#dark-ish

with you, leon likes to be in control because with ada, he prefers ada to be in control. most of your time will be spent on your back or on your hands and knees. if he finds you wearing panties, he will cum inside it and make you wear it around the house and now you've stopped wearing it if only the two of you are around. gets touchy if he sees you food prepping on the kitchen counter which led to you being fucked senseless (also on the kitchen counter).

ada prefers to hear you. her fingers, her tongue, her strap—even the neck of a wine bottle once. if she finds you holding back your voice, she'll put you across her lap and spank you until you're hoarse from crying. she wore a barely-see through stocking once and you complimented how sensual her legs looked. later in the evening, she made you kneel by her feet and played with your tits using them. she also made you ride it while eating her out. leon was very upset when he found out what he missed out on.

their demands don't stop when they're both away. leon would text you and ask a video to ride the giant teddy bear in the living room. ada video called and asked you to ride her strap on the bed.

strangely, they both seemed to find their decorum when the other one is around. you wondered if this is one of the many cases where a couple decided to get a third because they couldn't fulfill their kink with their significant other.

Your little arms wouldn’t stop flailing as Steven carried you up and out of  the city park.  It had been relatively easy to haul you off of your feet and tuck you under his right arm; both feats could be contributed to your absolute lack of self preservation coupled with a youthful knack for trusting anyone exuding even an ounce of overly sweet kindness. 

But Steven Grant’s initial, sugary voice had faded fast, and you could tell as much while he insisted on keeping a brisk pace down the riverside bridge. Of course you were a child, and bound to be curious, bubbling with questions and finding it a monumental task to keep still for more than fifteen seconds. And Steven should have been grateful that you hadn’t started screaming the moment he whisked you out from under the distracted gaze of your mother, but his nerves were already high strung and you were proving to irritate those nerves even further. 

“Put me down! I can walk on my own! Where’s my mama?”

Those light-up sneakers your mother must have fitted you with that morning flashed hues of blue and green each time you kicked out your legs. The soft blows to his thighs and side continued to add pressure to his near fractured patience.

 Sensing Steven was only a minute away from fumbling the budding relationship, Jake took it upon himself to relieve him. You were a child, and children, while far from simple, could always be defined by their impressionable quality.

“You wanna know where your mama is?” Jake asked, now holding you with both of his hands out in front of him. 

Your head bobbed up and down as you took in his new change in candor and his very peculiar habit of biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Well, your mama is going on a real long vacation and she asked us to watch you while she’s out.”

“But mama didn’t say anything about a v–”

Jake clicked his tongue and tucked you back under his arm, continuing the journey to the train station at a near-lackadaisical pace. “She didn’t mention anything because your mama forgot to. And isn’t your mama very forgetful?”

Perhaps she was. On many occasions, your mother forgot to drop you off at school, left your packed lunch on the table, and even more frequently she managed to forget to arrange proper care for you on days when there were no classes to keep you occupied. So, it wasn’t entirely out of the question for your mother to forget something as out of the blue as a vacation. 

Jake could feel you let out a quick breath before your eyes flitted up to stare at him. 

“But where are we going?” You asked, trying to readjust his grip on your body.

Seeing as you had stopped thrashing in his arms so haphazardly, Jake took the risk of letting you walk on your own two feet, though, with his hand firmly grasping your own. 

You could feel how the little bones in your hand all compressed together in the man’s grip, and you wondered if he had ever held another person’s hand in his life. Perhaps he had, but you doubted anyone genuinely enjoyed it. 

“What’s your name?” 

His head swiveled and craned downwards as he seemed to take a little too long to answer such a simple question, even dragging out the first word for a beat. 

“My name is Jake…”

“Oh. Is it short for Jacob? Where are we going? Why do you keep looking around?”

“Stop that.”

Both ends of your mouth twisted with a sharp distaste at his curt insistence.  “Stop what?”

“Asking questions, talking in that voice, just stop.”

Jake had yet to raise his own voice with you, but he might as well have with the way you closed your mouth and kept your gaze fixed to the tops of your shoes. He could even feel the way your little hand curled up within his own hand, as if you were trying to avoid touching him as much as you could help it. 

It was a tone you were well acquainted with. Whether it be your mother or the other children at school who found your personality too ill fitting for their liking, the tilt from tolerance to annoyance was all too familiar and you were cognizant enough to keep your mouth firmly shut as soon as you could recognize such a change in tone. Part of you wanted to pull away from him entirely. At least with your schoolmates and your own mother, you could predict what their reactions would be when you inevitably got on their nerves. But with Jake, or whoever this was, you couldn’t quite use your intuition to predict anything at all.

As the two of you neared a more densely populated section of the city, you could feel him lightly tug on your hand. 

“Keep your head down, kid.” He ordered, ensuring the CCTV cameras located around the East Station wouldn’t pick up your facial features. 

Though…his voice sounded much more assured and without the rushed cadence you had grown used to in the brief time you had been together. His brow furrowed more, his grip on your hand became more lax, and that tension that had been coiling within you seemed to ease.

“Why do you do that?”

You ventured to ask, hoping that he wouldn’t find your questions to be a pain. And to your relief, he seemed much more forthcoming with his swift answer and without you even needing to elaborate. 

“Well…there’s three of us in here as you might have seen. I know you probably have a million questions, but I’ll make it simple for now, and maybe when we’re ready, we can tell you more. But I’m Marc. You’ve already met Jake and I know Steven is itching to say hi again.”

Eyes fixed to the concrete, you were very carefully taking in each word from Marc. 

“Jake is a little mean…”

“Mean? Well he was just nervous…” He explains half-heartedly before continuing. “But there’s three of us, and I don’t really know how to explain this…properly. But what’s important now is that we’re going to take care of you.”

With your mind working a mile a minute, your own gaze was somewhat glazed over and distant. His words make a bit of sense in the moment, but perhaps more importantly, he felt safe.

“Did you hear me?” Marc asked, jostling your little hand a bit. “I was calling your name a few times, kid.”

Coming out of your thoughtful stupor, you looked up. “Huh?”

An exasperated sigh trilled out of Marc’s throat and he scooped you up into his arms as he hastened his own pace. 

“I don’t trust that look on your face. Something tells me you like to wander….” He grumbled, his expression going rigid for a moment as his arms shifted around to hold you more firmly without causing discomfort. 

An exasperated, hurried father carrying along his child so they don’t miss the commuter train to the other side of the district. That was what any potential eyewitness would have seen when asked about any potential sightings. 

Completely ordinary, a snippet of authentic domestic life. Just a father and his child who appeared a little bleary eyed but in chipper spirits. 

Art of Lyorek by @rina-monster

The outpost was on fire.

Jaxan's foot slipped on something wet, and he staggered, catching himself against the smoldering remains of an abandoned speeder. The bodies of the soldiers who had staffed the remote listening post were strewn about, their untidy sprawls resembling marionette dolls with their strings cut rather than real people to the young Jedi's shocked gaze. Several of them looked as if they'd been crawling when they had been killed, and the stink of lightsaber burned flesh was inescapable.

Many of the wounds seemed as if they had been deliberately inflicted to maximize pain, and Jax felt bile rise in response, burning his throat and nose as he tried to seek calm; to prevent his stomach from rebelling at the obvious and sickening proof of the torture that had been inflicted on the Republic men and women filling the courtyard.

He walked carefully through the debris, avoiding chunks of twisted metal and the heat of burning, decimated buildings, his eyes taking in the blaster marks on the sides of walls and vehicles. It all looked strangely familiar to him. The damage – it reminded him of other battles, far away. Bending down, Jaxan turned one of the soldiers over. The saber blade had gone into the body through the man's lower back, and out his stomach, but instead of stopping there, it had left a furrow in the ground as well, cutting upwards in a violent upward curve that ended in the upper center of his chest. The still-smoking wound smelled horrible from this range, and the Jedi turned away, gagging, letting the soldier's corpse slip from his gloved hand.

“You shouldn't have come here.” The man's voice was cold, devoid of anything but a predatory anticipation that Jaxan could feel to his toes as he forced himself to his feet, turning to face the source. A black-clad figure emerged from the shadows beside one of the broken walls, walking towards him with a double-bladed lightsaber in one hand. The deep hood concealed most of the Sith's face, but his mouth and jaw were visible, the skin red and black, the lips curved in a lazy, familiar smile.

A smile that he knew all too well. A smile that he loved.

“Lyo...” Jaxan whispered, unable to stop himself from taking a step forward. His own saber dipped, lowering from a guard position into a less threatening cross-body stance that he knew would not protect him if the Zabrak Inquisitor truly intended to attack him. Despite the obvious evidence around him, he couldn't bring himself to see Lyorek as a threat, even now. “Why would you do this?”

The crimson blades retracted with a hiss, and Lyorek transferred the hilt to his left hand. His footsteps were nearly silent even on the broken stone and rough ground, and he didn't hesitate as he approached Jaxan boldly. An unfamiliar chill of foreboding licked up Jax's spine, and he took a slow step back, and then another, forcing the Sith to follow him. Lyorek's bright eyes fixed on Jaxan's face, a dangerous look of sated pleasure filling his gaze a she looked the Jedi over slowly before closing the final distance between them. Pinned against another crumbling wall, Jaxan quivered as Lyorek's right hand came up, the gloved fingers gripping his chin and jaw lightly and tilting his face upwards until his eyes had no choice but to meet the Sith's.

Leaning forward, Lyorek's silk hood brushed against Jax's mouth and jaw, his own lips touching the taller Jedi's ear in a parody of a lover's teasing caress. “You left me,” he growled, and Jaxan stiffened in sudden comprehension. Fear washed over him as the fingers tightened, the sharp nails beneath the gloves biting abruptly into his skin. “You said you would come back, Jaxan. You said that you loved me. You -lied-.”

Jaxan struggled in Lyorek's grasp, trying to twist free, feeling something press against him with exacting care. The snarl of an igniting lightsaber blade sounded, and Jaxan grabbed Lyo's arms, feeling the muscles flex under his hands as the Sith forced the blade downwards through his body, and then drew it out. Lyorek pulled away from Jaxan's weakening fingers with obvious disdain, stepping back. 

“No.. Lyo. I would never do that. I would never.. have left you.”  Had he? He couldn't remember. His trip to Coruscant, his visit with his Master, Kallyn; he recalled those things clearly. The trip back to Odessen, though, was foggy. It must have happened. Why couldn't he think of it now? Jaxan coughed, the pain excruciating, and sank to his knees on the ground. He could see Lyorek staring at him from a short distance away, the face of his former lover twisted with hatred and rage, lit by the bloody glow of the crimson lightsaber in his hands.

It was the last thing he saw as the darkness reached up to take him.

His throat hurt. It was an incongruous thought, but one that grounded him, and Jaxan realized slowly that he had been shouting. Kallyn's worried face swam into focus, her bright green eyes troubled and her hands gripping his.

“It was a dream, Jaxan. Take a deep breath, just try to calm yourself.” Kallyn's voice was shaking, despite her attempt to soothe him, and he knew whatever he'd been saying in his dream had been enough to make her very uneasy. “Everything is fine. You're safe.”

Jaxan leaned back against the pillow, his simple bed suddenly feeling strange to him. The sheets were too rough, coarsely woven, and it was small, narrow and lacking in comfort. He pulled his hands from Kallyn's, fingers brushing over the sheets, knotting in them. Twisting the fabric in his hands, he frowned helplessly, the images from the dream lingering unpleasantly in his thoughts.

“Take some time to think, to be rational,” Kallyn said abruptly, her voice curt, “before you run back to your Sith. You haven't been here very long, Jaxan.” She inhaled slowly, and he could almost see the flicker of temper leave her lips with the breath she released a moment later. Her tone gentled, and he saw shame and guilt in her eyes when she glanced at him. “It was only a dream. None of what you saw has happened. None of it may ever happen.”

Jaxan made himself nod for her benefit, but something about the dream felt uncomfortably real, and he couldn't shake the disquiet in his mind. “I'm sorry for waking you, Master Kallyn.” He settled back into the bed, and after a moment, Kallyn rose, her fingers brushing his arm in a brief, reassuring touch. “I'm sure it'll be forgotten by morning.”

“I hope so. Jaxan, I wouldn't have asked you here if I thought... if I thought it was the wrong path for you. My only intention was to spend some time with you and make certain you still feel that you are in the right place. That your decision was the correct one.” Kallyn hesitated, as if she wanted to say more to him. But after a moment, she turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door behind her.  

Izuku’s earliest memory is looking up to a freckled face to say goodbye. He remembers feeling his mum’s hand on his wrist, gently moving it to wave.

He doesn’t understand her tears later that night, nor does he understand why she spends a good hour apologising to him. Did Izuku do something?

“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this, Izu-chan,” she says as she wipes her eyes. Her voice sounds like broken glass and her eyes shine with something. Izuku doesn’t understand it. “We have to be strong and keep on smiling for your father, okay?”

“Okay,” Izuku answers, because it’s the only thing that felt right to say.

She gathers him up in her arms and kisses his forehead. “I’ll make your favourite.”

Izuku likes Katsudon and doesn’t question why. He sleeps peacefully that night.

The playground is small and there are too many children there for Izuku’s liking. He doesn’t beg his mother to go home.

He hides behind his mother’s skirt when she approaches another woman with her kid, both of them with wheat blonde hair and red eyes.

The blond boy is scowling, yet their eyes meet, and the gaze holds.

There is something strange in Izuku’s chest. It made it feel bigger and light, strange flutters crowding inside his stomach.

Izuku doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. All he knows is that at a glance, this boy made him feel like this.

“Hello Katsuki-kun, it’s been a while.” His mum bends down to meet the boy’s eyes. “I hope you and Izu-chan still remember each other.”

They’ve met before?

“Why don’t you brats play while me and your Auntie catch up.” Izuku tilted his head, curious at the woman’s tone. He never heard his mum raise her voice. Ever.

“Shut up, old hag.” The blonde’s voice had an undercurrent of… something. His red eyes never left Izuku at all. “Come on, Izuku, you better hope they still have the sandbox there.”

So… they have met, then?

Strange. Then again, his mum did say they were gone for some time.

“Kazu - Kaz - Kachu - Kacchan,” Izuku trips over Katsuki’s name, frowning a little he couldn’t say it perfectly. A flash of blond hair and red eyes lights up in his head, he hears something like crying. Izuku finds himself back in the present when he feels a hand with surprising strength gripping his.