood and your own humiliation.
“hush now,” he commands, one hand pressing firmly into the small of your back, holding you in place.
his free hand finds the hem of your gown. you hear the whisper of fabric, and then a sharp, rending sound as his fist closes and he pulls. the sound of tearing linen echoes in the quiet stable. he rips a long strip of fabric from the back of your skirts and shoves it into your mouth to keep you quiet.
“you see?” he says, his voice calm and steady, as if discussing the weather. “this is what peasants do. they don’t have time for pleasantries. they do what they must.”
and then he’s bunching up the fabric of your dress and his hand comes down.
it’s not a playful slap. it is a heavy, stinging blow that lands squarely across your exposed flesh. the shock of it steals your breath. a moment later, a wave of heat blossoms in its wake, sharp and burning. before you can even cry out, another blow falls, and then another, in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“you are so spoiled...” SMACK
the impact of his palm against your skin is a loud, percussive sound in the stillness.
“...spoiled girl...” SMACK
the heat builds, an unbearable fire that seems to consume you. tears of pain and humiliation now flow freely, dripping from your face to the floor below.
“...and i don’t want to have to hurt you like this...”
“...but you’ve given me no choice.” SMACK SMACK
finally, it stops. the only sound is your own ragged, hitching sobs. his hand rests on your burning skin, not striking now, but simply holding.
then, his hand moves. it slides up your back, a slow, possessive caress that makes you flinch. he gently straightens you, pulling you away from the railing. your legs feel like water, and you stumble, but his arm bands around your waist, holding you upright against his solid frame.
with surprising gentleness, he works the wadded piece of your own gown free, pulling the damp, saliva-soaked cloth from between your lips.
you gasp in a ragged breath, your jaw aching. the ability to speak, to scream, does nothing to bolster your courage. it only makes you feel more exposed.
and then, something inside you snaps. it’s not thought. it’s pure, instinctual reaction. the humiliation, the pain, the violation, it all coalesces into a single, white-hot spark of defiance. your hand, still trembling, flies up and connects with his face.
the slap is sharp, but lacks real strength. it is the gesture of a cornered animal, a final, futile act of rebellion.
the silence that follows is more terrifying than the spanking had been. dunk doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t even seem to feel it. he simply catches your wrist in mid-air, his grip like an iron shackle. he holds your stinging hand between your bodies as he looks down at you. his jaw is tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
“you will never do that again,” he says. his voice is dangerously quiet, a low growl that promises consequences.
“please,” you whimper, the word a pathetic, broken thing. “ser duncan, please...”
“please what, m’lady?” he tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him. his eyes are intense, burning with a purpose that both terrifies and thrills you. “seems we’re not done yet.”
he releases you, and you nearly collapse. he sinks down onto a wide, low hay bale, pulling you with him. you stumble, falling to your knees on the scratchy straw before him. he doesn’t let you fall far. he catches you, maneuvering you as if you weigh nothing.
one of his powerful thighs is suddenly beneath you, and you find yourself draped sideways across his lap, your upper body supported by the hay bale. it’s a new position, even more demeaning than the last. your torn gown offers no modesty, and your burning bottom is presented directly to him, vulnerable and waiting. you are utterly folded, controlled, and at his mercy.
he rests a proprietary hand on the small of your back. his other hand, the one that delivered the punishment, begins to trace slow circles on your sensitive skin. the touch is light, yet you still tense, bracing yourself.
“you see,” he continues, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “a peasant learns that words are useless. a peasant learns a lesson must be felt. it must be burned into the body so the mind can’t forget it.”
his hand lifts. you squeeze your eyes shut. he spanks down on your ass hard. the sound is different in this position. wetter, somehow. the pain is sharper, more focused. you cry out, a raw, ragged sound of pure anguish.
“m'sorry! i was scared!” you choke out, the confession torn from your soul. “i was so scared you were going to die...please just...”
“shhh, i know,” he says, his voice dropping back to that low, intimate rumble. “i know. but highborn ladies should not lie. especially not about yourself.” SMACK “admitting it doesn’t make you weak. it makes you honest.” SMACK
the blows are methodical, perfectly spaced. each one lands on a different spot, painting a canvas of fire across your flesh. your sobs become uncontrollable, your body writhing over his lap, but his hold on you is unshakeable.
“you do not strike a man.” SMACK! “i am your better. not in name or land, but in strength, in will.” SMACK! “you will learn respect.”
your mind begins to fray. the pain is a roaring fire, consuming everything. through the haze of tears and agony, a strange warmth begins to bloom in your belly, a confusing, terrifying pulse of pleasure that has no right to exist alongside this humiliation.
it stops.
he doesn’t move his hand this time. he just lets it rest on your flaming skin, the heat of his palm matching the heat he’s created. you are limp, sobbing, and broken over his knee. he has utterly destroyed you, and in the wreckage, you feel a terrifying sense of peace. of rightness.
he shifts slightly, and you feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against your side through his breeches. he is enjoying this.
slowly, he eases you up, pulling you off his lap and onto your knees in the straw before him. he doesn’t kneel with you. he remains sitting on the hay bale, looking down at you. he is a king on his throne of straw, and you are his vanquished subject.
his hand comes out, not to strike, but to gently cup your chin, forcing your tear-streaked face up to his. his thumb wipes at the wetness on your cheek.
“tell me you understand,” he says, his voice soft, but laced with steel.
you look up at him, at the man who has broken you to his will. there is no defiance left. no anger. only a hollowed-out space where your pride used to be, a space he now occupies completely.
“i understand,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. “i... i’ve learned.”
he lets you up slowly, his hands on your arms as he turns you to face him. you are a mess. disheveled, tear-streaked, and trembling violently. His thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears.
the anger is gone, burned away by the fire he put on your skin.
Ghost with demons!
TF 141 with dogs🐶
It's been a while painting full rendered pieces, enjoyed a lot!
Inspired from awesome @yourfaithfulauthor's request.
dunk's first upload does well, but he's new to onlyfans and to thinking of himself as sexy. he's nervous for his second planned video and struggling with the set up when reader accidentally walks in on him. reader offers some advice...and herself.
part 2 I dunk in boxers reference
word count: 1.8k+
cw: fem!reader, no y/n, no smut but the sexual tension is !!!, reader and dunk are so horny they look stupid, to be continued...
you let yourself in with the key dunk had lent you. you'd borrowed some tools to put a desk together and were bringing them back now, along with a plate of cookies to say thanks. you put the toolbox and plate on the table.
there's a crashing sound, followed by an "ah, fuck!"
"dunk?" you call. "you alright?"
"what? no no no DON'T—"
but it's too late. you're already pushing his bedroom door open to reveal dunk in just his boxers, a knocked over ring light, and a tripod with a camera pointed at his bed.
"holy shit!" you say, ducking your head and putting a hand in front of your eyes. "shit...fuck...sorry!"
"what're you doin?" dunk asks, embarrassed, panicked, grabbing a pillow and using it to hide his junk.
"i told you i'd be back at—"
"right!" he says, suddenly remembering.
"so i'm back and— what are YOU doing?"
"nothin'! i'm—" dunk looks at the tripod facing his bed. "this isn't what it looks like!"
"you were expecting someone else?" you offer in suggestion.
"no! no, 'course not. just you," he's fumbling to think of a way out of this.
"...right...", you draw out, sceptical.
what exactly had dunk been thinking he would get in return for you borrowing his tool box?
"no!" he's quick to interject. "god, no, not that, i— look, just let me put on some clothes, so i can think again?"
you nod and squeeze your eyes shut behind your hand, to give him extra privacy. you hear dunk stumbling about and another crash and more swearing. probably dunk tripping over the fallen ring light. a few moments pass before dunk gives you the go ahead to look. you do, and see him sat at the end of his bed, pulling a hoodie down, hiding the quick glimpse you got of a happy trail.
"completely forgot you were comin' over. i'd been so stressed out over all this—" he starts, with a wave around the room.
"what exactly is this, then?" you ask.
dunk hesitates.
"look. ya can't tell anyone, right? nobody knows. 'cept raymun and rowan."
"tell anyone what, dunk?"
he looks at you a long moment before answering.
"...you know what onlyfans is?"
"shut up!"
he groans and hides his face in his hands. you sit down on the bed beside him.
"you're on onlyfans?" you ask.
"no! well, yes," dunk's voice is muffled by his hands. he forces himself to sit up but can't bring himself to look at you. "look. i could use a bit of extra cash. and rowan makes good money off of it and said there'd be a market for a ...man of my size. so i gave it a go and didn' think much of it, but fuck, the video did well. like, crazy good. and rowan said if i really wanted to do well, i needed a tripod and a light and all this stuff, but i'll be damned if i can get everything workin' right. angles all wrong, or i knock it over, and even if i can get everything set up, i don't even know what to do..."
he sounds so miserable and you can't imagine you walking in had made things any easier for him.
"i won't tell anyone. but i don't think you need to be embarrassed," you say. "most everyone watches porn, so it's silly and hypocritical to judge the people who make it. and if you're...doing well...that just means lots of people...appreciate you."
"appreciate me?"
"you know. find you hot."
"oh, um, right" dunk stammers, flushing.
"and the first upload did well, right?" you ask.
dunk nods.
"so maybe do that again. whatever you did in the first video," you suggest.
"right," dunk answers.
you're quiet a few seconds, struggling to resist asking, but finally give in.
"so....what was the first video?"
"oh. um. 'solo work' —that's what rowan calls it."
right. you can work out what that means. you feel your face get hot from the thought of dunk touching himself. you shift slightly, restless.
"if you're worried about not knowing what people want to see, I could always, uh, give advice."
"what?" he asks, looking at you, blue eyes wide with surprise.
"i mean, your audience is mostly women, right?"
"yeah."
"so i could give some insight on the female perspective. if it would help."
dunk thinks a moment.
"yeah...actually, it would," he says finally.
now it's your turn to think before speaking.
"how do you sound?" you ask.
"sound?" dunk repeats back.
"yeah. what kind of noises do you make when you're...you know..."
dunk rubs the back of his neck.
"i dunno. i guess i try t'keep it down. i, uh, get sensitive fast—"
"don't."
"what?" dunk asks, confused.
"don't keep it down," you answer. "it's hot when a guy is loud." you wait a few seconds, uncertain, before deciding to throw caution to the wind. "you should start out real tough guy about it. kinda...grunting. really deep and low. then moaning, like it just feels so good. and right before the end, whine, like you've gone all weak and desperate for it."
"i...right—" dunk nods along.
"you're a big guy and..." you break off, suddenly picturing it and getting flustered. you shake your head to dispel the dirty thoughts. you're just helping a friend, that's all. no need to get excited. it was just business. "it's just really nice when a man starts out all controlled and is needy by the end. but honestly, any kind of noises or talking would really help."
"talking?" dunk asks.
"yeah. maybe you could position the camera so it's at a low angle and talk to it like it's your partner going down on you. tell them to go faster, that they're doing a good job, making you feel so good, that sort of thing. being vocal is a huge thing for women. sometimes even more than visual."
"really?"
"absolutely. that's why lots of women listen to smut rather than watch porn. you can picture whatever you want and the voice just...guides you. i mean, i—" you break off suddenly, pause, then fake a cough to cover.
fuck, you'd almost told dunk about your preferences. how you liked listening more than watching your porn. though if dunk was making videos on onlyfans...of course, no, absolutely not, you would never watch. he's your friend and that would be inappropriate. this isn't about your desires. or the fact that you're insanely horny right now. no, this is all about helping dunk be more confident, that's all.
"so that's, um, just something to keep in mind. you could always try making audios instead if you felt more comfortable off camera," you suggest.
dunk shakes his head.
"don't think i 'talk proper' enough for that," he dismisses.
"are you joking?" you ask. "dunk, you have a really nice voice."
"oh, um, thanks," he says, the tips of his ears going red.
"i just think it's something to think about. only if you wanted, of course."
"right."
"is this helping? or am i making you uncomfortable?" you ask. dunk hasn't looked at you for more than about three seconds at a time so far. "i can go—"
"no! no, please. it helps. 'm just nervous. but 'm less nervous talking to you about it than if i was tryin' to figure it out on my own." he says, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. you try not to remember what he looked like in just his boxers.
"okay. good," you say. "do you have an angle for your channel?"
"yes! uh...d'ya know what a 'size kink' is?"
"i've heard of it!" you answer, probably a little too quickly and too breathy to be entirely nonchalant. as if you hadn't wanted that big, strong man to pick you up and fuck you from the moment you met him.
"rowan suggested it'd be a good niche for me. i'm bigger than most men."
"oh?" you ask, nearly salivating.
"taller! i meant taller," dunk corrects.
you bet he was bigger, too. nice, pretty, thick cock, that would be such a delicious stretch.
"do you think you'll just do solo work, then?" you ask, voice hitched up an octave, as you try desperately to sound casual and unaffected. "or would you want a, um, collaborator?"
"i, ah—" dunk stumbles and laughs nervously. "don't know if i'd want to do everything on camera. maybe. maybe some stuff. yeah, some stuff. if i even had someone to film with. but i dunno how i'd even go about asking someone—"
"what if—" you start before realizing you're speaking aloud and immediately go quiet.
"what?" dunk asks, eyes suddenly intense and on you.
you stand up and pace around his room, nearly tripping over the damn ring light as you do.
"look, if i've overstayed my welcome, just tell me. it's none of my business. just want to help. you know, if it helps. if it's not helping—" you ramble.
dunk's staring at you. waiting.
welp. you were dumb and horny and opened your big mouth, so now you've got no choice but to see this through and finish your thought.
"what if i helped you. not sex. just...sexual things."
dunk looks like he's about to fall off the bed.
"maybe i should go," you suggest.
"no! no, don't go," he reaches out to grab your arm. "i want to." he looks at you and you swear there's a hunger there. "i mean," he swiftly breaks eye contact and lets go of you. "could be good for the channel. and maybe i'd feel less stupid than when i'm filming alone. if you'd be comfortable."
"of course!" you answer with more eagerness than you probably should. "we'd talk boundaries and everything—"
"right," he agrees.
"and it's your channel so what you want on it—"
"but what you're comfortable with matters most—"
"you're a sweet guy, dunk."
it's quiet a moment as you both think over what you've agreed to.
"what...would you want to do?" dunks asks in a strangled voice.
so. many. things.
breathe. think. it's not about what you want dunk to do to you. it's what would be good for his onlyfans. purely professional arrangement.
"size kink, yeah?" you ask.
dunk nods.
that certainly lends itself to an array of tempting scenarios. but you aren't sure how much dunk would be comfortable with. is suggesting you suck him off, as a friend, too much?
wait. you've got an idea.
"i'm just thinking about what might be good for that angle," you say, like you're thinking with your head right now and not your needy cunt.
"uh huh," dunk says.
"what viewers with that interest might want."
"right."
"and no judgement, right? if it's too weird, just say so, and the whole thing's off. pretend it never happened."
"right," dunk repeats.
you're not breathing and it looks like dunk isn't either, leaning in, gaze fixed on you.
"...what about spanking?"
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