thegreatwicked - Tumblr blog

thegreatwicked · 1 day

Text

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Fifteen

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

She Knows It by Steven Rodriguez

Roman sat back in a plush chair outside the glass-walled conference room, his dark eyes fixed on the meeting taking place inside. Ever stare at something for too long before your mind just takes it and runs with it? Or you say a word too many times until it loses all meaning? That was how Roman was feeling.

With each passing moment he sat in that chair ‘people watching’ his mind wandered further. The conference room began to look less like a conference room and more like a giant fish tank with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and bland artwork that was supposed to be thought-provoking but only induced boredom. And let's not forget the generic, mass-produced paintings that were meant to add some color but ended up blending into the beige office walls perfectly. So stimulating.

The ergonomic design of the chairs in the room was reminiscent of strange coral furniture one might find in a fish tank. The potted plants in the corners probably aimed to add some vitality to the sterile environment, which likely saw many long hours and late nights without exposure to any natural stimuli.

Yes, the longer he looked the more it looked like a fish tank.

The men in their suits became a school of angelfish, drifting aimlessly. The women with their bright colored high fashion frocks like Discus fish effortlessly floating through the water.

And there, in the center of it all, perched on the table leafing through papers and glancing back at her laptop was Belladonna. Her inky-black hair flowing loosely, cascading down her shoulders like the elegant fins of a betta fish. Dressed in the black jacket, and silver jewelry that Roman had delivered for her that morning made for a striking contrast against that only solidified his odd comparison. Beautiful and elegant. And just like a female beta fish, she seemed to furrow her brow when approached by her male colleagues - he was well acquainted with the difference between her ‘resting bitch face’ and her ‘are you that fucking stupid’ expressions to know that her colegues were not impressing her with theri smart deas.

Why was he comparing the woman he wanted to fuck to a fish? He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Goddamn it, Cobblepot.” He muttered under his breath, refocusing his attention on the conference room and trying to shake off his annoyance.

Fuck he hated fish.

Roman couldn't understand why people would choose to have fish as pets.

Fish were about the most ridiculous idea for a pet Roman could think of, but people loved them. Maybe because they were cheap and easy to dispose of when they inevitably died - just a quick flush down the toilet. Some people went for the more exotic options like lionfish, piranhas and even electric eels. But at least those were interesting, lionfish were venomous, electric eels looked scary as fuck and he could certainly see the benefits of having something like piranhas floating nearby. Perfect for getting rid of unwanted guests...or bodies.

Roman didn’t personally like fish. In fact he thought they made horrifically boring bets and he had little interest in pets in the first place. He didn’t even have any as a kid. Though that might have been due to his parents not having any faith in Roman not using them as target practice or something.

Bit extreme. He didn’t hate animals, he just found them like he found most living things; clingy and annoying.

He looked back to Belladonna adjusting her glasses and combing a hand through her hair. He liked those glasses on her, he’d have to see if he could convince her to wear a sexy little pencil skirt, then he could live out the sexy librarian thing again, the first time it was for the novelty of it. Not because he particularly liked the woman but hey, a fantasy was a fantasy.

Betafish weren’t boring.

Hell, females could be so aggressive that they would attack males, nip at them to establish dominance and it could result in injury and even death.

God, he loved a woman who wasn’t afraid to take a bite out of him. It was what he found fascinating about Belladonna, she was afraid of him, no doubt, but she didn’t act like it. Hell, she’d put a gun in his hand and all but dared him to shoot her. Fuck the woman had some balls, her temper flaring like the vibrant fins of a betta.

They were some of the most common fish in aquariums, but commonality didn’t mean less interesting. Hell, diamonds were as common as taxis but that didn’t stop everyone from falling all over themselves saving two months salary for one. Bettas in particular were well liked for their beauty, intelligence and their spunky personalities.

The problem was that most people didn't know how to properly care for them or keep them happy. Instead, they would see these stunning creatures and impulsively buy them, only to place them in tiny fish bowls that were unfit for their needs. Her shabby loft came to mind, a place far below her worth. She'd chosen to keep a low profile, to avoid the limelight that should have been hers.

Eventually the shimmer in their scales would fade and they’d more than likely be forgotten about. Not Belladonna, she shimmered in a dark room.

Roman blinked, suddenly aware that his mind had been drifting into an almost absurd fantasy about fish. He scowled at the thought, silently cursing Oswald Cobblepot again for filling his head with such useless information. The man had a penchant for talking endlessly about his various collections and interests, and naturally, in his years of knowing Oswald Cobblepot he’d been forced to absorb information about things he didn’t care about whenever they spoke.

Cobblepot had a thing for penguins and naturally with his collections of oddities at the Cyrus Pinkney Natural History Museum. He also collected seemingly useless information, which he then forced upon Roman in their younger years.

Roman knew far too much about fish for his own personal liking: including tips on how to care for betta fish.

He shook his head, his thoughts went to some strange places when his mind was stagnant like it was currently.

His fingers tapped impatiently against his leg, the urge to barge into the meeting growing stronger by the second. But he knew she would bear the brunt of those consequences and then he’d be subject to hers. And while Roman was sure he could turn that frustration into something a little more fun with most people, Belladonna wasn’t most people. He sighed, forcing himself to remain seated.

He needed to get a gameboy or something, watching the meeting Belladonna was stuck in wasn’t good for his IQ, he could feel it dropping by the second. And by this point it had to have dropped at least by thirty points, because he’d been waiting for thirty minutes.

Once he’d focused on their moving lips it had gotten a little bit better, he couldn’t quite read lips but he could make out some words:

"Emergency... Urgent... Expensive… Client… Fired…" Roman whispered under his breath, catching a few words. Roman's eyes flicked to Zsasz, who stood beside him with an air of stoic indifference. "You picking up anything useful?" he asked in a low voice.

“Nope.”

Zsasz shook his head, but Roman wasn’t surprised, he noticed that the man's gaze seemed to be following Belladonna's assistant, Daisy, as she moved around the room. Fair enough, he was Zsasz’s boss, not his goddamned babysitter, it he wanted to eye fuck Daisy; let him. Someone should.

She was too tiny for Romans taste anyway, he liked curves, hips, breasts. Daisy was just too petite for his taste. But judging by the way Zsasz was watching her, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Back to the meeting, it didn’t seem to be wrapping up or getting any better. He knew from the way her brow furrowed and the tenseness in her shoulders that whatever was the topic of discussion wasn’t a very pleasant one. It didn’t look like she was bearing the brunt of anyone's wrath but rather she was trying to untangle a mess. She hadn’t even noticed him there on the chair in the small waiting area and he hadn’t really said or done anything because at first watching her had been somewhat fascinating. Then he made the comparison of the conference room looking like an aquarium and then… Shit. He needed to stop this.

Roman checked his watch again, scowling. Thirty-five minutes now with no sign of the meeting ending. Roman's fingers went back to tapping impatiently on the arm of his chair as he watched Belladonna continue her heated conversation with her boss.

She threw up her hands, clearly exasperated. His fingers tightened on the armrests of his chair.

Maybe she finally felt his gaze on her but he seemed to catch Belladonna's attention and she looked at him, he winked at her and she at least smirked at his little flirtatious charm, but she was still clearly strained by the weight of the conversation she was having.

He knew that look well, it was the look of someone who was surrounded by incompetence or someone who was forced to fix something that wasn’t their problem to begin with. Roman gestured with a nod of his head, urging her to join him outside the conference room. But she only shook her head softly, her expression remaining serious, before turning her attention back to her boss.

Pulling out his phone, Roman quickly typed a message.

'Problem, angel?'

As he hit send, his eyes flicked to Daisy, who often had Belladonna’s cell in her possession, glanced at the notification. She offered Roman a little wave hand, held up a finger then showed the text to Belladonna, and after a brief pause, Belladonna texted back, as her eyes darted back and forth from the phone to whomever was talking

'Can't talk.'

"Damn it," Roman muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening.

Well, he couldn’t necessarily be angry, it wasn’t like she was ignoring him. But he still wasn’t wild about being sidelined. He wanted her undivided attention, not this nonsense with clients and deadlines. Frustrated but simply too stubborn to quit, he decided to try another approach and texted Daisy instead.

‘Everything alright, Daisy? Your latte is getting warm.’

She was sitting at the conference table looking up from a laptop then looking at her phone, her eyes met his as she read the message, and she offered Roman and Zsasz an appreciative smile. They could see the tension in her shoulders begin to ease, if only slightly.

She seemed in a far better mood than Belladonna and offered a smile and twirled her finger around her temple to convey the insanity of what was currently happening. Roman chuckled.

‘Everything alright Daisy?’

She looked like she was struggling to put her thoughts into words and after a minute she got up, whispered something to Belladonna, who looked back and forth between Daisy, Roman, and her boss before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Finally," Roman murmured, as Daisy excused herself from the conference room.

The moment the door swung open, a cacophony of raised voices spilled out into the waiting room, as predicted, it wasn’t good.

Daisy emerged looking utterly relieved to be free from the chaos within. As she approached Roman, he got to his feet and held out her iced green tea latte, from the way she was looking at the cold drink one might be tempted to think that Roman was holding out a winning lotto ticket. She gratefully accepted the drink and a quick sip seemed to energize her a bit.

"Thank you," Daisy said gratefully, wrapping her hands around the cold cup and taking a long sip. Her expression softened, and she let out a frazzled breath, trying to shake off the tension that clung to her like a second skin.

Zsasz watched the exchange with an amused glint in his eyes, leaning casually against the wall. He gave Daisy a playful wink, which elicited a small smile from her before Roman's deep voice cut through the lingering tension.

“Daisy, Daisy… What’s got my girls so worked up?” She smiled at Romans' endearing ‘his girls’ note. “Bad day?”

She shook her head, “It’s one for the books, that’s for sure.” She took another sip, “Falls into the category of ‘its not our fault but it is our problem’ kind of thing.”

"What's going on?" Roman asked, charming concern coloring his voice.

"It's been absolute chaos since this morning," She began, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Long story short, we had a huge post-fashion week photo shoot scheduled with the Gotham Literary Society, but there was some sort of paperwork snafu with the permits. Now we're out of a location and scrambling to find one to accommodate the client."

“Yes, I read about that, the site’s just been restored after a two year long renovation.” Roman added casually. Daisy nodded and emphatically gestured with her hand in confirmation as she took another sip of her coffee.

“Exactly! We need to find another location by tomorrow or we might lose the client, Lauren is pissed and well, everyone is scrambling to figure something out." She explained, frustration creasing her brow. "Her bosses are breathing down her neck, which means she’s breathing down our necks. There's talk that if we lose this client, several people might lose their jobs. It’s literally no one’s fault but someone’s gotta pay, right?" She glanced back at the conference room, worry etched in her features. "We're trying to find a place for the shoot, but it's practically impossible because most popular locations are booked already and have been for months. It's the week after fashion week, after all."

“Big client?”

“Huge,” She looked around and lowered her voice, “Adrian Blackwood.” Romans face lit up in recognition. “He just debuted his entire collection and lets just say he had other offers for people to work with, we need to figure this thing out but we’re running out of time. He’s expecting the details to be confirmed by the end of the day which is officially in,” She paused and looked at her watch, “Six hours. Any place worth booking is booked out and any place available isn’t worth the trouble.”

"Are you or Belladonna's jobs at risk?" Roman's concern for their well-being was palpable, his fingers tapping against the side of his leg as he awaited Daisy's response.

She hesitated, biting her lip. "I'm not sure. Belladonna might be okay, but I can't say the same for myself. Assistants get fired all the time, we’re a dime a dozen but I’m pretty sure Belladonna would march out with me while giving them all the stiffest middle finger ever.”

Roman scoffed, of that, he had no doubts. Despite Belladonna’s claims of not having any friends, she was loyal, he’d only recently seen just how loyal.

"We can't have that," He said, shaking his head. He looked back at the chaotic conference room, his gaze finding Belladonna's once more. Roman furrowed his brow in thought before an idea struck him. "Daisy, I think I can help," He declared. "Tell her to come speak with me."

Daisy seemed uncertain, glancing between Roman and the ongoing chaos inside the meeting room. She took a deep breath, seemingly weighing the potential consequences, briefly opening her mouth to try and argue but Roman insisted and his tone of confidence seemed to convince Daisy it was worth the interruption. Finally, she shrugged, an air of ‘fuck it’ in her demeanor.

"What's the worst that could happen?" With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the lion's den to relay Roman's message to Belladonna.

Again when the doors opened the tense tone of their words floated out, she whispered to Belladonna who looked between Roman and Daisy, confusion evident on her face. He was pretty sure she was telling Daisy she wasn’t going anywhere but Daisy appeared insistent. And she must have convinced her because Belladonna let out a sigh, rolled her shoulders and reluctantly approached her boss.

They talked for a minute and her boss didn’t look very happy, clearly unimpressed by Roman's presence, waved her hand dismissively. But after a minute and some vague gesturing with her hands she conceded and Belladonna strode out of the conference room, back rigid and heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Roman watched her approach, noting the tension in her shoulders and the tight set of her jaw. She wasn’t happy by any means, though she was doing her best to conceal it but the irritation was simply radiating off her.

"Ok, Daisy said you needed to talk to me. Make it quick, Roman, I’m kind of in the middle of something." She snapped, her patience wearing thin.

“I can see that,” He wore something of a smug smile and after a silence long enough to start to get on her nerves, he spoke again before she could bite back with something smart. "Daisy was just telling me about your little predicament. It seems you're in need of a new location for your photoshoot, and quickly.”

"Yes," she replied tersely, impatience and exasperation seeping through her words. "But can we please get to the point? My boss is already in a pissy mood and I’m pretty sure I’m next on the chopping block if I don’t get my ass back in there."

"Question?" He said, clearly not bothered by her eagerness to wrap up their conversation.

"Fine, what's your question?" His leisurely questioning was starting to grate on her nerves, and she couldn't help but glance back to her boss, who seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on their conversation.

"Am I a joke to you?" Roman tilted his head looking both disappointed and confused. Sort of reminded her of a puppy with its ears half up and half down trying to suss out a high-pitched sound.

Belladonna stared at him, confused. "What?”

"Use my club,"

Belladonna stared at Roman, her dark eyes wide in surprise. "Use your club?" Momentarily thrown off balance by his unexpected offer.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and smooth. "It's mine to do with as I see fit, it’s empty during the day, and should have more than enough space to accommodate your shoot. You can use the space however you need.” Roman smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “and you can vouch for its legitimacy since it's up-to-date with all the necessary permits and licenses."

"Would that help?" he asked, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.

"Yes, it would," Belladonna admittedly a bit lost for words

She hesitated, shifting on her feet. The offer would solve all her problems for the shoot and might even put her in a better spot for work. She’d obviously need to run it by her boss.

As if reading her mind, Roman gestured towards the conference room.

"Go. Run it by your boss." Roman said with a playful flick of his wrist, shooing her away as if she were a mischievous cat lingering too long by the cream. His dark eyes twinkled with amusement at her hesitation, a side of him few got to witness. "Do you need a slap on that gorgeous ass to get you moving?"

Her eyes flashed with something sharp, but she bit back a retort and turned on her heel, striding back toward the conference room before Roman could follow through with what she hoped was only a joke. As she spoke to her boss, he could see the shock register on her boss’s face. She glanced at Roman, then back to Belladonna then back to Roman, who allowed himself a triumphant smile, knowing he was about to be the hero.

Belladonna motioned for Roman to join them, trying not to let her surprise – or her gratitude – show too openly. As he stepped through the door, the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. All eyes were on him, but this time, he was not the source of any problems. In fact, he was the solution – a role that felt surprisingly gratifying. With his charming smile and easy manner, he greeted Belladonna's boss.

“Ms. Preston, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His smooth tone eased the tension in the room as effectively as a tranquilizer.

"Mr. Sionis, this is a pleasant surprise," Laura said, her demeanor considerably improved as she reached out to shake Romans’ outstretched hand.

“Oh, please, Roman is fine.”

"Belladonna here, tells me you're interested in leasing out your club for our shoot." She crossed her arms over her chest, head tilted as though she wasn’t sure she bought it.

Surely there had to be more to it, right?

“Leasing? Oh, not at all. Can’t have a face this gorgeous wearing anything other than a smile.” Roman's gaze drifted to Belladonna before turning back to Laura. "I'm more than willing to assist, by providing my space free of charge," He responded smoothly. "It won't be a problem."

Laura was one of the most assertive people Belladonna knew, never one to be told what to do, never one to let a man swoop in and save the day… Yet, here they were… Either the situation was worse than Belladonna had initially thought and Laura couldn’t afford to lose this client, or her boss too, was drawn in by Romans’ charm, she wouldn’t be the first or the last. Hell, it happened to Belladonna more times than she could count.

Laura eyed Roman skeptically, her expression guarded "So let me get this straight, Mr. Sionis. You're offering us the use of your club; one of the most exclusive night spots in Gotham for our shoot, free of charge?"

Roman nodded, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips. "That's correct, Laura. Consider it my contribution to the arts."

Laura shook her head incredulously. "Well, I'm afraid I can't accept your offer without some form of compensation. Your club is a prime location, and we can't just take advantage of it for free." Laura stood clicking her pen several times as she contemplated her next move. "But, you know, Roman," She began, "I think we could generate some fantastic publicity for your club through the shoot. If you’re unwilling to accept monetary compensation, maybe some good publicity in the fashion industry might suffice."

"Oh? How so?"

A smirk played on his lips as if he didn’t understand what Laura was proposing, he knew damn well. But he was at least smart enough to know that he had to let her feel like she had a say in this whole thing.

"Well, I have it on good authority that the designer behind the collection is a huge fan of your club. Since your club would be the backdrop it seems wholly inappropriate if we don’t see the man of the hour. And I happen to know for a fact that the designer has a fantastic piece that only a man like yourself could do justice to.” Roman's ego swelled at the thought of being part of a fashion shoot. “It would be great exposure for both the club and the collection."

"I like the sound of that," he replied, nodding thoughtfully. "But one condition."

Laura raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what's that?"

"Belladonna does the shoot," Roman declared, his gaze drifting to where Belladonna stood, sorting through fabric samples. "She's got the skill, the eye. She'll be perfect."

Belladonna's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden turn of events. She opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak, Laura cut in.

"I think that's a fantastic idea," Laura said, flashing a quick smile at Belladonna. "It would add a personal touch to the campaign. We all know Belladonna has quite the eye for male beauty,"

Belladonna hesitated for a moment, then nodded, reluctantly agreeing. She knew she didn't have much choice in the matter.

"Great," Roman said, extending his hand. "It's settled then."

"On behalf of the entire team, thank you, Roman. And I look forward to the proofs,” She turned to Belladonna, “Don’t let me down, Belladonna. This goes well and I think you’ll have earned that bonus we talked about.”

“You got it, Laura,” She replied coolly.

“Alright, then let’s go make the client happy, I'll let him know about the change of venue, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Roman offered her a card from his jacket pocket.

Roman extended his hand, sealing the agreement with a firm handshake. "My pleasure, Laura. I hope you’ll find time to stop by, and if your client has any questions, don't hesitate to give them my card. I'm always happy to accommodate."

As the bubble of stress burst open like a fragile balloon, the aquarium fish seemed to have taken a cue swimming away. Daisy wrapped Roman in a hug that could rival the strength of an ant and crowned him a lifesaver, before following the other fish out of the conference room. Belladonna collapsed onto the table, hands rubbing her temples in relief… or maybe just exhaustion at the fact that it was only noon. Roman playfully nudged her with his foot,

“Look at me on my white horse, saving the day!” He mused so proudly, “Seems it got you a bit of cred with your boss, didn’t it? And what was that, something about a bonus too?”

“And now I have an entire shoot to direct.” She replied with a tired smirk and a nod. “And yeah, she’s been dangling that bonus since the beginning of the year.”

He shrugged, prowling closer, caging her in with his arms as he braced them on the table behind her. The scent of his cologne enveloped her, dark and sensual.

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.” He paused, “You’re welcome by the way.”

She tilted her head at his playful remark, giving his belt a tug, pulling him into a kiss. Her lips brushed his several times, by now they were both used to the stares and quick little instances of phones being pulled out during his lunchtime visits.

“Thank you.”

“You know angel, I have to say, I think these conference room meetings are starting to grow on me, I’m finding them very stimulating…”

“Keep it in your pants, Sionis, mama’s working.” His eyebrows shot up at that one, and his chest inhaled a deep controlling breath.

“Easy kitten, don’t forget who holds the cards here.”

“Let's see them.” Her mood had considerably improved but Roman found that was usually the case after he kissed her, “Full house beats a flush.”

Roman shook his head, a half-smile playing on his lips as he held out her coffee. Today, it was different - her usual rose-infused mocha, but iced. The cool container melted against her skin as she took it from him, the condensation leaving small droplets on her fingertips.

"The girl at the shop insisted you try it iced with the warming weather," Roman explained, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"And you actually took her suggestion? Shocking," She replied, taking a whiff of the sweet aroma before taking a tentative sip.

"Jokes on her, if you don't like it I'm burning that little cafe to the ground..." Despite his playful threat, she could tell Roman was only half serious. But the drink was surprisingly delicious, and she couldn't help but wear a pleasantly surprised expression as she took another sip.

“Good?” He asked with a smug look, she held the drink out to him but he shook his head, so she took another sip and leaned forward to give him a kiss, slipping her tongue past his lips for a rose-infused mocha-flavored kiss. He seemed a little more interested in tasting the coffee now.

"And so the little coffee shop that could, lives another day... Have you eaten?" His concern might have been slightly pandering but it was still kind of cute.

Roman looked hard at her searching for any signs of deceit, Belladonna seemed very unamused at now having two people inquiring as to her dietary needs. “Been too busy.”

Roman reached into the small brown bag that had gone unnoticed until now, revealing a box of french macarons that were almost too beautiful to devour. After careful consideration, he chose a bright pink one adorned with delicate swirls and a sprinkle of glitter. The aroma of rich chocolate mousse wafted through the air as he playfully commanded:

"Open up."

Belladonna licked her lips in anticipation before parting them to accept the treat. She nipped at his fingers, savoring the velvety texture of the macaron and the warmth of his skin against her lips. As she chewed, Roman chuckled and shook his head.

"What am I going to do with you, kitten? Tie you down and force you to eat?" Belladonna shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying the banter between them as well as how Romans eyes did that thing again; where they flared up and there was a little surge of something dark trying to get out.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to drag him into the nearest closet.

Professionalism be damned.

“Kitten, don’t test daddy’s patience…” He warned her with a growl, his voice low and dangerous.

Belladonna wasn’t quite sure what came over her but she couldn’t stop the words that slipped past her lips.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

He jerked her forward into a hard kiss, and she was pretty sure she could feel that last little strand of his self-control pulled taut ready to snap as his tongue delved into her mouth and his hands slipped over her ass, lifting her onto the table. Standing between her legs, he pressed himself against her, feeling the heat of their bodies meld together. A guttural groan escaped his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tickling the nape of his neck.

Oh, this naughty little kitten of his…

“You like to tease me, don’t you, Kitten?” His voice was gravelly and strained in between kisses, panting heavily before finally breaking away just long enough to speak a few words.

“I’m about five seconds from dragging you into an empty office and bending that sweet ass over a desk, Belladonna, and I don’t care who hears." He kissed her again, harder this time, “You wanna play like that? Call me daddy?” He grinned a wolfish lear against her lips, “I’ll make you fucking scream it.”

A knock at the glass window pulled them both from the edge of the abyss they were standing on, looking over to the windows, Zsasz stood with his back to them, he had knocked on the glass, and several people in passing were hurrying away. No doubt they must have snapped a few pictures that would be splashed over the tabloids and gossip rags tomorrow, hell, maybe even today, it was still early.

“Kitten,” His deep voice rumbled through the air, causing her heart to skip a beat. He paused and straightened his perfectly-tailored jacket, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room before landing on her.

“One of these days I’m not gonna care how many people are around, and if you get fired, I’ll just get you another job somewhere else.”

“My office is down the hall.” She tried to maintain a professional demeanor but felt her cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

“Temping as that is, Angel,” He used her nickname with a hint of amusement in his voice, “I did come for more than just your afternoon coffee and to check to make sure you’ve eaten.”

“Has something happened with the cops?” Her curiosity was piqued by his serious tone.

“No,” His expression turned grave, “Does the name Maria Lopez mean anything to you?”

She furrowed her brow, trying to recall any information about the name. After a minute of concentration, she shook her head.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“No one? Not a teacher, a maid, a friend, nobody?”

“No, I didn’t get along with most of my teachers. Our maids were mostly Italian or Greek, and after what happened with Olivia, I didn’t have many friends. Plus, my father wouldn’t allow anyone with even a hint of Hispanic heritage near me,”

Roman looked confused by this revelation.

“His best friend was Spanish,” she continued, “They had some kind of falling out between their families a long time ago. My father saw anyone with Hispanic blood as someone not to be trusted.” Roman nodded in understanding; he knew the type of person her father was. “Why do you ask?”

Roman hesitated before offering up what he knew, “If I tell you this, you do nothing. Do you understand me?”

His voice took on that hard quality again, the one that readied her fight or flight instinct, he was serious. She nodded slowly, but he looked expectantly.

"Okay, I promise. What's going on? Who is Maria Lopez?" She asked.

He lowered his voice, “I think that’s the alias your mother has been using.”

Her jaw dropped. “You found her?”

He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm still verifying some things, but I needed to know if that name meant anything to you."

"If it's an alias my father chose for her, I never would've known to look for it." Understanding dawned on Roman's face as he nodded. "Where is she?" She demanded, feeling a surge of hope mixed with fear.

"I can't say for sure," He admitted.

“I don’t believe you.” His eyes sharpened. "You wouldn't ask me something like this if you didn't have reason to believe she was out there."

He was amused by her straight talk and she was right, fact was he had a lot more than he let on.

“Maybe I do have something. But,” She visibly deflated, “Nothing happens until I can verify what I’m looking at.” He seized her chin, “You do nothing. You don’t even so much as Google that name, do you hear me, Belladonna Black?”

She hadn’t been called by her full name in years and the way Roman said it… Well, it had her wondering if she could change his mind about the whole office rendezvous.

“You’re really gonna find her?” He was trying to be serious and maybe a bit intimidating but she didn’t see it, she saw him assembling pieces to a puzzle she hadn’t even been able to find pieces to in four years.

“I said I would. Anyone jumping the gun could result in more blood spilled. Do you remember what we talked about the other night after Stan left?” She nodded and gave a feint, ‘Yeah’ It was easy in the span of an evening with Thai takeout and sleeping in the safety of his cozy bed to forget just how real the game they were playing was.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” She took hold of his hand that gripped her chin and kissed it.

“Alright. You’re going to finish out your day and I’m picking you up at eight, not a moment later. Any other work you have to do will have to be done remotely, understand me?”

“You kidding, I’m a hero by association today, it won’t be hard to leave by eight.”

“Be ready.” She nodded, “Now, I need to be going, Angel. I have some errands to run and before you ask; don’t.”

Roman pulled her in for one more kiss, his hands settling on her hips, maybe a little lower than might have been appropriate for a goodbye kiss but she didn’t seem to mind. It was slow and leisurely, a gentle exploration of her mouth and she could feel the warmth of his wet tongue teasing the seam of her lips. With a satisfied 'Mmm' and a heavy restrained sigh, Roman pulled back, leaving her wanting more. But before she could protest, in Roman fashion he kissed the palm of her hand, his lips lingering for a moment before he left the box of macarons on the conference table, a gesture of sweetness in contrast to his confident and seductive demeanor.

“Eat up kitten, but not too much. We’re going out tonight.”

The hands of the clock on the wall had inched closer to six pm, casting long shadows across the nearly deserted office. Belladonna, now left to her own devices after sending Daisy home with Lloyd, focused intently on her task at hand: finalizing preparations for tomorrow's shoot. The responsibility of running it all loomed over her, a weight she now bore thanks to Roman's influence.

Belladonna adjusted her glasses and diligently worked through the shot list, making necessary adjustments and confirming equipment availability. She double-checked every detail, ensuring that everything would be in working order for the big day. Somehow knowing Roman would be there not only watching but participating made her a bit anxious.

Her gaze momentarily drifted to the corner of her desk where the mostly empty box of macarons caught her eye. A small smile played on her lips as she recalled Roman's 'doting boyfriend' act earlier that day. She reached for the box, taking out the last one; a chocolate and pistachio macaron, and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its sweet aroma.

She’d never say it outloud but the Roman made one hell of a fake boyfriend when he tried, almost fooled her, before taking a satisfying bite.

As she chewed, her mind wandered back to Roman—his enigmatic presence and the powerful connections he held. She was putting a lot of trust in him, the feminist in her didn’t like how dependant on him she was and she felt a pang of unease. But at this point Roman had had multipl opportunities to either cut her loose or let her die and each time he did neither.

The clock continued to tick away, marking the passage of time as she worked tirelessly to ensure tomorrow's shoot would go off without a hitch. And all the while, Roman Sionis' presence continued to linger in the back of her mind.

She redirected her attention to the list of garments for tomorrow's shoot, pulling out the photo of the piece Roman would be modeling, an intricately detailed, dark and alluring outfit that seemed to perfectly match his enigmatic persona.

"Damn, he is going to look incredible in this," Belladonna whispered under her breath, feeling a sudden surge of excitement at the prospect of capturing him on camera.

The past week had been a whirlwind, and despite the chaos and danger, but oddly enough she felt perfectly safe. And the notion of Roman being close by while she worked, working in his club was oddly comforting.

She still knew practically nothing about him, and their entire relationship seemed to be built on a foundation of dependency and manipulation.

Slumping into her chair she stared at the open search engine on her laptop thinking back to the last time she Googled him and how she didn't find much. At the time it had been disheartening but now she had more information on him, especially after her conversation with Cobblepot. She has a better idea of what to look for. She decided to try again, beginning her search at Gotham Preparatory School for Boys.

As she browsed through the website, with some quick math she found the graduating classes section and quickly calculated which year Roman would have graduated. Once she located his year, her eyes were immediately drawn to his graduation picture – stone-faced, serious, and undeniably gorgeous.

She studied the class photo, she noticed the space that people seemed to give Roman, as though he was a shark among a school of fish. It only confirmed Cobblepot's description of him – magnetic yet unnerving. People were afraid of him even at only eighteen.

"Roman Sionis, man of mystery…”

Roman wasn’t Valedictorian and hadn't received any special awards or honors. However, his grades must have been decent enough for him to participate in extracurricular activities, and he was a busy boy. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she read the list – debate team, high-ranking chess competitor, social clubs, polo, squash, fencing, boxing, equestrianism, and swimming.

None of those sounded like Roman but given the prestigious nature of the school, she suspected his parents likely had something to do with Roman’s busy schedule; something she could relate to. The thing that surprised her the most was the chess thing, she didn’t see Roman as having the patience for that sort of thing but by all accounts, he was very good.

"Of course, they'd want their son involved in everything," she mused, thinking of how similar Roman's upbringing seemed to her own.

Though she knew she should focus on the upcoming photo shoot, the enigma of Roman Sionis proved too enticing to resist.

She clicked further into the archives next, finding a treasure trove of photos featuring Roman in his school uniform. The crisp white shirt and sharp black blazer and his immaculately styled hair seemed to be precursors to his current love for suits. Even as a teenager, he exuded an air of confidence and danger that was undeniably attractive. His stern expression, reminiscent of a young James Dean or Clint Eastwood, gave him a "resting bastard face" that somehow only served to heighten his appeal.

"Damn," she whispered to herself, unable to look away from the smoldering intensity in his eyes. Many of his photos possessed the quality to them that his eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went.

There was an alumni section dedicated to post-high school achievements like colleges, civic honors, and prominent family legacies where Roman was mentioned as a successful club owner, nothing more. There was no mention of any continuing connection with the school, but it did lead her to a page dedicated to significant contributors – including Roman's father, Richard Sionis.

Richard's gray hair betrayed his age, though there was still a strong resemblance between him and his son. Unlike Roman, Richard wore a smile in his pictures – but it appeared rehearsed and artificial, reminding Belladonna of the way her own father would grin for the cameras. It was clear that Roman had inherited his father's good looks, but there was something more genuine in his features, less tired and fake than the elder Sionis.

Belladonna continued to read about Richard's long-standing support of the school, noting his service on the board of trustees and involvement in numerous fundraisers. It seemed that the Sionis family had a history of influence and power, making her wonder what role Roman's upbringing played in shaping the man he had become.

Who was Roman Sionis before he became Roman Sionis?

She stared at the screen, not ready to pack it in just yet.

She didn’t know if he went to college or where to look and she really had no idea what happened to him after he graduated, only that at some point his family had severed all ties with him and Roman had begun a criminal life. He had mentioned he’d done time in Blackgate, but she wasn’t sure of the reason. The criminal stuff didn’t bother her at this point, she mostly wanted to know about his family drama. Because personal family drama was irritating, someone else’s family drama was entertainment.

"Alright then," She muttered under her breath, typing in the keywords ‘Roman Sionis’ and ‘Blackgate’ then hitting enter.

Over a dozen arrest records appeared on the screen, and Belladonna felt her heart tighten in her chest. Most of the records showed Roman posting bail up until he was twenty-one, but then the pattern changed. The bail postings stopped, and he started doing more time in jail. She suspected this may have been when his parents severed ties with him, but she couldn't find anything concrete to prove it.

Not surprising, a family like his was likely to have as many skeletons in their closets as hers did and like hers; they stayed locked up tight away from prying eyes.

She clicked on the last arrest record, dating back to when Roman was twenty-three. Her stomach churned as the mugshot revealed several injuries to his face – a black and slightly swelling eye, bloodied cheeks, and a split lip. He looked like he had been beaten very badly, yet his smug expression remained intact, as if daring the world to knock him down further.

"God, Roman..."

Despite his injuries, there was something about his defiant gaze that made her feel a flicker of admiration. It was clear that Roman refused to be broken, even when the odds were against him. She could practically hear him boasting ‘You should see the other guy.’

Aggravated assault, property damage, trespassing, criminal menacing, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal weapons, resisting arrest, and battery – it was an extensive rap sheet that painted a portrait of a man prone to violence and chaos.

"Roman, you really don't make things easy, do you?" Belladonna muttered under her breath, feeling a strange mix of concern and fascination.

As she researched further into the dates of his arrests, Belladonna stumbled upon the court case where Roman was tried for these numerous charges. Limited to a mid-tier lawyer, she expected him to suffer the consequences of his actions, yet one by one, he managed to beat most of the charges. It seemed as though evidence had conveniently disappeared or witnesses had mysteriously chosen not to step forward.

"Interesting," She mused, intrigued by the power Roman appeared to wield even in his darkest moments. "How did you manage all of this?"

Her search eventually led her to the final charge that stuck: tax evasion. The out-of-place accusation left her puzzled, as it seemed far removed from the violent nature of the other crimes.

"Tax evasion? That's what they got you on, Roman?" Belladonna shook her head, disbelief etched across her face. Frustration gnawed at her as she tried to find more information on the bizarre charge but came up empty-handed. “Well, the permits make a little more sense now…”

The courtroom photos were grainy, like a lower quality paparazzi shot. His expression was one of pure disgust and irritation as he stood before the judge, his dark eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. The gavel came down, sealing his fate: three years in Blackgate Penitentiary.

She couldn't find anything on Roman's prison stint without hiring a private investigator or formally requesting court documents and that required the Freedom of Information Act which was time consuming and could be expensive and it wasn’t exactly subtle. And for some reason, she didn't want Roman to know she was digging into his past.

Her eyes narrowed as she typed in a new search query – this time focusing on Roman's initial arrest that had landed him in Blackgate Penitentiary. As she skimmed the articles, she discovered it was tied to an assault case against a local criminal named Tony Zucco.

"Tony Zucco?"

A feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She knew the name sounded familiar but couldn't quite place it. Frustrated, she opened a new tab and quickly Googled the man.

As the search results loaded, Belladonna found herself staring at a squeaky clean image of Tony Zucco – a self-made man from Old Gotham with a very old school mafia gangster look to him. He looked like the type of man her father surrounded himself with.

The more she searched, the less information she seemed to find about the altercation between Roman and Tony. It was as if their conflict had been purposefully scrubbed from the internet. However, one detail remained consistent throughout the scarce information available – Roman had lost the fight, but not without causing some serious damage.

"Damn," Belladonna breathed out.

What did Tony Zucco do to earn Roman’s wrath? What could have possibly ignited such a violent confrontation between the two? Her instincts told her it wasn’t exactly a fight over a seat at the bar.

The case was open and shut. As far as she could tell, he’d done his three years and he was released on the date, not a day more or less. There were a few pictures from paparazzi’s of Roman after his release and he looked harder, features darker and sharper, grittier. But she couldn’t imagine that three years of prison was easy on a man like Roman who had known luxury his whole life.

Gotham was almost pretty at sunset, if you didn’t think about all the scum that came out at night, the fading sunlight doused the area in hues of orange and gold. Roman lounged against the hood of his sleek black Maserati, scrolling through his tablet. A smirk played on his lips as if he were watching a thrilling episode of his favorite show, waiting to see what would unfold next.

Zsasz, Roman's loyal assistant, stood beside him, taking a drag from a cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. For once not wearing his jacket in a departure of his professional look, he wore a shoulder holster but it didn’t hold a gun. No, where a small firearm usually sat tucked against a mans side instead was the scabbard of a very large knife. Scars on his arms on full display since no one was around to be scared by them, besides when it came to nightfall in Gotham, the scarier you looked, the less likely people were to fuck with you and there weren’t many men who looked scarier than Zsasz.

"Tell me she's asking better questions this time," Zsasz asked in a monotone voice with a hint of reservation.

“She started with my old prep school this time." Roman said, his eyes never leaving the tablet. "Nobody ever thinks keyloggers are useful until they are,"

“I prefer a more hands on approach.”

Roman chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You think she’ll find my list of extracurriculars impressive?"

“Hell no. Squash is dumb, and polo is for spoiled rich pussies," Zsasz countered, blowing out another puff of smoke. Zsasz scoffed.

A bark of laughter escaped Roman. "You do remember I played Polo, right?." Zsasz shot him a sideways glance, the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “

Zsasz's lips quirked. "Wasn't calling you a pussy."

"Damn right I’m not."

Roman's attention returned to the tablet, watching in real time as Belladonna uncovered more and more of his sordid past. Part of him relished the thought of her reaction. The rest rankled at her audacity to dig into his business but he had done just that too her so he couldn’t blame her much. Still, pretty stupid to think she could dig into him and he not know. He knew about her previous day of Googling after his little adventure at the docks with Cobblepots men and he’s watched as she searched up his old school.

He had to give it to her, she’d gone right back to work after he’d left and he was pleased to see that she didn’t Google the name Maria Lopez, just as she’s promised not to. Nope. But she did take a second shot at Googling him. Her first attempt at digging into Romans past hadn’t yielded much, turns out when you write in the name ‘Roman Sionis’ into Google it’s mostly just papparazzi pictures and a few articles on his club. Roman had paid good money to make sure those articles on his arrest and his younger years were at least seven pages back in the search results. You couldn’t erase a criminal past but you could make it harder to find.

He admired Belladonna's tenacity. She was resourceful, stubborn, and unafraid to dig into his past. Those traits only served to make her more attractive to him.

"Let's see what else she has up her sleeve," Roman murmured, his finger swiping across the tablet screen.

A wicked grin spreading across his face as he noticed Belladonna had uncovered his criminal record.

"Ah, there it is. She's finally found my rap sheet," He said, his voice low and amused.

"Should've been her first step," Zsasz commented, looking over Roman's shoulder at the screen.

"Oh come on now, give the kid a break. She's new at this."

"True," Zsasz chuckled, leaning back against the car hood. "I’ll give her this, she’s has handled everything so far like an old-school mafia woman. Haven’t seen tears from her once."

“Thank God for that, I can’t stand seeing women cry.” Roman agreed, his admiration for Belladonna growing with each passing moment "Indeed, she's been a champ,"

Flicking through the rest of the information she'd gathered, he spotted something that caught his attention.

"Look here, she's found Tony Zucco's name."

"Tony Zucco?" Zsasz mused, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "She won't find much. He's been out of the game since you shut him down.”

"Ah, yes. Good ol' Tony," Roman sighed nostalgically, a distant look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Not the least of which was the scar on his shoulder,courtsey of Zsasz's loyalty. Roman met his gaze.

"Good shot, by the way. The ladies seem to like the scars."

Zsasz's lips quirked again. "Following orders.” Zsasz reminded him with a sly grin as he flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “What else has she dug up?"

Roman scrolled through the contents of the laptop. "She found the shooting at the club." His mouth twisted. "Hard to believe that lazy bastard was in business for so long, Tony never seemed to understand the value of paying your people what they’re worth..."

Zsasz chimed in. "You had a better employee retention program."

"I did at that." Roman said smugly. They both chuckled, enjoying the memory that many would probably find deeply suspicious or deeply unsettling.

"Yeah, poor Tony never saw it coming. Shame you didn't kill him," Zsasz said casually. "Could've gotten the club for cheap if there had been a death on the property."

"True," Roman mused, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at the thought. “A little restraint goes a long way Zsasz…”

His laugh died and Roman's eyes narrowed to slits as he zoomed in on an article that Belladonna was currently browsing. It was a piece the Gotham Times had published shortly after the shooting—one he'd somehow overlooked until now. The street lights flickered above, casting eerie shadows across his face as he scrutinized the text.

"Zsasz," Roman said, his voice low and dangerous. "Take a look at this and tell me what you see."

Zsasz took the tablet from Roman, his pale eyes scanning the screen with a growing sense of unease. He glanced back at Roman, his voice tense with anticipation. "Two very irritating names.”

"This makes it two times now," Roman muttered, a note of irritation lacing his voice.

"Two?"

"First, we miss Belladonna's hypoglycemia diagnosis," Roman said, tossing the tablet aside where it landed with a soft thud on the leather couch. “Now this.”

"Ah," Zsasz nodded slowly, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "A determined woman does better research than the FBI. Maybe you should take Belladonna out for a nice dinner, thank her properly for her detective skills."

Roman's expression softened at the mention of dinner. The thought of her resourcefulness brought a rare sense of warmth to his chest.

"Dinner?" he echoed, considering the idea. His hand instinctively reached up to adjust the cuff of his immaculately tailored suit.

Roman considered it.

"Taking a half-Italian woman to an Italian restaurant... is that too cliché?" Roman inquired, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a semblance of amusement.

"Boss," Zsasz replied with a deadpan delivery, "clichés are clichés for a reason. But if you want something different, I know a place. Turkish."

"That little hole in the wall joint in the Bowery?" Roman's tone shifted with intrigue.

Zsasz gave a single nod. "That's the one."

"Karnıyarık," Roman mused aloud, a hint of hunger creeping into his voice as he remembered the savor of well-spiced eggplant and minced meat. "That does sound good."

"And don't get me started on the büyükanne's baklava." Zsasz's eyes gleamed with a rare spark of enthusiasm. "Better than any of those fancy restaurants, hands down."

Dinner was a good next step but there was a new loose end to tie up. Roman's amusement faded as he glared at the article again, picking out the names that had drawn his ire—Ramirez and Craven. The detectives first on scene after he'd been shot.

Roman sneered at the article, muttering under his breath, "So that's why you've got it out for me..."

His mind raced with thoughts of revenge and calculated moves, feeling the weight of their names pressing down on him.

"This changes things," Roman said, the gears turning in his head. He looked at Zsasz with a new sense of urgency.

"What do you want to do about it?" Zsasz asked calmly.

"Call up the lawyers and our inside man. I want everything on Ramirez and Craven by Monday."

"Got it, boss," Zsasz replied, nodding in agreement. His fingers were already reaching for his phone, ready to make contact and set things into motion. “You wanna wait on Metropolis? Left that doctor in pretty rough shape, he might talk, might not.”

“No, I think we’ve properly motivated the good doctor to keep his mouth shut. But let’s not take any chances, keep our travel plans as scheduled. And look into that other thing, I want that sorted by the time we leave, make sure she has everything she needs.”

"Now what?" he asked, curious about Roman's next move.

Roman's mind buzzed with plans and contingencies, the dark machinery of his intellect churning relentlessly. Craven and Ramirez had been the proverbial annoying thorn in his side since this whole damn thing started. He’d have figured out exactly what their beef with him was sooner or later but thanks to his little detective, it was sooner and he’d have to make sure he thanked her properly, wouldn’t he?

But he’d also have to tell her he’d been spying on her at work as well as her home, which really shouldn’t surprise her at this point. Well, she’d get over it.

The neon glow of the city reflected in Roman's dark eyes as he glanced at his watch, the ticking seconds a reminder that time was always moving.

"Time to go pick up my angel from work."

He pocketed the tablet and slid off the hood of the Maserati with predatory grace. Zsasz looked up from his phone call, nodding in understanding. Neither spoke of the growing reality, which was that Belladonna was quickly becoming a more central influence in Romans life, which made her dangerous.

Her beauty and courage had captivated him from their first meeting, and he found himself craving her presence more and more each day.

"Boss, everything's set," Zsasz said, interrupting Roman's thoughts as he hung up the phone. "Our guys will get us what we need."

"Good," Roman replied, his voice low and intense. "We'll find out exactly what those bastards are playing at, and put an end to it. But for now… let's focus on something far more pleasant." He smirked, enjoying the idea of spending time with Belladonna, even if only for a brief reprieve from the darkness that consumed his world. “I’m hungry.”

When faced with virtually no information about Tony Zucco aside from his sterling reputation within the community and the many mentionings of his hand in local businesses, Bealladonna’s bullshit detector started going off. Jaded or not, a wise man once said if something seemed too good to be true then it was.

When one word didn’t work, she opted to cross reference the name of Tony Zucco with Roman Sionis and then she found it.

The words "shooting" and "Masquerade Noir" had caught her attention, and as she read, she began to piece together a story that had unfolded just months after Roman's release from prison.

The article detailed an incendent that had unfolded at the location that would later become Roman’s club, he had been looking at the building with a leasing agent when Tony Zucco and his men showed up.

The statement of the leasing agent told of how Roman instructed her to flee and call the police and when she ran Tony’s men persued her. She imagined Roman's tall, dark frame acting as a barrier between the fleeing woman and Zucco's thugs. Roman then inteviened and tackled one fo the men by throwing punches but was qickly overwhelmed when he second man attacked Roman from behind. The witness report stated she saw Roman taking a severe beating on his knees before she went for help.

Roman out-numbered two to one, those seemed like his kind of odds. The image of his strong, muscular body entangled in a vicious fight made her shiver with both fear and admiration. It was compelling but something about it just wasn’t right. Where was Zsasz? She hadn’t bothered to look up anything about Zsasz, that one she had been a little afraid to look into.

The article continued stating by the time the police had arraived the two men were dead from gunshot wounds, Tony Zucco was shot in the chest but still alive and Roman was shot in the shoulder. She could almost hear the gunshots echoing through the empty building as Roman and Zucco traded fire.

Her breath caught in her throat as she envisioned Roman wounded and bleeding. She thought back to earlier that morning when she’d caught sight of him with that towel draped around his waist. She’d seen a few scars, one in particular on his shoulder, it had looked like a bullet but she couldn't tell from where she was.

As she absorbed the information, she could almost see the scene play out in her mind: Roman, bloodied but unbowed, bringing down the older man before collapsing into unconsciousness. It wasn't long after this brutal exchange that the police arrived, taking both men to Gotham General Hospital for treatment.

"Both men were treated and held in medical hold with armed police officers until they cold be taken to the GCPD." She read further.

While there was push from Zucco’s attourney to have Roman thrown back into Blackgate for the shooting and there was a potential civil lawsuit against him, the judge had ruled that Roman was out numbered, out gunned and he acted in reasonable self defense.

"Tony Zucco was sentenced to ten years for conspiracy to commit murder, assault with a deadly weapon, criminal conspiracy, and criminal solicitation. "

It had been, as far as she could tell, a slam dunk case mostly thanks to the severity of Romans injuries and the leasing agent who had witnessed the whole ordeal. She had stepped forward offering testimony, ultimately clearing Roman Sionis of any wrongdoing.

She moved from one article to another that talked about Tony Zucco’s release several years ago and he hadn’t been mentioned that much since, choosing to keep a quiet profile until almost all mention of him stopped. And a price reduction of several hundred thousand dollars had left the building vacant, which Roman swooped in to purchase it months later.

"Masquerade Noir opens its doors... quickly becoming Gotham's hottest night spot," She read aloud, her voice tinged with disbelief. The club had been born from violence, yet now thrived with people fighting to get in.

"Roman Sionis: Behind the Mystery" – another article title caught her eye, and she clicked on it eagerly. Scrolling through the text, she absorbed every detail there were interviews with staff, patrons, all speaking very highly of Roman as an employer who ran an immaculate ship. Didn’t tolerate any shady activity and overall, all who set foot inside his doors reported they loved the experience and felt safe and eager to return even if a martini cost almost twenty five dollars.

"From violence to prospering into an icon of the city; one thing is certain – he has built an empire from nothing, and many are drawn to the allure of his power and charm."

The sudden buzz of the intercom jolted Belladonna from her thoughts, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Miss Black, Mr. Sionis is in the lobby to pick you up," The security guards voice came through the speaker.

"Thank you, tell him I’ll be right down." She managed to reply, quickly shutting down her laptop and packing her bag.

As she stepped out of her office and made her way to the lobby, she considered what she might say to him, or even if she’d say anything at all. He’d never forbade her from looking into his past, never warned her not to go digging and what kind of idiot would she be if she didn’t at least do some light Googling into a man that she was growing more intimately connected with? Hell, she was all but sleeping with him at this point, she was living with him.

Her steps slowed as she entered the elevator and waited for it to carry her to the first floor. He did, however, tell her to ask fewer questions or learn to look the other way.

"Angel,"

Roman's deep voice called as he saw her, his eyes alight with a mix of desire and possessiveness and he wore a smile that could charm the devil himself. He crossed the distance between them in a few swift strides, pulling her into an unusually passionate kiss that caught her off guard. There was no one here aside from the security guard who wasn’t even watching, why the show? Something put him in a good mood.

"Hi.” She said a little breathlessly.

He ushered her toward his black Maserati parked outside, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "Hungry?"

"Actually, yeah." She replied, her previous queries now pushed to the back burner after that kiss and the prospect of dinner. She wondered what he had in mind but before she could ask he answered that with a question of his own.

"Ever had Turkish?" Roman asked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

She wasn’t sure what it was but something had put him in a very good mood, it was hard to find any hint of those little tendrils of darkness that usually clung to him. It was then that she registered his question and her lips curled in distaste, the memory of her father's rants about 'those damned Turks' still fresh even after all these years.

"No, of course not." She said it with an almost laugh, as if it was the dumbest question she’d been asked.

Roman's gaze sharpened, and she could almost hear the unspoken reprimand. “Excuse me?’ Who's never had Turkish in this cultural melting pot of a city? It’s almost offensive.”

“Sorry?” She shrugged. "Did you forget I'm half Greek and my father is something of a xenophobe?" She replied, unable to keep the slightly defensive note from her voice.

"What's that got to do with food?" He asked perplexed as the car pulled away from the curb.

Belladonna bit her lip. Did Roman really need her to explain her father's deep seeded, outdated, cultural hatred? She thought it was pretty self explanatory. On the other hand it was just as plausible for Roman to harbor no real hate for anyone unless they crossed him in which case that was most certainly a ‘case by case’ basis. He also seemed like an ‘I hate everybody equally’ type of man. He was a total social butterfly, floating between different groups without a care in the world. Old grudges and racial tensions didn't seem to faze him at all, personal grudges? Well, that was likely different.

"Turkish food," She finally said. "Greece and Turkey have been enemies for centuries,” She managed. "Ever since the Ottoman Empire conquered Constantinople in 1453, there's been bad blood between the nations. Even now they're still not exactly friends-"

"Despite both being NATO allies..." Roman interjected, one dark brow arched knowingly.

His mention of something so political surprised her, Roman was smart but she didn’t really think of him as ‘politics smart.’ She had never thought of him as someone who paid attention to politics, let alone casually mention it. But in a way, it did make a certain kind of sense, the politics of crime.

"Just because someone is an ally, doesn't make them friends."

She froze, hearing the echo of their own intricate affiliation in those words. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by an awkward tension.

Without warning, Roman's hand reached out to cup her chin and he silenced any concerns she had with a deep, passionate kiss. His lips moved slowly over hers, lulling her into a relaxed state, slow, smoldering, possessive and hungry. When he pulled away, she was left breathless, her mind pleasantly unfocused.

"Trust me, you're gonna love it," He purred, low and seductive, his thumb stroking over her lower lip.

He didn't acknowledge her earlier words or the uneasy parallel she had drawn between them. If her comment bothered him, he didn't let it show.

“Was your father that much of a bigot to keep you from trying some of the most delicious food known to man?” Roman's disbelief was evident in his tone, and it surprised her. She had never thought of him as a foodie but he seemed all riled up over it.

“Roman, what do you think?” She asked dryly.

"Come on," he said. "Time you tried some Turkish delight."

“That jello thing that little prick Edmund liked from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe?”

Roman rolled his eyes, and scoffed. “You know classic children's fantasy literature but you’ve never had Turkish?”

“You mean, ‘I know classic Christian biblical propaganda?’ Then yes, I do. I went to an all girls Catholic school, remember?”

A sly smile crossed Roman's face. “Oh, Angel, trust me. That’s a detail I’ve never forgotten.”

Just an hour ago she’d read through as much of Romans criminal history as she could find, she was still no closer to discovering what it was that happened between his family and him. She didn’t for one second buy the fact that he’d done three years for tax evasion or that there was no validity to any of the other charges against him.

He did it. She was sure.

And she knew for a fact that the shooting that took place in his club couldn’t have been as simple as the article had made it out to be.

Roman protecting a curiously present leasing agent when someone he had a sketchy past with had just happen to show up? Not for a second.

She couldn't explain it, but somehow Roman had found a way to get away with murder and attempted murder. And now, he was doing it again with Jimmy. Even more unsettling, she was helping him - at times, even enjoying it. She could hardly believe how comfortable she had become in his presence, especially since learning to read him better. As they drove through the streets of Gotham, for what was sounding more and more like a real date, Roman wore something that hovered between a smile and a smirk. His hand rested possessively on her thigh, thumb gently grazing her leg through the fabric of her jeans. Electric sparks shooting between their bodies like lightning bolts. She couldn't deny the thrill she felt being by his side, despite the danger and moral ambiguity of their actions together.

Roman was a man of many qualities, but at the forefront of it all was his ability to survive. She couldn't imagine how much blood he must have shed to get to where he was. Despite knowing he was dangerous and having witnessed his quick fire temper firsthand, and even being mildly on the receiving end a few times. She was drawn to him.

Everything about this man should have sent her running and screaming.

But it didn’t.

First he’d spared her life, then he’d saved her life more than once, called down an armed assault when she’d been in danger and nearly declared war with another criminal over her. Yet, here he was, sitting beside her, taking her to dinner after a long workday, to try something new. She wasn’t bothered by his touch, in fact, she craved it. Despite the red flags every Cosmo had ever told her to look for and run from there was a warmth emanating from those flags, like a bullet-proof, blood red blanket.

Roman Sionis was a pit bull. An angry dog with a penchant for biting and slicing off ears. Dropping bodies where it pleased him and something about that knowledge set every nerve of hers on fire.

He was a criminal. A killer with blood on his hands. And a psychopath with violence in his heart. And if there was a God in heaven, let him help her because she was falling for him.

I woke up a little early so here's a happy surprise for you guys! So, we got a little more insight into Roman's past, eh? Anyone else get the impression we're missing some information???? Belladonna does. Hope you guys liked this chapter, I know I'm teasing you guys mercilessly but stick with me I PROMISE YOU the smut is coming in the next chapter or two, it just depends on pacing but it will be worth it! Y'all have stuck with me this far just hang on a little longer. I need to work on a few one-shots but I have the next chapter mostly planned out so it shouldn't take quite as long. I also had some family in town so writing was put on the back burner for a little bit.

I'm really loving how this story is coming together and I really appreciate everyone's support, especially my mysterious anonymous questioner who checks in on me, I don't know who you are but I appreciate you! Comments and interaction comes from such a small group so the feedback and check-ins really do keep me motivated!

How do you guys like the new look fo the story??? I finally got Canva Premium so I think I'll be playing around with some more fun stuff like the bars and dividers. You guys know what to do, reblog with those crazy tags, comment and like! Reblogs are the best way to circulate work on Tumblr so we can reach more Toxic Fangirls! And speaking of which a big welcome to a new potential member of the Roman Sionis Toxic Love Fangirl Club who is actually a pretty damn good writer her/their damnself! Looking at you @gilverrwrites and my other toxic fangirls too! @hereticpriest @daenerys-skywalker @tarrenterror25 @supernatural-lover and @keffirinneYou guys are my cheer squad!

Have a great day, let me know what you all think, and stay toxic.

6 notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 2 days

Text

Happy Friday my toxic love fan girlies… new chapter dropping in about ten hours… so here’s a little preview… @hereticpriest @daenerys-skywalker @tarrenterror25 @supernatural-lover @keffirinne @gilverrwrites

“Look at me on my white horse, saving the day!” He mused so proudly, “Seems it got you a bit of cred with your boss, didn’t it? And what was that, something about a bonus too?”

“And now I have an entire shoot to direct.” She replied with a tired smirk and a nod. “And yeah, she’s been dangling that bonus since the beginning of the year.”

He shrugged, prowling closer, caging her in with his arms as he braced them on the table behind her. The scent of his cologne enveloped her, dark and sensual.

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.” He paused, “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“You know angel, I have to say, I think these conference room meetings are starting to grow on me, I’m finding them very stimulating…”

“Keep it in your pants, Sionis, mama’s working.” His eyebrows shot up at that one, and his chest inhaled a deep controlling breath.

#chapter incoming #roman sionis toxic love fangirl club #new moodboard #he’s toxic but I love him #new chapter #chapter preview #I’m a tease

7 notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 3 days

Text

It's a little... Not very spicy here... Hmm... Think I'll just pop in and stir the pot a little bit...

Where my toxic fangirls at?

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to drag him into the nearest closet.

Professionalism be damned.

“Kitten, don’t test daddy’s patience…” he warned her with a growl, his voice low and dangerous.

Belladonna wasn’t quite sure what came over her but she couldn’t stop the words that slipped past her lips.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

He jerked her forward into a hard kiss, and she was pretty sure she could feel that last little strand of his self control pulled taut ready to snap as his tongue delved into her mouth and his hands slipped over her ass, lifting her onto the table. Standing between her legs, he pressed himself against her, feeling the heat of their bodies meld together. A guttural groan escaped his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tickling the nape of his neck.

Oh, this naughty little kitten of his…

“You like to tease me, don’t you, Kitten?” His voice was gravelly and strained in between kisses, panting heavily before finally breaking away just long enough to speak a few words.

“I’m about five seconds from dragging you into an empty office and bending that sweet ass over a desk, Belladonna, and I don’t fucking care who hears." He kissed her again, harder this time, “You wanna play like that? Call me daddy?” He grinned a wolfish lear against her lips, “I’ll make you fucking scream it.”

See? I'm working on something spicy, I promise! Stay tuned.

@tarrenterror25 @keffirinne @daenerys-skywalker @supernatural-lover @hereticpriest @gilverrwrites (Feel free to join our little toxic love fangirl club and enjoy some Roman Sionis toxic love)

#roman sionis toxic love fangirl club #fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #roman sionis smut #i'm working on it I swear #Feed the hungry fangirls

6 notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 3 days

Note

I can’t wait for the next chapter of Shadows, I’ve honestly been missing that story so much

I know! I had to finish my chapter on Unbreakable Bonds as it had been sitting half done for a spell. I am working on shadows next! I promise. We’re going to get a glimpse into Roman’s history and how he rose up to the level of power he has and we’re also going to see a bit of a shift in how Belladonna perceives him. Don’t worry it’s a good shift! And the smut is coming VERY soon! Like the next two chapters soon and I promise you it is going to be off the Scoville unit charts. ALL THE SPICE. Thanks so much for keeping up with the story and poking me to work on it! It really does help to know you guys love my stuff!

5 notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 3 days

Text

Unbreakable Bonds Chapter Twelve

Unbreakable Bonds

A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.

TheGreatWicked

Summary: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker successfully resisted the pull of darkness, fulfilling his destiny as the Chosen One to bring balance to the Force, the Jedi Temple is abuzz with discussions about the traditionally forbidden nature of attachments. As Anakin assumes the role of a Jedi Master, his decision to ensure Palpatine's arrest rather than execution sets the tone for a new era.

On the way to an impromptu council meeting, where Anakin now holds a seat as a respected master, Obi-Wan Kenobi experiences an unusual sensation. A mysterious connection tugs at him when he encounters a young boy patiently waiting outside the council chambers. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the spotlight is about to shift from Anakin to himself.

As the secrets of Obi-Wan's past unravel, the Jedi Council finds itself thrust into action much sooner than anticipated. The delicate balance of the Force, once maintained by Anakin's choices, now hinges on the unforeseen revelations from Obi-Wan's history. The galaxy is on the brink of change, and the consequences of long-held secrets may reshape the destiny of the Jedi and the Force itself.

Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)

Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.

Chapter Twelve

Light crept through the narrow gaps in the curtains of Obi-Wan Kenobi's quarters, casting a gentle glow on the slumbering figures. The Jedi Master lay still for a moment, his mind drifting between the vestiges of sleep and the waking world. As consciousness took hold, he turned his head to glimpse at the adjacent side of the bed where a smaller body lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets.

The sight drew a silent chuckle from Obi-Wan. His son was the very portrait of innocent repose, with soft snores escaping from his slightly agape mouth, a dollop of drool glistening on the pillow. A warmth spread through Obi-Wan's chest—a sensation unfamiliar yet comforting.

However, the tranquility was short-lived as a question prodded at the edges of his awareness: What had roused him from sleep?

Solan's breaths were barely audible, nothing like the raucous snoring one might expect to wake a heavy sleeper, which Obi-Wan was. With a rueful smile playing on his lips, he recalled Cressida's teasing words about how Solan had inherited not just his father's looks, but also his nocturnal symphony.

"I do not snore," Obi-Wan muttered under his breath.

Solan shifted, letting out a languid yawn just as the timepiece on the nightstand chimed its morning call. The boy groaned, a muffled protest, and buried his face deeper into the pillow, seeking refuge from the day's start.

"Come now, Solan," Obi-Wan urged, his voice calm but firm as he reached over to stir his son. "The sun won't wait, and neither will the waffles."

"Five more minutes," Came the sleepy plea, words slurred with the dregs of dreams.

Obi-Wan gave the pillow a playful tug, repeating the command. "Up you get, young one."

"Mom lets me sleep in sometimes…" Solan's voice was tinged with feigned sulkiness, his head still ensconced beneath the pillow fortress.

"Is that so?" Obi-Wan's eyes twinkled with mirth, recognizing the game afoot. He decided to play along, sitting on the bed looking over his shoulder to dangle a tempting thought before the nine-year-old.

"Well, I was actually pondering wookiee cookies for breakfast..."

"Wookiee cookies?" Solan's curiosity peeked out from under the cotton barricade, eyes brightening at the prospect.

"Indeed. But if you prefer another five minutes of sleep..." Obi-Wan trailed off, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. “I won’t trouble you…”

Obi-Wan rose to get up off the bed but was thrown off balance by Solan responding with all the gusto of a youngling promised a grand adventure, tumbling out of bed with enough energy to rival a force sprint.

"I'm up! I'm up!"

Obi-Wan watched, laughter spilling forth freely as he beheld his son's eagerness. Each peal of mirth was a new thread weaving the bond between them, a connection deepening beyond the Force, rooted in the simple joys of fatherhood.

He didn’t know how Cressida roused Solan from bed each day but he was certain Solan was trying to take a few liberties with his father that Cressida would normally not have afforded him. Testing the boundaries as it were. He was also fairly certain that Cressida didn’t resort to bribery or need to, and she might not approve but he reasoned it might be their little secret. Afterall secrets were quickly becoming something of a virtual necessity in their peculiar little family clan.

There were far darker secrets to have other than cookies for breakfast.

In the disused maintenance shaft, the muffled shuffle of footsteps whispered against the walls, punctuated by the occasional clatter of loose debris dislodged by their passage. Cressida and Ataraxia moved cautiously, through the neglected tunnels beneath the Theed Royal Palace accompanied by the soft warmth of glow rods to light their way.

Ataraxia wrinkled her nose, her facial tattoos contorting with the gesture, clearly displeased with their surroundings. A blend of oils, rust, mold and maybe some long forgotten food rotting somewhere. She rolled her eyes and looked at Cressida who walked beside her, seemingly unaffected by the lingering scent of trash, her features a perfect mask of indifference.

"You know, Vox, when I agreed to babysit you, I didn't think we'd be digging through years of refuse," she grumbled, her eyes scanning the darkness warily.

Cressida smirked, a glint of amusement shining in her gray eyes at the irritation in Ataraxia’s tone. It had been ten years since they last worked together, and despite the passage of time, their rapport remained intact. When she’d been informed who her partner would be on this little assignment she was oddly excited. It had been over ten years since she’d seen Ataraxia and she was pleased to see her stern Mirialan companion hadn’t changed much.

"Maintenance tunnels are hardly a trash chute, and your pretty cloak could use a little grime on it."

Her wavy auburn hair was pulled back into her usual tight braid, swaying gently as she walked. She studied Ataraxia's stern expression, unable to suppress the grin that tugged at her lips. Ataraxia didn’t give a verbal response but Cressida could practically hear the roll of her eyes.

“This was not what I had in mind for an investigation.”

“Oh, I don’t know about you, but I’m having a splendid time.”

She wasn’t being fecicious at all, this was the most amusement she’d had in a long time that didn’t involve her facing ridiculous odds on her own. She even felt better and less tired than she normally did, as though being away from the Jedi Temple had given her a second wind. Ataraxia grimaced at Cressida’s lighthearted attitude.

“After all, when they told me you would be my partner I was even more excited to go, it’s been far too long—” Ataraxia held her head up a little higher and wore a lightly smug expression. “—Since I annoyed you, and what better way to begin other than making you walk through trash tunnels?”

Her smug look vanished and she shook her head in irritation. Then she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and gave her a pointed look.

"And this attitude from one who raised a son… Perhaps, the boy should have come along and you taken his place to train further…"

Cressida didn’t bother suppressing her laughter. “That just shows you how little you know about children, no doubt my son would run circles around you and you’d be begging for my company after just an hour of his.”

“Awfully presumptuous that you think I could not manage with your son as a companion, no doubt he would learn a thing or two from me.” Ataraxia replied skeptically, clearly not convinced. "In fact, with parents like his, I might even teach him a thing or two about discipline." Ataraxia watched her for a moment, her lips tight in an almost-smile.

“That’s a profoundly kind offer, Rax. I’ll speak with his father on the subject, I’m sure Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind a break from his lessons with Solan.”

Ataraxia made a face, they’d gone with whole trip so far withou that annoying nickname rearing its head.

“And what lessons would those be?”

Cressida's lips turned up in a playful smile as she commented, "The art of using a sharp tongue to annoy one's elders. Passing on that famed Kenobi snark.”

“More like infamous…” Ataraxia rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation. “Stars… You're no better than padawans or children yourselves."

Cressida smirked, taking the comment as a compliment rather than an insult.

“Sometimes children make wise teachers.” Cressida offered, her voice infused with playful curiosity. "After all, they see the world with fresh eyes, unburdened by the weight of experience or cynicism."

Ataraxia raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded Cressida with a mix of skepticism and annoyance.

“I’d prefer cynicism to naivety, I’d much prefer to be a cynic and alive than a naieve lesson.” Cressida grinned. "Besides, what exactly could the wisdom of children teach us, who have spent our lives devoted to mastering the Force?"

Cressida heard the question, but instead of answering, she slowed her steps and a look of intense focus crossed her face. She gazed down the tunnel before them, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. Ataraxia noticed the change in her companion's demeanor and followed suit, peering down the dark corridor with equal intensity; not listening, not looking, but feeling. And after a moment, she felt it too.

A gentle flicker, barely discernible among the pulsating rhythms of the universe. It was a mere speck in the grand scheme of the heartbeat of the Force, easily overlooked by those who were not attuned to its subtle presence.

“I feel it too.” She said, answering the question Cressida didn’t ask.

As they ventured deeper into the intricate maze of twisting corridors and winding conduits, the air grew thick and heavy with the musty scent of age and neglect. It wasn't long before the faint pulsing sound grew in intensity, reverberating through the air like a tired and old and weary creature. It called out to them from the shadows, beckoning them closer and closer as they navigated their way through the dimly lit passages. The pulse grew stronger and more insistent, until it filled their ears and reverberated in their chests like a drumbeat.

Upon reaching the end of the tunnel, the ripple that guided them demanded they take a right turn down a smaller tunnel that led to an observation deck looking out over a vast drop onto the planet's surface. A gust of wind blew up from the abyss, rustling their clothing and hair. Cressida could almost see the phantoms of the past drifting in the negative space, the ghostly form of the bisected Sith as he fell to his demise, an expression of shock and rage contorting his features.

"Over there," She whispered to Ataraxia, her voice barely audible as they followed the mysterious energy source.

The abyss beneath them seemed to call out, beckoning them closer, intrusive thoughts whispering to them to venture just a little further. In the middle of the large shaft that lay before them, there was a ledge with a terminal and numerous cables and conduits, this wasn’t a place that saw many people. There, they saw something glinting in the artificial light - a small, metallic object that seemed out of place in this abandoned tunnel.

"Do you sense that?"

Cressida nodded, her gray eyes narrowing in concentration. "There's definitely something here…”

Whatever the object was, was lodged in the terminal, hidden from their view, and they couldn't be sure what it was.

Ataraxia frowned, her hand instinctively reaching out to call the object to her, but Cressida’s hand shot out to lower her and she shook her head. She and Cressida butted heads and bantered but she wasn’t so foolish as to dismiss Cressida’s note of caution. Ataraxia looked to the narrow ledge that was just wide enough to support a person's careful steps and gestured to the narrow walkway.

“After you,” She offered.

Cressida slipped under the thin raid that was the only failsafe between her and a very long drop. With careful steps, each one measured carefully on the thin metal ledge, crossing the center of the shaft she made her way onto the center terminal and slowly crossed over to where a large antenna and control panel awaited – the kind meant to be accessed by droids rather than people.

"Careful, Vox," Ataraxia warned from behind her, as Cressida approached the console.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached the console, and there, amidst the wreckage, she discovered the badly damaged remnants of a lightsaber. With a deep breath, she called it to her with the Force. The weapon struggled for a moment, trapped in the debris of the console where it had been for the last ten years before finally freeing itself then shooting towards her, floating in midair as she looked at it, still hesitant to actually touch it.

She looked closely and saw that the hilt was badly damaged, sliced clean in half, its components fried, wires sticking out, the metal somewhat melted in some spots indicative of extreme heat. Like the kind generated from another lightsaber. There had clearly been more to this lightsaber than what she was now looking at.

This was the weapon that felled Master Qui-Gon Jinn, the one that had belonged to Maul, the very Sith they were hunting.

The tiny pulse that had called to them had been the bled kyber crystal which had once powered the weapon, crying out like a wound in the force. Carefully, she made her way back across the narrow ledge to Ataraxia, who stared at the weapon in disbelief.

"Is that...?" Ataraxia began, but Cressida nodded, confirming her suspicions.

Together, they used the Force to deconstruct the lightsaber without touching it. Piece by piece, the weapon came apart according to their shared will until only a single crimson kyber crystal remained, pulsing and crackling with darkness like a wounded and cornered animal. The angry little krystal stubbornly resisted their pull to separate it from the lightsabers damaged housing, but it did give way. A blood red little gem hanging in the air. No doubt the other was lost forever when the weapon was severed, just as Maul was.

Ataraxia produced a bag from her shoulder revealing a artifact containment unit, a rectangular compartment which opened to reveal a void that was meant to house dangerous artifacts. The lightsaber levitated into the box where its locking mechanisms engaged, trapping the weapon securely where it could be safely transported. They placed the remaining kyber crystal into a smaller containment unit, effectively, separating the lock from the key, securing them in place and suppressing the dark energy within.

"We should inform Noxella of our findings," Ataraxia suggested, and Cressida agreed with a solemn nod.

As they looked up to the top of the shaft, determination filled their eyes. It was time to go up – and face whatever awaited them above.

The low hum of machinery reverberated through the generator room, its rhythmic pulse adding to the sense of anticipation and stirring up echoes of distant conflicts. Ataraxia and Cressida cautiously made their way to the upper levels of the Power Station. Their footsteps echoing faintly in the emptiness of the vast chamber, as they approached the site of the final showdown between Maul, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The sterile light of the reactor shaft cast long shadows across the abandoned chamber, dancing off walls that bore the scars of the decade-old battle. Their boots echoed with a hollow sound as they paced the periphery, eyes scanning for anything amiss amidst the dust and silence. Cressida moved like a specter drawn to invisible threads of the past, her steps silent but purposeful.

She halted at a patch of floor that seemed no different from the rest, yet her gaze locked onto it as if seeing through the years. The sizzle of a lightsaber searing flesh and the thud of a body hitting the ground reverberated in her mind. She could almost feel the ripple of Qui-Gon's final breath on this very spot.

Tearing her eyes away, her focus shifted down to the reactor shaft itself. Looking down into it, there hung the ghost of a young Obi-Wan Kenobi, desperation in his eyes, clinging to survival by the narrowest of margins while the red glow of Maul's lightsaber taunted him from above. A chill coursed through her veins as Maul's dark laughter filled her ears.

Ataraxia snapped her head around, her sharp features softening for an instant before resuming their usual stoicism.

"Vox, there's nothing here."

Her words were clipped, practical, slicing through Cressida's reverie. Cressida turned, catching sight of where Qui-Gon had laid once more.

"Here," Cressida murmured, directing Ataraxia to an unassuming terminal tucked away in the shadow of humming machinery.

Her fingers danced across the interface, coaxing the security holos to life. A blue spectral Darth Maul emerged from nothingness, his menacing form casting a red and black glow over them. They watched the silent ballet of Padmé Amidala being whisked to safety, her regal poise undiminished by the threat at hand, while Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan remained drawing their lightsabers.

The holo shifted, and Qui-Gon Jinn's towering figure clashed with Maul's ferocity. Each movement between the combatants was a testament to skill and determination. Cressida's chest tightened at the sight of Qui-Gon's fall, the moment captured in haunting detail, the horrifying moment where his eyes went wide in shock as Maul’s lightsaber went right through him.

Her fists clenched at the sound of Obi-Wan’s anguished cry upon witnessing his master's defeat; a soundless echo in the holo before he leaped into action, driven by a mix of vengeance and duty. She found herself leaning forward slightly as Obi-Wan engaged an opponent who had the advantage; Obi-wans aggressive Ataru against Maul’s ferocious Juyo.

She watched the myriad of emotions playing across Obi-Wan's face: pain, anger, fury, fear, heartache. Yet, amidst this tumult, a semblance of control settled upon him as he engaged his opponent. Their clash was a whirlwind of motion, a deadly dance of acrobatic maneuvers and lightning-fast strikes. Obi-Wan's determination drove him forward, his blade meeting Maul's with precision.

In the heat of battle, Obi-Wan's strike severed Maul's lightsaber in half, briefly equalizing their weapons.

But the fight took a dire turn when Maul thrust his open hand at Obi-Wan pushing him back, sending him tumbling into the reactor shaft, head over heels. Defenseless and clinging to the precipice, Obi-Wan struggled for purchase, his boots scuffing the cold metal walls helplessly as his own lightsaber fell never to be seen again. Her heart sank as she watched the peril etched on his face as sparks flew from each taunting strike Maul threw to the ground laughing and smiling, full of arrogance.

He had greatly underestimated Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Qui-Gon's lightsaber lay forgotten on the ground. For a fleeting moment, Obi-Wan's movements stilled, a pause in the midst of the turmoil. And then, with a sudden burst, he leaped from the depths, grasping Qui-Gon's lightsaber mid-air.

In a swift and decisive motion, he landed behind Maul. There was a fleeting curl of satisfaction on her lips when he surged upward, his lightsaber singing through the air to sever Maul in two. The Sith Lord froze, wavered, and then fell, his two halves disappearing into the abyss below. As the echoes of the battle faded, Cressida couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at Obi-Wan's unwavering resolve and skill.

She had heard the story, but never seen the holo and it was nothing short of impressive.

Ataraxia’s eyes remained on Cressida, observing the subtle play of emotions on her features. With her intense gray eyes fixed on the enhanced holo, she watched as Obi-Wan cradled his dying master, Qui-Gon. The recording crystalized, magnifying every whispered exchange of final words and promises made between master and apprentice. The tremble in Qui-Gon's voice was palpable as he spoke through the searing pain of a lightsaber wound, each word a struggle to utter. Even in the flickering light of the projection, the agony and anguish on Obi-Wan's face was unmistakable as he clung to his beloved mentor. His features were contorted with heartache and grief, tears glistening in his eyes.

"The Order lost a great Master that day," Ataraxia said, folding her arms as she stepped back from the console. "But in the ashes, another rose."

As the holo terminated and the lights dimmed, remnants of the past seemed to cling to every surface.

Ataraxia opened her mouth, perhaps intending to offer some form of sympathy or comfort, but Cressida cut her off. She immediately turned to the holonet, digging back to the same day and scouring through travel manifestoes.

“What are you digging for, Vox?”

She pulled up the shipping and transport logs on her holoscreen. Holding her breath, she scanned through the data, searching for any remnants that could lead them to Darth Maul's whereabouts. She navigated the holo reports, her fingers dancing across the screen in a determined frenzy. A long list of different shuttles, frigates, starships, and transport vessels emerged before her eyes, each one carefully studied and discarded until she found what she was looking for; a small vessel highlighted by a projection of a Sith infiltrator spacecraft. Her heart raced as she read the accompanying scroll of holo text, the key to their mission potentially within reach.

“His ship.” Ataraxia uttered in surprise, cressida nodded. “What happened to it?”

Cressida tapped away at the terminal, fingers flying across the interface as she searched through the records.

“It was seized by the Galactic Republic Security Forces,” she paused, “Taken to a secure impound facility… Where… Where?” She asked more to herself than anyone else, searching through the records, frustration evident in her tone. “The Lunar Security Outpost Delta,” She heaved out a sigh, “Where it was cataloged and destroyed… on the order of Senator Palpatine…” Disappointment coursing through her voice. “There goes a lead…”

“But not our only one.” Ataraxia reminded her, gesturing to her bag "We’ve exhausted all possible leads here. Nothing here will help us," Ataraxia reiterated, “We know where Maul was next, we need to contact the Council and appraise them of the situation.” Cressida nodded, still disappointed. “So, quit your mopping, Vox. We have work to do.”

Cressida gave Ataraxia a disapproving look and rolled her eyes before begrudgingly following her. She muttered to herself that she was not moping, despite their next lead taking them to Mandalore. But there were still ten years of Maul's whereabouts unaccounted for.

While they could have followed the trail of trash to the garbage world Lotho Minor, even Cressida drew the line at sifting through ten years' worth of debris from six different planets.

"So, when your mother asks what you ate for breakfast, you say…"

"Waffles and I tried some of Dad's spiced eggs too," He replied quickly as though rehearsing lines, trying to match Obi-Wan's tone but doing little to conceal his amusement.

"Thaaat's right," Obi-Wan nodded approvingly as they headed outside. "Keep your story straight and your head up, she'll never suspect."

“Ok, father,” Solan scoffed and shook his head at his father, “I mean, it won’t work but sure,” knowing that his mother would see right through their charade.

“Come now, Solan, how could she possibly know if we give her no reason to be suspicious?”

Solan shrugged, "I dunno. She just does. She's a mom. They have some kind of sixth sense or something."

Obi-Wan chuckled, and rolled his eyes, surely, Solan was exaggerating.

The sun cast long shadows across the ancient stone floors of the Jedi Temple, as Obi-Wan and Solan walked side by side. The air was filled with the faint scent of incense, and the distant hum of lightsabers in training could be heard through the halls.

Following breakfast and a few laughs the two had taken to a leisurely stroll throughout the temple ziggurat, no particular destination in mind. Solan focused intently on his father, as Obi-Wan spoke of the Jedi Code and their role as guardians of the Force.

He matched his father’s pace as they slowed their walk. He wasn’t sure why they were slowing down but he suspected there to be a lesson in it or perhaps his father was just like Master Yoda and had a tendency to meander as he spoke.

"Responsibility and consequence are at the heart of being a Jedi, Solan," Obi-Wan explained, his voice steady and measured full of wisdom. "We wield great power, and it is our duty to use that power with integrity, compassion, and empathy. We must always strive to maintain balance within ourselves and the galaxy."

Solan's brow furrowed in thought, his sandy-brown hair falling into his eyes as he processed his father's words. He had so many questions, he always did, but one in particular tugged at his mind.

“But," he began hesitantly, "if honesty is so important to a Jedi's integrity, how do we reconcile that with the fact that sometimes you have to tell lies?"

Obi-Wan looked down at his son, puzzled by the question.

"That’s a very grown up question, Solan. What makes you ask that?" He inquired, genuinely curious about the source of such a query from a ten-year-old.

Solan began to speak with a hint of hesitation. "I was thinking... you know how mom has to keep a lot of secrets as a Jedi? Well, sometimes she tells lies to protect those secrets and I know it's not right, but does that mean she doesn't have integrity? Is that why people don’t like the Sentinels?"

Obi-Wan was taken aback by Solan's question. The thought of Cressida lacking integrity seemed absurd to him, but Solan raised a valid question, and he was right to. Obi-Wan considered his son's words carefully. It wasn’t a question to be brushed off with a simple ‘don’t worry about that’ or anything less than a well thought out answer.

He knew that Cressida's role as a Sentinel came with difficult choices and burdens that few could understand, and he didn’t envy it at all. Sentinels lived in the shadows but dreamed of the light, fighting battles many would never know about and they carried burdens that could never be shared and their names would likely never be known. And Solan wasn’t wrong, there was a certain amount of caution exercised around their shadowy bretheren, but he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to address that. He decided to focus on what he could explain.

Obi-Wan empathized with Solan's concerns, but it wasn’t an easy answer. The idea of lies being woven into the very fabric of someone's life was something he couldn't relate to because he never had to know firsthand. However, he also understood that Solan needed guidance in understanding his mothers role and the gray world she walked in.

"Your mother," Obi-Wan stopped walking, placing a gentle hand on Solan's shoulder, “Walks a path that that few Jedi are equipped to handle. The sentinels take on conflicts that Jedi like myself are not resilient enough to face."

He spoke with careful consideration, choosing each word deliberately. Solan grimaced at Obi-Wan's admission, not fully convinced that his father's strength and fortitude was insufficient to match his mother's capabilities. Surely, his father could do anything.

“Lies and deception are at the core of the path she walks. Your mother must always be vigilant to keep her balance, always mindful not to slip on the treacherous path of lies. But I have the utmost faith in her integrity; she is unmatched in it. As far as your mother is concerned, I do not believe for a moment that she has ever been dishonest without good reason."

He paused, looking at the young boy beside him. "The nature of her work forces her to walk a fine line between light and dark. Many might consider their job the hardest and most dangerous within our Order. It is up to the Sentinels to see that they never cross that line, they are something of a self governing entity within our Order."

Solan's eyes widened with a mixture of awe and worry. His small hands figited with the hem of his tunic at his sides, betraying his concern.

“But how can we know what's right or wrong when everything is so... complicated?"

"Ah, that, my boy," Obi-Wan said with a small smile, recognizing the familiar struggle within his son. "That is the eternal question faced by all Jedi. We must use our knowledge, our compassion, and our empathy to guide us in making the best decisions we can. Trust in the Force and in your own instincts."

Solan nodded, his eyes reflecting the weight of these revelations. But amidst the uncertainty, there was also pride – pride in knowing that his mother had a strength few possessed, even if it meant veiling herself in shadow. The scent of blossoming flowers filled the air, a gentle reminder of life's ever-changing nature.

Solan bit his lip, clearly still worried about the nature of his mother's past actions. Obi-Wan reached out and gently ruffled his son's hair, attempting to alleviate some of his concerns.

"Solan," he said softly. "It would be unfair to both you and your mother to judge her based on only a fraction of the truth. I trust Cressida,” He paused reflecting on his interactions with the mother of his son and a clarity came over him, “In allthings, and I know that whatever choices she made, she did so with the best intentions."

Solan nodded slowly, some of the tension leaving his small frame. The sun cast a warm glow on the verdant garden as they stepped off the temple stairs, illuminating the vibrant colors of the flowers that surrounded them.

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, taking in the soothing scent of the blossoms and feeling a sense of serenity wash over him.

"Ah, this part of the gardens has always been a favorite of mine," Obi-Wan said wistfully, his eyes sweeping over the familiar landscape with a fond smile. "It offers a much-needed respite from the hustle and bustle of the Temple."

"Mom said you were never one for sitting still as a Padawan and had a restless spirit," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "She also said when you got bored your mouth got you into trouble."

Obi-Wan chuckled at the rather accurate assessment, nodding in agreement.

"That's true. I was quite the handful, or so I've been told. But your mother wasn't much better, the only difference was your mother could bat those eyelashes of hers and often find her way out of trouble easier than I could. We both had our fair share of adventures during our early years as padawans."

A smile crept onto Solan's face as he gazed into the distance, lost in a world of memories and stories that only he could see. These were memories coated in warmth and joy, bringing a sense of happiness to his features.

He paused before taking in what Solan had said the simple observation had him wondering exactly what his own son knew about him from his mother.

"Did your mother ever mention me while you were growing up?"

Truthfully, he’d wanted to ask for quite some time but he was unsure of how to broach the subject as it was likely a reflection on Cressida’s personal thoughts and feelings about Obi-Wan and he had been a little bit nervous to uncover that information. Their past interactions had left them both feeling more like strangers than friends. He also didn't want to burden Solan with keeping any more secrets from him; he didn't want him to struggle with that kind of guilt anymore than he already was.

Solan thought for a moment, his brows knitting together in a way that was a mirror image of Obi-Wan as he recalled his mothers stories.

"Sort of. She always told me about you, as General Kenobi. It was like you were two different people. When the Clone Wars started, she told me all about how you fought in the war and saved important people like Chancellor Palpatine. And the Battle of Utapao sounded like the best adventure ever!"

Obi-Wan's smile wavered when the former Senator Palpatine was brought up, but he swiftly composed himself, not wanting to sour the moment.

“She couldn’t tell me you were…. you. And it was always kinda hard to talk about it; they didn’t like outsiders where we were. So mom didn’t say much and when she did, she had to be really careful with what she said about you.”

"What you mean by being outsiders, were outsiders not well liked?" Obi-Wan prompted gently, his blue eyes meeting Solan's with genuine curiosity.

Solan hesitated, and his features screwed in discomfort, shifting his gaze down to the cobblestone pathway beneath their feet. His expression quickly filled in the blanks. He must have been worried about revealing too much information.

"I... Um." His voice trailed off, uncertainty lacing his words.

“Ah, yes. I understand; you can’t say.” Obi-Wan placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and Solan seemed to relax a little bit. "It’s alright, Solan. My appologies."

Solan nodded and kicked a rock as he walked, it skittered off the path and into the grass.

Moving deeper into the gardens, Obi-Wan considered the information he had gleaned so far about the nature of the place of his son's birth and most of his life. It was someplace with a hot climate and isolated, where Solan and Cressida were considered outsiders and not welcomed, and no doubt dangerous. There were countless planets in the system that fit this vague description, but none stood out as particularly significant to him.

"So, she told you about General Kenobi, but what about your father?" Obi-Wan asked, hoping to learn more about what his son had been told about him. “I mean, me, your father?”

He felt nervous but Solan just grinned, “What is that smile for?”

Obiwan was now very curious. Solan just shrugged, like it wasn’t really important.

“Don’t we have training to do?” He paused and stopped walking, “I mean it’s not true, it was just a story she told me to keep me distracted.”

“I think training could wait just a little bit,”

Now he had to know how Cressida had portrayed him in her stories. Were they deeply in love? Had it only been a physical arrangement? Were they strangers? Or lifeling friends?

“Oh, come now, Solan, surely you’re not going to keep my fictional history a secret from me too?” He prodded playfully.

The change in subject saw Solan’s smile return brightly and he nodded. Glancing at Obi-Wan with a mischievous grin.

“You were a smuggler and a pilot who loved flying."

Obi-Wan made a face, nothing could be further from the truth. He hated flying and wasn’t particularly good at it, and he certainly didn’t hold any sort of proficiency with mechanics, not like Anakin did.

“A smuggler?" He shook his head, amused after the initial horror had passed. “Alright; a smuggler. How did I meet your mother? Was it love at first sight?”

"She said when you first met, you didn't get along very well." Solan laughed. "Because you teased her for being short, and she ended up punching you."

“Well,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug, shaking his head as he recalled the feisty nature of the woman he'd once known. "There may be an element of truth to that, though it seems your mother has taken some creative liberties with the details."

A flicker of curiosity sparked in Solan's eyes, and he looked up at Obi-Wan expectantly. “What do you mean? Did she really punch you?”

"Why don't we make a deal? You finish telling me the story your mother told you, and then I’ll tell you how your mother and I really met." Obi-Wan said, intrigued to learn more about the fictional version of their past.

"Ok!" Solan continued, excitement evident in his voice. "Mom told me your name was Solus Cael, and you showed up on Ord Mantell one day with a damaged ship and needed someone to fix it really fast because someone was after you. You didn’t have enough credits for the repairs, so you made a deal with Mom to fix it in exchange for a ride off the planet. Once your ship was fixed, you both had to run because the Hutt lord you’d stolen from was after you. Then you and mom escaped Ord Mantell and headed for the Outer Rim."

“A hutt lord?” Obi-Wan hadn’t expected such a plot twist, Solan just nodded.

He was a smuggler? Who stole from a Hutt lord? And in this version of himself, he apparently loved flying.

He could almost picture it – Cressida deftly repairing the ship as he nervously kept watch, both of them caught up in a whirlwind adventure that spanned across the stars. It was a far cry from their true beginnings, but there was something undeniably captivating about the idea of it all.

"So, over the trip from Ord Mantell to the Outer Rim, the Hutt lord kept sending bounty hunters and mercenaries after you both. Mom said you were such a good shot with a blaster and laser cannons you never missed."

Hardly.

"Your mother certainly has a flair for storytelling," Obi-Wan remarked with a smile, eager to hear what came next in their fictional saga.

Obi-Wan chuckled at the thought of him and Cressida fighting off bounty hunters side by side, he could count several times where they certainly deflected blaster bolts with lightsabers. The fictional version of their past was certainly more thrilling than the reality. Blasters and laser cannons; he found that bit particularly interesting as Obi-Wan didn’t like blasters or laser cannons, finding them quite uncivilized and he wasn’t a particularly good shot with them. He could deflect their bolts with ease and grace, far easier.

"You had to hide in the Outer Rim for a few months because it wasn’t safe for you to be seen since you had a big bounty on your head and mom had one too because she helped you. You were both wanted criminals!”

“A bounty you say?" Solan nodded, “How large a bounty?”

“A hundred thousand credits!”

“My, my, what did I swindle from this Hutt lord?” Solan shrugged, “Alright, so your mother and I were on the run, was there a grand tale of romance?”

Solan scrunched his nose at the notion causing Obi-Wan to chuckle, “Sort of. She said she thought you were handsome but in a scruffy kind of way and you flirted with her a lot.”

At this Obi-Wan felt himself grow a little warm under the collar, he could be charming and had heard it said about himself more than once that he could easily charm his way into any woman's life but the truth was a bit underwhelming, which was that Obi-Wan could at times be oblivious and didn’t consider himself terribly handsome.

“Scuffy?” He scratched at his beard absentmindedly, did she really think he was scruffy?

“So, one night you and Mom were playing a game of Sabbac," Solan continued. "You made a bet with her – if she won, she'd get your ship; if you won, she had to marry you."

"Quite the wager," Obi-Wan mused with a laugh, intrigued by the dramatic twist in their story. “Who won?”

"You did, mom said you probably cheated, but she thought you were good looking enough she didn’t mind." Solan said, grinning. "And at the next space port you reached, you two got married before going on the run again."

"Sounds like quite the holo-drama," Obi-Wan laughed, thoroughly enjoying the romanticized version of his relationship with Cressida. "So, we were married, what happened next?"

Solan shrugged and gave his father a side eyed look, “You know…”

It took Obi-Wan a minute to realize the implication Solan made and a moment of silence passed as he suddenly felt both embarrassed and amused.

“Solan! After that, of course!”

Solan laughed at his fathers mild embarrassment, "You and Mom lived on the run together until the Hutt lord finally caught up with you, again.”

“Certainly wasn’t giving up, was he?”

Solan shook his head, “Nope. This time, he sent a bounty hunter after you called Jango Fett.”

"Really? You know, I've encountered Jango Fett before," Solan's jaw dropped. "His genetic material served as the foundation for the Clone Troopers during the Clone Wars." He shook his head and gestured for Solan to continue, realizing they’d gone off topic. “So, Jango Fett found us? How did we escape?”

“You didn’t.” Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide, “He ambushed you guys in tight space, he hit your ship with laser cannons and ion disruptors that fried the ships systems.”

“The hyperdrive was crippled, and life support was failing and you had to abandon ship. But you both couldn’t get into the life pod because the autopilot system was destroyed, and Jango Fett was circling back around to finish you guys off, so you told mom to go. But she wouldn’t leave you,”

Obi-Wan listened intently, his heart racing despite knowing the story was just a fabrication. “What did we do?”

“Since mom wasn’t going to leave without you, you knocked her out.”

“I did what?!”

Solan nodded, “You had to, she wouldn’t leave without you and you didn’t want her to die too. So you put her into the pod and ejected it. Then you went back to the helm and went on piloting the ship to buy her some time so the pod could get as far away as possible until Jango Fett fired on your ship again. When she woke up she saw the ship exploding, and the pod entered the atmosphere of the planet I was born on."

"Quite the tragic ending," Obi-Wan commented, sounding a bit disheartened, the story had gone from adventurous and humorous to a tragedy that left even him gripped by the turn of events.

He found it odd that she would craft such a romantic narrative and it had him wondering if maybe there was an element of truth to any of it.

“On our way here she told me that her original cover story was really different and it wasn’t until she found out she was pregnant with me that she had to sort of make all that up. She couldn’t have people asking too many questions because the more questions people ask the more answers she didn’t want to make up.”

Obi-Wan saw the logic in that answer as they kept walking; a newly pregnant widow, just the sort of thing to garner sympathy from almost anyone. A husband's tragically heroic death, indeed, any sensible person wouldn’t ask too many questions.

He marveled at the power of Cressida's imagination, none of it was real but even he was gripped by the story and he could only imagine how a small boy living in secrecy would be hanging onto every word. He could just imagine Solan as a little boy listening enraptured, hanging on his mothers every word as she recounted the tale of how his father sacrificed himself so that his mother would live.

"Your mother's ability to think on her feet is truly remarkable," Obi-Wan mused, still processing the tale Solan had shared. "To have crafted such an intricate story so quickly...”

"She was really good at telling stories," Solan agreed, his voice filled with admiration. "Mom always said ‘necessity is the mother of invention.’"

"Indeed," Obi-Wan agreed, his eyes settling on a nearby flowering bush, its delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze. "The tragic romance she created would certainly garner sympathy and discourage further questions. Your presence would only add to the authenticity of the story."

"She always said I was the best cover story she could've asked for,"

“Because Jedi don’t have children or spouses,” Obi-wan finished, a little bittersweet.

“Yup.” Solan replied, “When I was born people didn’t suspect anything from her but they still didn’t like her and we were still watched pretty carefully. People liked me when I was a baby, they said I was cute for a humanoid.”

Humanoid?

Obi-Wan chuckled, “Well, there’s certainly truth to be had there, you’re a handsome young man, Solan. You take after your mother, and your mother is quite beautiful.”

Solan looked sideways up at his father, the angle of the tilt of his head barely concealing his grin.

“She always said I looked like you, and that’s why I was so good looking.”

“Did she now?”

He looked hard at Solan, trying to pinpoint certain features in his son’s face. While Solan had inherited a mix of both his parents' physical characteristics, Obi-Wan could see glimpses of himself in his son. The tiny freckles on Solan's cheeks were ones that Obi-Wan used to despise as a child, but now he was happy to see them on his own son. As Solan got older, he would develop more masculine features and Obi-Wan could already envision the defined jawline that resembled his own. When Solan smiled, his eyes crinkled just like Obi-Wan's did, and there was even a small cleft in his chin that mirrored his father's.

It was amazing how much he had already grown since they'd first met. How they had both grown and changed, in ways that surprised Obi-Wan, yet it all felt so natural. Initially, he had been terrified to learn of his son’s existence and dreaded getting to know him because Obi-Wan had no idea how to be anything other than a Jedi Master. After all, a padawan and one’s child were completely different. He’d worried he would not know what to say or wouldn’t be able to relate to his son and their interactions would feel forced and full of strain. But it had been the exact opposite, he greeted each day with curiosity and a sense of wonder he hadn’t felt since he was a padawan. There was so much for them to learn from each other, and he was grateful for the opportunity to be a part of his son's life.

"Sometimes," Solan began, his voice soft and guarded, "I would beg her to tell me something, anything about you." Obi-Wan eyes stung a bit but a few quick blinks saw the irritation fade quickly as Solan continued to speak. "She always said she couldn't say much, that you had been a wanted man and she was in danger too. But she told me you had a good heart, and you had lost your father when you were twenty-five."

"Did you find comfort in those stories?" he asked gently, watching Solan's face closely.

Solan nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I did. I used to make up things about you, just to fill in the gaps she left unanswered. It made time go by quicker when things were hard and scary."

"Was it often hard and scary?" Obi-Wan asked cautiously, not wanting to pry but wanting to understand the trials his son and former lover had faced.

Solan sighed and looked away, pain etched onto his young face.

"I know more than she thinks I do. She did some really unsafe things to keep us safe. She'd go without food so I wouldn't have to, stayed awake for days during sandstorms to make sure the generators kept going... otherwise the oxygen filters might fail, and we could suffocate." He swallowed a lump in his throat, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "And there were times she'd disappear for days, and when she came back, she’d be really hurt. She never talked about what happened, but she’d always smile when she saw me, give me a really big hug and tell me she missed me."

Solan masked his pain well for one who was so young and the pain so near to the present. In fact, the time between events like the ones Solan described and their present had been merely a matter of months. Solan, like his mother, was keeping so much close to his chest, holding many secrets that should never have been his to carry and he did it all with a quiet humility and grace, like his mother.

If he could only figure out where they had been, then the council would have to debrief him and then Solan wouldn’t have to keep so much to himself. And even Cressida might be more open to him, but that was still a confusing relationship he didn’t know how to unravel, maybe what they had now was all they would ever have, the thought saddened him.

Obi-Wan halted the conversation, his tone sincere but filled with remorse. "Solan, I want to apologize." He reached out and placed a comforting hand on Solan's shoulder, turning him to face Obi-Wan, then he knelt so they looked into the others eyes.

“I’m sorry you and your mother had to endure that alone. I know she couldn't tell you or reach out to me, but I promise you, if I’d have known about you, if I’d had any inkling of your existence, I’d have been at her side. By your side. You must know that.”

Solan offered a small, brave smile as his head bobbed up and down and he met Obi-Wan's gaze.

"I know you would've, Father. But we made it through those times, and now we're here together." Solan's eyes shone with resolve as he straightened his posture. "Things ended up okay. I'm here on Coruscant, learning to become a Jedi and finally getting to know you," he explained, his voice filled with pride. "I'm exactly where I'm meant to be. My mother did the hard work, now it's my turn to become a Jedi so I can protect her like she protected me."

Solan's forgiving and selfless nature may have been comforting for others, but it only added to Obi-wan's guilty conscience. But he also felt a surge of warmth in his chest at his son's words, touched by Solan's unwavering dedication to his mother and his newfound path as a Jedi. He wanted to say so much more and his arms twitched, wanting to wrap his son up in them but he held back, unsure if the gesture was appropriate.

The day was beautiful and the sky was clear, but the events from their sudden trip back in time still lingered heavily on their minds. Obi-wan realized that this called for a change of topic.

“So I was a smuggler, was I?”

Solan chuckled and nodded, "Yep! And a pilot too!" he added, clearly proud of the fictional version of his father.

"Funny, you know," Obi-Wan confessed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "I actually hate flying. I've been terrified of it for years."

"Really? Why?" Solan asked, surprise coloring his tone.

Obi-Wan blew out a breath and nodded slowly. Solan's eyes widened in surprise as Obi-Wan continued to dispel the myth of his smuggler persona.

“Well-”

"Did you make a ship explode?"

" –What? No, that's not it," Obi-Wan sputtered, taken aback by the accusation.

“Lose one in a bet?”

“No!-” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, exasperated yet amused by his son's curiosity.

"Did you crash one?" Solan persisted, his curiosity insatiable.

“I certainly did not!” Obi-Wan replied, trying to quell his son's wild imagination.

“Did you-”

"Solan! I’m not actually a smuggler, you know? You’re confusing your mothers stories with reality!” Obi-Wan said playfully, holding up a hand to halt the barrage of questions.

Solan laughed and Obi-Wan remembered that he was dealing with a child and had to remind himself to not take things too seriously all the time. A shared laugh filled the air between them, bringing them even closer together.

"Nothing quite so fantastic or reckless, really. When I was younger, I loved flying and took every chance I could to do so. But my love for it changed after a terrifying experience as a Padawan on the planet Pijal. My master and I were sent to assist another Jedi, but while aboard a star fighter, the autopilot malfunctioned and engaged but the starfighter was inside a giant Czerka Class Cruiser. Despite being able to steer the ship, it was still going at top speed and I had to maneuver through various obstacles.”

Solan’s eyes went wide as his imagination reenacted what must have been a terrifying experience for his father.

“I miraculously made it out of the cruiser alive, but the incident left me traumatized and I’m afraid I’ve since lost my love for flying thereafter. Honestly, even now, my hands shake sometimes when I’m on a ship of any kind, regardless of its size or who is piloting it. And, unfortunately time didn’t exactly heal those wounds, Anakin, my padawan, well, he was always something of a reckless pilot and it certainly didn’t help.”

He expected Solan to pry for more details, but he didn’t, they walked on in silence for a few more minutes, passing several Jedi meditating.

Solan found himself surprised by the simple fact that his father was afraid of something, it seemed so out of place for a man of his revered bravery. He touched his fathers arm in a comforting way.

“Don’t worry father, when I’m flying, I’ll fly safely and if you’re ever scared just tell me and I’ll slow down.”

Solan's gentle offer was a kind one and it filled Obi-Wan with happiness at his son's empathy and his comforting touch. He smiled at his son.

“Do you fly often?”

“Mom taught me. But she doesn’t let me do it very often, she says I’m a bit too young to fly by myself,”

“Well, on that much your mother and I agree. All things in time,”

Father and son continued walking through the gardens. A few moments of quiet fell over them, birds flying near them making more conversation than father and son.

“Father,” Solan asked, Obi-Wan responded with a ‘hmm?’ “You said there was an element of truth when I told you mom said she punched you when you met. What did you mean?”

Obi-Wan laughed, “I did say that didn’t I?” He nodded and smiled at the excited look on his son's face, hungry for more stories; true ones. "Yes, I believe I owe you the truth about how your mother and I really met."

“Did you really used to tease her?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his green eyes. “And did she really punch you?”

Obi-Wan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "It's not quite what happened, and I’m certainly not proud of it but I must say, I'm surprised how the story has some resemblance to reality." He paused, taking a deep breath as he recalled their first meeting. "We first met when I was sixteen, and your mother was ten.”

Solan's eyebrows furrowed, and he made an odd face upon hearing about the large age gap between his parents. Leaving Obi-Wan to realize just how little Solan knew about his parents' shared history.

“Back then, I wasn’t quite as humble or mature as I am now and I did tease her about her height; I may have made a few unkind remarks about your mother being the tallest ewok I’d ever seen.”

Solan failed to stifle his laughter by clapping his hands over his mouth, instead sputtering through his hand.

"So, did she really punch you?"

"She couldn't reach.” Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes twinkling with humor at Solan’s continued struggles to keep from laughing. “So instead, she opted for kicking me in the shin."

At the time, he didn't find it amusing. But in hindsight, it must have been quite a comical scene: a sixteen-year-old Obi-Wan hopping and holding onto his shin from a fierce kick by a ten-year-old, Cressida, who stuck her tongue out at him while their masters watched on no doubt holding back their own laughter.

The image made Solan burst into unrestrained laughter, clutching his sides as he tried to regain his composure. Obi-Wan grinned at his son's reaction, looking back on the memory with fondness and seeing the humor in it.

"It wasn’t so funny at the time but I no doubt deserved worse, it was quite comical – especially for our masters, who witnessed the whole exchange. My master insisted that I apologize to your mother of course, and her Master.”

"After that day, I never made fun of your mother again."

“So, your masters knew each other?”

“Oh, yes.” A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, casting dappled shadows on the stone path as

Obi-Wan and Solan continued their walk through the gardens. “Your mother's master and mine were very good friends," Obi-Wan began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "They had known each other for many decades, it was probably only because of them that our paths crossed at all."

"Really?" Solan tilted his head, curious. "So you spent a lot of time together?"

"Indeed," Obi-Wan confirmed, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Our paths crossed frequently, and sometimes we would travel together – sharing food, stories, training, and plenty of hard lessons."

“Like don’t make fun of mom?”

“Especially, don’t make fun of your mother.” He paused, lost in memories of sunlit days and laughter-filled nights. "Over time, Cressida and I grew to be very good friends. In fact we got into quite a bit of trouble together as padawans wherever our paths crossed."

"Really? What kind of trouble?" Solan asked, eyes wide.

"Ah," Obi-Wan chuckled, recalling their mischievous past. "We had a history of pranking each other, and sometimes our antics got us in trouble with our masters – and more than once with Master Yoda."

“Like what?”

There was a plethora of stories he could share with Solan, stories from a lifetime ago. At least it felt like a lifetime ago.

“Well, she once reprogramed an astromech to follow me around for an entire day; it mimiced my movements and words in a greatly eggadurated manner. And she had programed it in such a way that I couldn’t run from it because it was tracking my movements because of the kyber krystal in my lightsaber.” Solan laughed at the idea of an astromech chasing his father, talking like him all day.

“I had my revenge though,” Solan leaned in eager to hear. “I purchased a few fake Scyk’s and hid them under your mothers pillow when we were on Tattooine one of the times our journey’s intersected. And when she went to bed, she was a fit of screams and we found her clutching her lightsaber standing on a chair.”

"Wow! No wonder she hated where we were!" Solan exclaimed, clearly entertained by the thought of his parents causing mischief. “Moms always so serious, it’s hard to imagine. ”

“Don’t let her fool you, your mother was quite mischievous when she was younger. But she could often bat those pretty eyes of hers and sidestep any major consequences while I would have to do extra training in horrid conditions. My master was like a father to me but he was still a hard teacher. Your mothers master however, many had said Cressida had him wrapped around her finger and I think he often looked at your mother as a daughter in every sense of the word. They were very close.”

As they rounded a bend in the garden path, Solan furrowed his brow, hesitating.

"She never talks about him. Not even his name. Sometimes she would start to say something about him like she forgot I was there, then she’d stop talking and she’d look so sad." He bit his lip, glancing up at

Obi-Wan with concern. "Was it...bad? What happened to him?"

Obi-Wan sighed, feeling a weight settle heavy in his chest. He knew the truth might bring pain to his son, but he also understood the importance of honesty. Still, he hesitated, conflicted. He struggled for an answer, he wasn’t sure what was appropriate to say as it wasn’t really his story to tell.

"Solan," he began slowly, "I'm not sure I'm the person who should tell you that story."

"Who else can I ask?" Solan's voice held a mix of frustration and sadness. "Mom won't talk about it, and I don't know anyone else who would know."

Obi-Wan placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "Perhaps in time, your mother will find the strength to share her past with you," he offered, hoping to provide some comfort.

"Maybe," Solan agreed quietly, though the uncertainty in his eyes remained.

“But I can assure you, he was a good man, a powerful Jedi who showed your mother strength, and compassion and taught her to lead when others would only follow. His death wounded your mother greatly, she was never truly the same.”

They entered a small clearing in the gardens, and a sense of tranquility washed over them like a cool breeze. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds filled the air. In the center of the clearing was a serene pond, its surface shimmering with sunlight. A few large stones were strategically placed for meditation, inviting those who entered to take a moment to pause and reflect. Obi-Wan's warm smile illuminated his face as he led Solan into the peaceful space. Solan looked around, taking in the beauty and stillness of their surroundings, but didn't understand why he felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. It was as if time stood still in this small pocket of the world.

“Father?” Solan asked, sensing the change in mood. He studied his father's face, trying to discern what thoughts lay behind those blue-green eyes.

Obi-Wan's eyes immediately softened, a tender smile playing at the corners of his mouth. They both took a step towards the peaceful pond.

"This place... it's special to me. One that your mother was planning on showing you, I think." Solan's eyes followed his father's gesture towards the pond, but he saw no overt signs of its importance.

He gestured to the small expanse of water before them. "There are many places within the temple grounds dedicated to honoring our fallen Jedi brothers and sisters. Not as monuments or anything so vain, but places we have to remember them. This pond was created in memory of my master, Qui-Gon Jinn."

"Qui-Gon..." Solan repeated, his eyes lighting up with recognition. Before Obi-Wan could inquire further, his son elaborated, "So that’s who she named me after! I always just thought she liked the name 'Jinn.'"

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in surprise, then shot skyward as understanding dawned on him.

"Solan Jinn Cael..."

Solan nodded and grinned brightly. Obi-Wan felt a swell of pride rise within him. The depth of his son's name held a significance he hadn't considered before – Solan had told him the name he knew Obi-Wan as had been Solus and he had noticed the similarities between the names. He’d wondered if it was a coincidence. Maybe it had been a tribute to a father Solan never knew, but with the namesake Jinn left no room for doubt.

Honoring the man who had been like a father to him. In her own subtle way, Cressida had woven their histories together through their son.

"Yes, Solan, Qui-Gon Jinn was my master," Obi-Wan told him, his voice filled with warmth. "He was an exceptional Jedi and a remarkable man."

Solan’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. The knowledge that he carried a piece of his father's past in his name made him feel even more connected to the heritage he was just beginning to explore.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, standing on the edge of the water, watched as his reflection wavered in the ripples created by a soft breeze. His thoughts were a whirlwind.

He watched as Solan traced his fingers through the water, the ripples disrupting the reflection of Qui-Gon Jinn's memorial stone. It was in this serene spot that he understood – Cressida had always been thinking of him, even when they were apart. Long after he’d forgotten about her, she never forgot him. The knowledge that she had honored their shared past by naming their son after both him and his late master filled Obi-Wan with emotion, making his eyes glassy.

"It’s a fine name," he said softly, blinking away the unshed tears. A swell of emotion threatened to overwhelm him, but he swallowed the lump in his throat before turning back to Solan.

Solan glanced up at his father, concern creasing his young brow.

"Are you alright, Father? You look… I don't know, sad?"

Obi-Wan managed a small smile. "I'm fine, Solan.”

"Would you like to hear about him?" Obi-Wan replied, settling down on a flat rock beside the pond.

Solan hesitated, glancing at the meditation pond again. "Do we have time for stories? What about my training and our talk?”

“Well, history is simply a collection of stories and it seems, my boy, that you are unaware of the history of your namesake. And the study of history, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential, is never a waste of time.”

Solan contemplated his father's words, his gaze still fixed on the pond. "Maybe... Maybe we could meditate here, too? Since this is a special place."

Obi-Wan looked at the water, its surface now bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. He thought about Qui-Gon, who had guided him through the tumultuous path of the Jedi Order. The thought of sharing those stories with Solan filled Obi-Wan with a sense of purpose and mirth.

"That's a wonderful idea, Solan," Obi-Wan agreed, his voice filled with quiet resolve.

He glanced at the sky briefly, thinking of Cressida, wondering where she was, hoping she was safe, and nodded to her in unspoken gratitude.

The Council of First Knowledge gathered around the blue holo projection that flickered before them, their faces somber and intent. Noxella standing imposing and tall presided over the council. She was flanked by Jorus Tahn, Orlan Dem'ba, Avin Moneth, and Sydra Kell.

The blue holo glowed before them, projecting the holographic forms of Cressida Vox and Ataraxia standing side by side from the secure confines of their ship.

"Report," commanded Noxella, her voice authoritative yet tempered by inquisitiveness. "What have you discovered in your investigation?"

"We recovered what we believe to be the damaged hilt of Maul's lightsaber. The kyber crystal is intact, and we have deemed it safe to handle and secure."

At this revelation, murmurs rippled through the council chamber. The members exchanged concerned looks, their senses alert for any sign of danger.

"Have you learned anything else from your review of the security holos?"

"Unfortunately not," Cressida replied, her lips pressed into a thin line. "We found nothing substantial that the council didn't already know."

Noxella's eyes narrowed, her thoughts churning as she considered Cressida's report.

Jorus Tahn, a venerable Jedi Master whose graying hair framed his stern features, leaned forward and addressed the hologram.

"Have you discovered anything else of note in your investigation?" he asked, his voice deep and resonant.

"We've uncovered that Maul's ship was confiscated by the Galactic Republic Security Forces and taken to Lunar Security Outpost Delta," she said, her voice tinged with suspicion. "However, it was quickly destroyed on the direct order of Senator Palpatine."

The council members exchanged wary glances, sensing the implications of Palpatine's involvement. It was an unsettling development, one that hinted at darker machinations at play.

“Was there a manifest of the ship or an inventory of its contents or previous destinations?”

“If there was the report is missing, I think it’s plausible that, that information too was destroyed ony the order of Senator Palpatine.”

"Very well," Sydra Kell, the Kel Dor Jedi Master, spoke up, "What is your next course of action?"

Cressida paused, her mind racing through the possibilities, weighing her options. She knew that the key to unraveling this mystery lay in tracing Maul's movements after his defeat at the hands of Master Kenobi. But the trail had grown cold, leaving her with little more than conjecture.

"His movements are difficult to pinpoint until his resurgence on Mandalore," She admitted, her voice tight with frustration. "But we believe it's plausible to assume his body was discarded with the trash from the Theed Royal Palace on Naboo, which was taken to Lotho Minor."

"Considering the size of Lotho Minor," Jorus Tahn spoke up, his voice deep and resonating, "it would be unwise to invest significant time investigating there. It seems our only remaining lead, leads us to Mandalore.”

Ataraxia and Cressida exchanged a glance before nodding in agreement. Together, they knew the challenges Mandalore presented, but they also understood the potential tactical gains if their investigation proved successful.

"Understood, Master Tahn," Cressida replied, her voice steady and resolute. “Our departure is being delayed due to a severe thunderstorm but as soon as it clears up we will make our way to Mandalore.”

"Take heed, Cressida and Ataraxia. Maul was responsible for the murder of Duchess Satine Kryze, and it is possible that he still holds influence over Mandalore. No doubt the Shadow Collective and the Death Watch are still ready and waiting for his return. Remain vigilant and cautious in your endeavors."

The death of Duchess Satine Kryze was not a detail to be taken lightly; she had been a beloved leader and her loss had shaken the galaxy and certain people within it. Since Mauls arrest and escape from Stygian Prime the planet had fallen into something of a state of chaos, the factions warring more fiercely than before. It wouldn’t be as easy as a walk through smelly maintenance tunnels.

As the council members exchanged final words of encouragement, Cressida and Ataraxia prepared to embark on their journey to Mandalore. The path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but Cressida felt a spark of hope ignite within her. With every step they took, they drew closer to unraveling the mystery of Maul's whereabouts and unearthing the truth that had long remained hidden in the shadows.

"May the Force be with you both," Noxella's voice echoed solemnly through the chamber as the transmission ended, leaving the council members in quiet contemplation. The holographic image of Cressida Vox and Ataraxia faded away, casting the chamber back into semi-darkness.

"Her illness concerns me," Jorus Tahn said, breaking the silence that had settled over the group. "Can she still be effective in the field?"

The question prompted a silence as glances were exchanged before eyes ultimately fell back to Noxella, it was ultimately her decision.

"Ten years in isolation while protecting a child," She countered, her expression stern. "She has served our Order faithfully and persevered despite her illness. How many among us could say the same?"

"True, but we must consider the possibility that her condition may compromise her abilities," Orlan Dem'ba added, her lekku twitching in agitation. "We cannot ignore it."

"Ataraxia is keeping a close eye on her," Sydra Kell reminded them, her voice steady and measured. "She will report back to us upon their return to Coruscant. Until then, we must trust in their skills and dedication."

“Certainly there is no fiercer opponant than a Sentinel who is backed into a corner.” Several murmured agreements were exchanged.

“And no more cunning a foe if turned to darkness.”

The council members exchanged glances, uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. Cressida Vox was an enigma; her current state a topic of concern. But there was no denying her reputation as an effective Sentinel.

"Focus on the task at hand," Avin Moneth urged, his Zabrak features hardening with resolve. "Cressida has proven herself time and again, and until she gives us reason to doubt her, we must have faith in her abilities and we’ll never know the extent of her abilities if we do not deploy her. Our greater concern lies in discovering who Palpatine's apprentice was, and that means finding Maul."

Noxella nodded in agreement, regaining her composure. "You are right, Master Moneth. We cannot allow our doubts to cloud our judgment or distract us from the mission at hand. Cressida and Ataraxia will continue their investigation on Mandalore, and we must stand ready to support them in any way possible."

The others murmured their assent, each aware of the gravity of the situation. The truth about Palpatine's apprentice and Maul's connection to it all were secrets that had eluded the Jedi for far too long. Now, with Cressida and Ataraxia at the forefront of this perilous quest, the Council of First Knowledge could only hope that the answers they sought would finally be revealed.

"May the Force guide their path," Noxella intoned as she closed her eyes, offering a silent prayer for the two Jedi on their dangerous mission. "And may we find the truth we so desperately seek."

Obi-Wan and Solan sat cross-legged on the floor, indulging in a plate of Wookiee cookies that they had snuck past the watchful eyes of the Temple caretakers. The sweet aroma of the baked treats filled the air, intermingling with the scent of a rare Nabooian flower that sat in a vase nearby.

"Are you going to tell your mother we had Wookiee cookies before bed?" Obi-Wan playfully asked, crumbs clinging to the corners of his mouth.

Solan paused, cheeks puffed out and bulging with the evidence. He gulped it down. "What cookies?" he replied, a cheeky grin appearing on his face as he took another bite.

“Good boy.”

They shared a lighthearted laugh and exchanged knowing smiles, enjoying the simple pleasure of their secret feast. For a moment, the pressing concerns of the galaxy seemed to fade away, replaced by the bond forming between father and son.

As their laughter subsided and with a belly full of cookies and a long day of walking and talking, Solan yawned and stretched his arms reaching well over his head, inadvertently drawing Obi-Wan's attention to the data stick hanging from a thin chain. He remembered it was one of the two items Cressida had left for Solan on the table before she departed on her mission the previous day. He’d meant to ask Solan about the item but it hadn’t seemed appropriate at the moment to do so, Obi-Wan couldn't contain his questions any longer.

"Forgive me for prying, but what is the significance of the data stick around your neck? And why did your mother leave her lightsaber behind?" He asked gently, not wanting to intrude on Solan's personal matters but unable to quench his innate curiosity. “I gather it’s a sort of routine, but I’m curious as to their purpose.”

The boy looked down at the small device, his fingers tracing its edges thoughtfully.

"Mom always left me her lightsaber so I could feel safe and a little closer to her while she was gone," Solan explained, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "And the data stick..." He paused, contemplating how best to describe its purpose. "It's like... our contingency plan."

"Contingency plan?" Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, puzzled by Solan's words.

"Yeah," Solan continued, his eyes meeting Obi-Wan's inquisitive gaze. "She said that if something ever happened to her and she didn’t come back, the data stick would help me get back to the Jedi Temple safely. It had everything I needed to find my way here, just in case." Solan replied matter-of-factly.

Obi-Wan stared at the data stick in Solan's hand. The weight of what Solan had just shared settled on him like a heavy cloak, a mixture of awe and concern for Cressida's foresight. He took a deep breath, trying to process the implications of her contingency plan.

"Your mother," Obi-Wan began slowly, putting down his half-eaten cookie, "explained all this to you when you were very young?"

Solan nodded, his green eyes serious. "Yeah, she said if she ever didn't come back from a mission, it probably meant she'd been killed. And I'd be in danger of the slavers coming for me and I had to get to the temple as fast as I could."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, his heart aching for the child who had to grow up with such a burden.

"And the data stick contains...?"

"Star charts, secret codes, communication frequencies, com codes... all sorts of stuff," Solan replied. "People she trusted, I think she even once told me there was some kind of blackmail on it if people didn’t want to help, and access to an untraceable account with credits for safe passage to Coruscant. Plus security protocols and messages to deliver."

"Messages?"

"Yup. Three of them. One for the high council that would tell them all about me and how I came to be, and a detailed log of Mom's mission for the Council of First Knowledge." Solan hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Another one's for me, but I've never listened to it. And one's for you, Dad."

For him? She left a message for him? Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, his mind racing with questions.

"And you have no idea what these messages say?"

"Nope," Solan replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. "Never needed to listen to them."

Obi-Wan froze, cookie halfway to his mouth. He marveled at Cressida's meticulous planning and determination to keep Solan safe, his heart clenching

He set the cookie down, appetite gone.

"May I see it?"

"Sure," Solan said, unclipping the small device from around his neck and handing it over without hesitation. "Mom probably only left it for me because it was our tradition. You know, more for comfort and routine." He sighed and looked down at his hands. "It’s not like I need it like I used to, I mean, I'm safe here on Coruscant and the Council knows everything."

Obi-Wan took the data stick from Solan, turning it over in his fingers as he examined it. It was such a small, unassuming object, yet it held so much significance.

"Do you… think your mother would mind if I took a look at it?" he asked, seeking Solan's approval.

"I think it's fine," Solan replied, his voice tinged with relaxed confidence. "She probably wouldn't care. I mean she had a message for you on it, so I think she probably figured you’d see it anyway, and you’re on the High Council so, what's the harm?" He paused, a slight smile gracing his lips before another yawn broke through. "I’m sleepy, I think I’m gonna get ready for bed."

"Of course," Obi-Wan agreed, still fixated on the data stick. As Solan turned to leave, he hesitated, then reached out to place a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. The unexpected gesture caught Obi-Wan's attention, and he looked up to meet his son's eyes.

"I'm glad I get to spend time with you while Mom's away," Solan said softly, his sincerity shining through. "Goodnight, Father."

"Sleep well, Solan," Obi-Wan replied, his heart swelling with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. As the boy retreated to his room, Obi-Wan couldn't help but call out one more question. "Solan?"

The boy paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Before you go," Obi-Wan said, his voice barely above a whisper. "When we found the lightsaber and the data stick, I heard you say something... 'Even if.'” Solan nodded. “What does that mean?"

Solan's eyes met Obi-Wan's, and for a moment, there was a weight behind them – an emotion Obi-Wan couldn't quite place. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by a soft smile that seemed to hold the same warmth as Cressida's.

"It was our sort of goodbye," Solan explained, his voice gentle but steady. "Mom used to tell me, 'I'll always be with you, even if you can't see me.'"

As the words hung in the air, Obi-Wan felt a pang deep within his chest. Solan's smile remained, bittersweet, as he turned and finally disappeared into his room for the night.

He sat in contemplation for some time at the table, with the little weathered device in his fingers, turning it over examining each side, noting all the little nicks, scratches, and dents. Its weathered metal no longer possessed the sheen that the metal likely once carried. All the while, thinking of the woman he had once known. How she had changed from being his friend, to the Jedi who had once been his lover to the, at times, complete stranger that now existed as a ghost, at times almost intangible. She had left behind a complex web of information to ensure their son's safety, trusting in the Jedi Order to guide him on the right path.

"Even if..." he murmured, the words taking on a new meaning for him now.

Could this small device truly hold the answers he sought? Was it possible that somewhere within its intricate circuits lay the secrets of where Cressida had been all these years, and exactly what trials and hardships she had weathered?

His mind wrestled with the possibilities, but ultimately, the need for answers won out. He rose, and looked to the bed where Solan was now quietly snoring on, and for the moment on his side of the bed.

With deep breath, he approached a small terminal in his quarters, inserted the data stick and waited for its secrets to unfold before him.

The holo display showed him no documents or files but instead an identification verification.

He leaned forward, taking a deep breath before speaking his name aloud:

"Obi-Wan Kenobi."

His heart raced as the interface flickered to life, revealing several locked files. He went through each one, scanning their contents, finding them to be just as Solan had described: communications to reach the temple, emergency codes and signals to contact any nearby Jedi, a list of Cressida's trusted contacts, and among the names at the temple and certain political figures she believed were allies - including a name he knew quite well, which made him pause momentarily.

"Padme," he murmured, feeling an odd mix of relief and concern at seeing her name among Cressida's allies. It seemed that Cressida's network of support extended far beyond what he had initially imagined.

He continued exploring the files, finding secured credit accounts with enough funds to ensure Solan's safe passage to Coruscant several times over from even the shadiest transport from any point in the galaxy.

As he continued to sift through the files, he came across one with no name. Excitement tingled in his fingertips. Hope surged within him, thinking it might hold the answers he sought. This was it. He was so close, he could feel it.

Curiosity at fever pitch, he tried to open it. A prompt appeared, asking for a passcode. Hoping his name would suffice again, he spoke: "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"Access denied," the terminal responded, its cold, mechanical voice dashing his hopes of unraveling the secrets of the last ten years.

Frustration bubbled up within him, quickly followed by discouragement. This anonymous file represented a potential treasure trove of information – perhaps even the key to understanding where Cressida had been all these years and unlocking the secrets that had eluded him. And yet, it remained stubbornly inaccessible.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the locked file, the ache in his chest growing stronger. The truth lay just beyond his grasp, hidden within the unyielding depths of the data stick.

"Come on, think, Obi-Wan," He muttered under his breath, racking his brain for any other possible code or password that might grant him access. But the more he strained to uncover one, the more elusive the answer seemed to become.

"Even if," he whispered, remembering Solan's words, uncertain of why he said them but feeling an odd amount of comfort from the phrase.

His disappointment was short lived though as his eyes were drawn to the three holo messages nestled among the other files. He hesitated for a moment, considering his options. Solan was right, he was a member of the High Council, so surely, there was no harm in viewing the message. Maybe there was some hope to be had afterall.

His heart raced with anticipation, uncertain of what to expect. With a steadying breath, he activated the message meant for the Jedi High Council.

A shimmering blue holo of Cressida materialized before him, her auburn hair cascading down her shoulders, her piercing gray eyes filled with determination. Even as a holo recording, she projected an air of strength and purpose, she looked upward at Obi-Wan preparing to address what was meant to be the Jedi High Council, her voice steady and clear as she began to speak.

It's been a minute since we've checked in on these kids and dare I say, there could be. apinprick of ligh for these two??? It's possibly my longest chapter to date so I hope it was worth the wait! Also, how do you guys like the new look for the story??? I had some fun with Canva! You guys know what to do, read, comment, reblog and don't forget those fun and quirky tags! You guys always make my day!

@burnthecheshirewitch @pickleprickle @split-spectrum @heyhawtdawgs @bad4amficideas

If you'd like to be tagged in this story or any of my Star Wars/Obi-Wan stories leave me a comment! Have a lovely day my darlings!

1 note · View note

thegreatwicked · 3 days

Text

Coming later today…! Finishing up my final read through…

@burnthecheshirewitch @pickleprickle @split-spectrum @bad4amficideas @heyhawtdawgs

0 notes

thegreatwicked · 4 days

Text

I am still working on Shadows! I did not abandon it so don't lose heart! This chapter is being particularly tricky to write and I only want the best you my lovely followers. I am now going to be rebloging my stuff to get some more life into the story and as you can see, my post has recieved a facelift! What do you guys think of the new look? Please feel free to reblog because reblogs are how things end up on dashboards! Don't forget to like, comment and keep following!

Stay toxic my Roman Sionis fangirls, stay toxic.

Shadows of Deception Chapter One

The Great Wicked

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

Notes: Yes, I do know Roman Sionis is a bad guy. No, I do not care. Yes, I am absolutely simping over Evan McGreggors portrayal. Setting is not quite the Birds of Prey universe but Roman is definitely a criminal but not quite a sadistic crime lord like he is in the comics. Doni favor one shots? Yes I do, but this would be perhaps the longest one shot in history so it will be a chaptered story. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters.

Final Note: This story is not meant for minors, you alone are responsible for what you consume on the internet. Minors DNI. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted elsewhere but please feel free to reblog.

Shackles by Steven Rodriguez

The night was supposed to start with a slinky dress that hadn’t seen a night out in months, some overpriced drinks that could be made for cheaper at home and end what she had hoped to be a memorable, hot and very irresponsible one night stand with the first gorgeous stranger she clicked with. She wasn’t looking for Mr. Right, just Mr. Tonight. The worst she expected was a bad DJ, a disappointing romp in the sack and a hangover. Instead it ended with gunshots, the smell of sulfur, threats of torture and several dead bodies at her feet.

It wasn’t like she’d snuck beyond the door for ‘employees only’ because she was looking for some fun. Hardly, she was just trying to disappear from a creep who thought he was hotter than he was. He’d followed her from one end of the bar to the other insisting on buying her drinks. She turned him down each time and she wasn’t subtle or polite about it. No vague “I’m waiting on friends” or “I’m not really thirsty” she told him to his face multiple times that she’d rather die of thirst than to take any drink he offered, but it didn’t deter him at all. He was the type of guy who was a few years older than he let on, wore cologne to hide the fact that he was too lazy to shower before going out and probably couldn’t find the clitoris with both hands and a map. There wasn’t a suit nice enough to cover the cringe nor was there enough liquor in the universe.

Wherever she went, he had followed. If she were on the dance floor somehow he found her, hiding in the bathroom? He was right outside. She had been dying for a smoke but there was no way in hell she was going outside where he could corner her. And he’d made it only too clear on what he’d been interested in when she decided to ditch him for good. Sure, she shouldn’t have been there but she just wanted to lose the guy. The back of the house seemed as good an option as any.

The door didn’t have a lock, it was a simple handle and it only took her a split second to slip past it. A quick but maybe not the best decision but she didn’t have a ton of options. Rejecting a man was dangerous at the best of times and she was alone in a club in a wealthy part of town where a cosmo cost nearly twenty dollars. But a man where it hurts; his dick or his wallet and no telling what these types would do.

The door had no windows so she couldn’t tell if he was right behind her but she instead decided on rounding a corner just in case he stuck his head in. Maybe it would have been better if she’d just kneed him in the crotch and run like hell. The closest corner to duck behind was at the end of a fairly long hall leading to a storage area. Her high heels clutched firmly in her hand as she ran barefoot down the corridor to avoid making any noise. It worked a little too well, unfortunately and not in any way that benefited her in the long run.

Several seconds of silence passed as she glanced back down the hall sticking out as little as possible with only the sound of her slightly hurried breathing. No sign of the guy, several seconds turned into a few minutes of dead silence but something about it was wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and as soon as she turned around, the reason became clear. That horrible cold sensation ran down her back and settled in the pit of her stomach.

Shit.

Whatever she walked in on, she wasn't meant to see, and the three men there were just as surprised to see her. Two guys looked like laborers and their expressions went from shock to anger very quickly. One pulled out a box cutter, the other reached for a length of pipe. The last one to turn and face her set off every internal alarm she had, everything about him was bad.

From his ill fitted suit to his greasy slicked back hair to the hand gun in his waistband.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

He shook his head as he stepped towards her, he couldn’t pull off a sympathetic look if his life depended on it. Shame, because hers did.

“Bad timing lady…”

“You’re telling me.” Her voice was hardly a whisper and the words hadn’t left her lips when she dropped her shoes and turned to bolt back the way she came. Shouts followed her, and the sound of heavy boots and shoes on the ground echoed loudly.

She had no idea where she was and in her panic, the simple hall back to the club's main floor had been erased from her memory. She took several turns hoping to run into anyone but also dreading running into anyone, she had no idea if those men were the only ones who would be after her.

The sound of shoes faded and she chanced a look back but saw no one, her furious heartbeat hammered in her chest. She was alone.

Maybe they’d gotten scared and run off, afraid of being discovered while pursuing her.

Time to go home.

It would have been a great idea if she hadn’t turned another corner and walked into a solid mass of man. Rough hands grabbed at her arms and pulled her back down the hall. She shrieked and flailed, kicking her legs out, not knowing or seeing all that well what she was aiming for. Panic flooded her chest as her fight or flight kicked into overdrive.

A hand quickly clamped over her mouth as she was dragged back down the corridor kicking and trying to break the iron grip on her arms. Not that she thought anyone could honestly hear her, the music was muffled from the main dance floor which gave her little chance of being heard.

The guy in the suit was waiting for her, and he looked pissed. He leaned against a table with plastic bags of powder spread on it and a briefcase of cash in plain view. She was no narcotics cop but she knew drugs when she saw them.

She flew like a rag doll against a wall with such force that knocked the wind right out of her. Her lungs clawed for air trying to catch up with what had just happened. As quickly as she scrambled back into a sitting position and managed to get a breath in, he was standing there.

One thumb tucked into his pocket looking down at her like a disappointed parent. He was the type of guy who liked looking down on people but was probably too low on the totem pole to get to do it too often. He wore gold jewelry and not in a tasteful way, gold rings, gold watch, gold chain necklace. From a distance he could have just been a guy in a bad suit, up close he looked like an extra from the movie the Goodfellas or a Mr. T reject.

His smile was very off putting because it wasn’t a real smile. “Should have stuck to the dance floor.” There was only one door that she could reach and it was an emergency exit. The way she had come in was blocked by the two men. He watched her eyes flicker to the emergency exit and shook his head and actually gave an audible tsk, tsk, tsk. When the exit wasn’t an option she frantically searched the room for something, anything. “You know, if a sign says employees only, maybe you should stay on the other side of the door it’s on.”

He probably thought he had the upper hand, thought she was too scared to do anything or try anything, she was scared shitless but not enough to do nothing. The two men behind him chuckled and he turned to nod to them. She had seen the gun on his waistband, and before she realized exactly what she was doing, her arm shot out and miraculously found purchase with the cold steel of the grip. She jerked her hand back, the gun went off and an odd sense of disassociation came over her.

The room smelled like sulfur and the barrel was smoking and in an instant she had somehow managed to fire off three shots. The suit monkey in front of her was on his back clutching his side, blood flowing from where she had just shot him, looking up at her in disbelief.

His accomplices couldn’t be of much help, one bullet struck one man in the leg just below the knee, the other in the hip.

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

Fight had turned to flight and as quickly as she could, she made a dash for the way she’d come in and again, ran into another hard body.

This guy was different. He wasn’t like the other men, a grip of steel shot out and grabbed the gun that had still been clutched in her hand, aiming towards the ceiling away from any potential targets. Another shot went off before it was wrenched from her hand, she yelped. Another arm wrapped itself over her chest, keeping her from getting away.

“What in the fuck is this?” The voice was angry and dangerous and when he called out to someone else she realized he wasn’t alone. “Take this.” His other arm now free of the gun kept her caged against his body and she had even less room to maneuver. “For fucks sake, stop struggling already!” He tossed her to the ground into a corner, her head smacking against the cinderblock wall.

“Looks like quite the party back here.” Another voice, and something mechanical sounding, the gun. “Well, she won’t be winning any marksman competitions anytime soon but three out of four isn’t bad.” It must have been the little birdies and stars dancing around her head but there was an air of lightheartedness to his voice and she couldn’t tell if it was comforting or concerning. Things either weren’t as bad as they seemed or they were far worse.

“Jesus Christ, look at this mess…” The first man sounded less angry now and more likely he was inconvenienced, like he was running late to a meeting. “What’s going on here, Jimmy?”

Jimmy, the guy she shot? Yeah, he looked like a Jimmy, he was bleeding out but despite that, he didn’t look even remotely concerned until the guy in the suit spoke to him and only then he looked up at him with a look of fear in his eyes. Like his greatest nightmare had stepped out of his subconscious. He tried to choke out words but nothing short of a garbled response was audible.

“Uh, boss?”

“What is it, Zsasz?” Zsasz? What the hell kind of name was that? Sounded like a cult leader.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

“What could possibly be worse than-“ he stopped dead and his body stilled in a concerning way. The man he’d called Zsasz, who she could finally see properly now was standing next to the table holding up a white bag. “Fuck!”

“Looks like Cobblepots branding. Picking up some side work, Jimmy?” Zsasz looked at Jimmy with pure disgust and tossed a bag to his boss, he caught it easily and examined the packet. His brow furrowed in anger and the corner of his lips turned into a snarl.

“Cobblepot?” He growled, his voice now sounding positively feral. She had no idea who these men were or what exactly was going on but she knew the name Cobblepot. Everyone knew that name. Oswald Cobblepot, drug dealer, arms supplier, owner of the Iceberg Lounge, overall a well known name in Gotham, not a man to cross. Suddenly her presence wasn’t the biggest issue in the room but the situation had gotten even more dangerous.

He stalked over to her and held the bag's contents in his gloved hand and looked down at her. Several tense moments passed, his face gave little away in terms of what he was thinking. Maybe he was trying to decide if it was more trouble to kill her, pay her to be quiet or count on fear to keep her silent. Maybe he was trying to decide where to dump her body.

“Know what this is?”

Yeah, it was probably drugs but she couldn't be more specific and she didn't want to give the impression that she knew more than she did, so she shook her head.

“No.” Something about how he spoke and looked at her gave her the impression that he preferred words to gestures. She shouldn’t have been concerned with it but now that she could see him better it was hard to ignore. He was gorgeous. Eccentric but gorgeous. Black pinstripe suit with silver accents that were giving her hard core Liberace vibes. Dark hair styled perfectly, not slicked back like the suit monkey and he was wearing rose tinted glasses. The look worked for him but the irritated look on his face was kind of spoiling the whole thing for her.

He looked to Zsasz and then back to her. She was probably much prettier when she wasn’t terrified. She reminded him of a cornered mouse. “What’s your name?” His tone was flat and uninterested.

“Belladonna Black.” She tried to keep her voice from shaking but it was difficult.

“Why are you in the back of my club?” A terrible weight dropped in her stomach and the cold feeling raced up her back.The kind you get when your body is trying to tell you that you’re in deep shit. His club? This was Roman Sionis. He was usually in the tabloids, known for having a volatile temper and little patience and extravagant tastes, now the suit and glasses made sense.

It took a minute for her lips to form words, suddenly dealing with a creepy guy wasn’t so bad compared to this. “I was trying to lose a guy in the club, I just ducked back here long enough to ditch him.”

He didn’t seem very impressed with her reasoning but he also didn’t seem like he didn’t believe her. “And it looks like you walked in on something that you weren’t supposed to see. Well, that’s unfortunate… Maybe you should have found a bouncer instead.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

“Boss?” Zsasz held out a smartphone to Roman, he looked at the phone and watched carefully, the audio was loud enough for her to recognize her own voice and the sounds of running and struggle.

Zsasz watched her with an expression that said he definitely had a plan to kill her and dispose of the body or knew the right drug to give her to make her forget this while night had happened, he was just waiting on word and that he didn’t particularly care which one happened. Zsasz was one of the most intimidating men she’d ever seen, if his stone cold sociopathic expression didn’t do it, the dozens of scars across his arms and chest as well as neck did. He had scars like most men had tattoos. His gaze was icy, suggesting that the workings of his mind were very pragmatic and matter of fact. Meanwhile Roman seemed to be having a debate in his head. He handed the phone back to Zsasz and shoved his hands in his pockets and with a tilt of his head he studied her.

“Well, look at that Angel? Looks like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing could be more innocent.” His emphasis on the word innocent suggested he believed in the concept about as much as unicorns.

“Kill the feed.” Zsasz nodded and tapped away at the phone. “Don’t move.” He warned in a low growl then turned and walked back to Jimmy and his two men. He didn’t walk, no he stalked towards them placing a leather Italian shoe on Jimmy’s bleeding side. Jimmy half groaned, half yelped loudly, she suddenly felt kind of bad for him. “Dealing for Cobblepot in my own club…” He ran a hand through his hair before holding his hand out to Zsasz, and Zsasz gave him the gun back. “I warned you, Jimmy.” She watched as he racked a round into the chamber and fired three shots in rapid succession. Jimmy stopped moving. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work out, Jimmy.” He then fired two shots into each of the men at the door and once more he handed the gun back to Zsasz. “Make the call.”

“What about her?” She was pale, eyes transfixed on the scene before her, somehow unable to move, too in shock to speak.

“Oh,” Now he sounded like someone had told him he couldn’t leave the table until his dinner was done. Like an annoyed teenager. She didn’t scream which was probably the only reason she too didn’t have a bullet in her head, or because he used them all on Jimmy and his friends. He looked around and shrugged before stepping forward taking off his rose tinted glasses. He looked her up and down now. His gaze leisurely and predatory at the same time, it gave her chills.

It seemed like he was making a mental list of pros and cons, he paced back and forth for a minute. Zsasz kept looking at her like a guard dog waiting to be let off his leash. She didn’t need to be told that the only thing holding him back from turning her into confetti was the word from Roman. “Fuck!” He groaned, “These decisions are always easier when they’re ugly…” He complained to Zsasz. Was that a compliment?

His hand again, found its way combing through his hair making a mess of the styled locks before straightening his suit collar then he finally turned to look at her.

“Clean up crew is on the way, three or four?”

“Three’s plenty. Four's a crowd.” She let out a breath in relief. It seemed like he didn’t plan on killing her. Not yet anyway. “It’s your lucky night, Angel.”

His entire demeanor changed as flashed a smile that under normal circumstances would make her swoon. It was shocking, this sudden 180 he pulled. Jesus, if not for the dead bodies and the fact that she’d just seen him shoot three people she just might be falling under his spell.

Zsasz leaned in as Roman muttered something to him. Then Zsasz nodded and walked away quickly, leaving the two of them alone. Roman offered a leather clad hand to help her up, she hesitated at first but eventually took his hand and got to her feet.

“Zsasz is going to take you home and you’re going to behave for him. You’re going to keep that pretty mouth shut about what you saw here tonight, you’re not going to say a word to anyone. Not even your cat, understand, Angel?”

“You’re letting me go?”

“For now.” He paused, “Don't misread the situation here, you’ve been a naughty girl, sneaking around here. And I should put a bullet in your head and dump you into Gotham Bay,” he uttered the last sentence with considerable venom. She shrunk back slightly but couldn’t go far as Roman was still holding onto her hand. “But I’m feeling generous tonight, as without you here I might not have found out about this disloyal employee.” He leaned in closer now, barely a breath away. “ If you speak a word of this to anyone I’ll have Zsasz string you up and slice that pretty face of yours off like a discount Halloween mask. Understand?” She nodded shakily, “Say the words, Angel.”

“I understand.”

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Yes.” She wished her voice hadn’t come off so weak sounding but it felt like she was walking on a glass bridge that could shatter at any minute with the wrong step.

“Good girl.”

People should have warning signs around their necks, warning the public of their idiotic behavior. Belladonna’s would read ‘Do not allow to ingest tequila.’ Vodka left her feeling light and floaty, gin reminded her of seltzer water; annoyingly bland. And rum of course brought out her inner stripper, like it did for most women, everyone has a drink that does that to them. Tequila was the one that left her feeling like she’d gone five rounds in a boxing ring. Laying in her bed, with sunlight streaming through her window, she groaned and pulled the pillow over her head and immediately regretted it. The back of her head was throbbing, odd, Tequila usually left her with an all over headache, not one specific spot. Her hand threaded through her hair to ease the ache and froze when it found a considerable lump on the back of her head, she shot up in bed, sunlight be damned and felt that cold feeling again. She didn’t drink last night.

Then last night drifted into her memory, the smell of sulfur and blood, the sound of gunshots, and the feeling of being trapped. Black leather gloves. Roman Sionis. She felt like throwing up.

Then she did. Barely made it to the trashcan in time.

Her apartment was blissfully empty and nothing seemed out of place. The cold water she guzzled did little to get rid of the taste of bile in her mouth, so the first order was brushing her teeth and then maybe some more panic.

She hadn’t had anything to drink last night but she still felt hungover, could a traumatic experience do that? A quick google search suggested it wasn’t impossible and that if she felt sick then to treat it as such, but a quick inventory of her medicine cabinet found that she was seriously lacking in aspirin. If she wasn’t drunk last night, she had every intention of drinking herself stupid tonight.

But she didn’t want to leave her apartment, not after what happened. She found herself pacing her living room for the better part of the morning, uncertain of what to do. She remembered Roman's warning.

“If you speak a word of this to anyone I’ll have Zsasz string you up and slice that pretty face of yours off like a discount Halloween mask.”

On the bright side, she didn’t have a cat. She wondered why she didn’t just do what most women her age did; stay in, drink wine and watch violent slashers. Her stomach churned, maybe not a slasher, but she didn’t like romcoms, right, so documentaries it was. The urge to throw up wasn’t far behind, but there was nothing to throw up.

A quick check of her phone saw the time creeping up close to eleven, she remembered Zsasz dropping her off at her apartment around three but she wasn’t sure how long the whole thing behind the club had taken. Had she only been asleep eight hours? Could that be right? Her phone had no text messages or missed calls and the date told her it was only Saturday, so it wasn't like she’d slept all day. Christ.

Her head was pounding. There was a bodega a block away from her place, she could run in, grab some aspirin, bagels and something to drink and be good until Monday when she had work. The guy who ran the bodega was a nice old guy who she was fairly certain only spoke Korean, either way, all her past interactions suggested that he wasn’t likely to start chatting with her over hangover remedies. She nodded slowly to herself. Yeah, that was it, she’d grab some things and be done with it and get home. No harm, no foul.

Yeah, she could do this.

She grabbed her purse and slipped on some ripped jeans, a Gotham City Rogues t-shirt and some old sneakers. Throwing her hair into a messy bun and grabbing her cropped leather jacket, she didn't mean to look like she was going to start a girl rock revolution but figured she’d blend in and be just another face in the Saturday crowd. She locked her door behind her and tried to stay focused on getting to the bodega and back again without incident.

It was all fine and well until she hit the street, then the sounds of the city hit her like finding out she left the volume turned up on her headphones. She jumped as a taxi rushed past her like some kind of tourist, cringe. Then she remembered her headphones were actually in her jacket pocket, she wasn’t planning on listening to any music, but just to use them to drown out the ambient noise that she usually loved.

It was a quick brisk walk over to the shop oddly called Ernies, even though the guy who owned it was Korean, or Vietnamese, she wasn’t sure. But today was not the day to find out. Belladonna had been, at one point comfortable enough in this city to walk barefoot in it but now, every movement startled her, every car backfiring sounded like a gunshot and every person casually looking her way put her on edge. Several times she could have sworn she saw Roman Sionis or Zsasz watching her but they always turned out to be just some wall street guy in a suit or some random buff guy in a wifebeater. They smiled and winked at her which she never returned on a good day, but it was oddly comforting this time, as she didn’t think Zsasz and Roman to be the smiling and winking type.

The familiar bell over the door was comforting and as soon as she stepped into the bodega it felt like she stepped into a hug. There was a hot bar that always had hot dogs and asian finger foods that she never tried before and the smell of the foods made her briefly forget why she had come in, in the first place. It was only when she reached up to scratch her head that she remembered the aspirin.

Fifteen minutes later she had a basket with a few drinks, aspirin, fresh bagels, and a bag of m&ms. She decided to pass on the bottle of wine.

She jumped when someone spoke over her shoulder, and she tried not to panic when she saw two police officers.

“Man, I love these things!”

“What the hell are they?”

“They’re called bao, like a steamed bun with beef and onions inside. I could eat a hundred of them!”

They weren’t talking to her, just talking around her, but the information and her current situation gave her the push to try something new. She asked for two of them while the cops behind her continued on with their conversation about what awas superior foreign food or good old fashioned american hot dogs.

The guy who ran the shop gave her his usual wordless smile and she left with her two reusable bags. No conversation, no questions, no comments, and she was a ten minute walk from the safety of her apartment.

The sounds of the traffic had died down enough or she had calmed herself to the degree that they didn’t startle her anymore. She was herself again within the span of that short walk. She’d even reached into one of her bags for the fresh hot bao she’d just purchased, its smell calling to her empty stomach. It didn’t last two minutes, she hadn’t eaten since dinner last night before she went out and she was suddenly wishing she’d bout a dozen of them.

It was savory and hot and hit a spot she didn’t know she’d had, and by the time she got to her building she was even smiling.

Her door was still locked as she had left it but her sense of relief vaporized in an instant when on her coffee table she saw something that made her stomach turn. Something that hadn’t been there.

A pair of black high heels. The ones she’d been wearing last night and the headless stem of a rose.

Everyday her assistant had asked her if she ‘had a case of the Mondays’ all week, usually a harsh look was enough for Daisy, her assistant to move onto other things. But sure enough the young woman had asked her in some fashion or other everyday if she was having a bad day and it was an unfair question. She hadn’t been having a bad day, she had been having a bad week.

Spring fashion week was coming up and this was the calm before the storm. In a matter of two weeks her studio would be a madhouse of activity with agents, models, designers, and other photographers all jockeying for the best work. Personally, she hated fashion week.

She didn’t pick up a camera with the intent of taking pretty photos of rail thin models wearing expensive dresses that didn’t conform to her sense of fashion in the slightest. She’d picked up a camera because she preferred shooting objects instead of people.

And her preferred type of photography was going out of style, not too many people shot actual wet film, everything was digital. Her favorite pastime was going the way of the dinosaurs, which made her a bit old school. Or so everyone who’d ever set foot in her apartment ever told her, not too many people had their own personal darkroom.

Maybe a few hours in her darkroom this weekend would settle her down, calm her mind. It sounded like a nice and easy weekend in, and she needed nice and easy after the week she’d had.

The studio was a mess, the vanity had product all over it, the mirror covered with smudges, clothes and props strewn about. The last of the crew had left and it was just Belladonna and Daisy.

It was nice to finally have some quiet after the storm that had swept through. She busied herself with turning off lights and moving furniture back to where she preferred it while Daisy tidied up the vanities and bathroom. Some models were thoughtful and didn’t leave the place a mess, others, well, not so much.

It became apparent that Daisy had been talking to her when a hand waved over her face and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and looked at a startled Daisy, usually their evenings were filled with idle chatter but tonight she knew she wasn’t an active participant.

“Sorry, what?”

Daisy blinked, “What's got you wound up so tight?”

“Just a long day.”

“More like a long week.” Daisy muttered, “What’s going on with you? You’ve been out of it all week, it’s weird really. I’ve never seen you so… robotic.” Belladonna shook her head and shrugged. “Does this have anything to do with what happened last Friday?”

Her blood ran cold. She hadn’t said anything to Daisy about what happened, hell she didn’t even tell her she’d been out. “What do you mean?”

“The voicemail you got from Jackson?”

Jackson! Relief flooded her, and she made a mental note to cut Daisy some slack the next time she asked her if she was having a case of the Mondays. She slumped down onto the couch and groaned internally, truth be told she’s forgotten about her ex’s phone call. The thing that had prompted her to go out in the first place.

“I’m busting my ass working fifty hours a week on a good week, getting further and further away from any thought of him and then I hear he’s engaged and I’m jealous.” She released a deep held breath, “Why am I jealous?”

Her and Jacks had been steady for two years and then an on again and off again thing for over a year and their chemistry was amazing but in their last year together something always came up. In the end he would never choose her and they’d break up for a bit and then get back together. The final straw was another canceled date. She just wanted a straight answer from him about what was going to happen between them. Daisy gave her a comforting look.

“How about we go out and have some fun at a club? Grab some drinks and maybe flirt with some cute guys?”

The thought made her feel sick. She shook her head as nonchalantly as she could manage. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure? It’s Friday night in Gotham, anything can happen.”

Don’t I know it?

“No, I think I’m going to go home and binge watch Lucifer.” Daisy didn’t seem convinced, “Seriously, I am perfectly happy spending time alone.”

“Do you want me to stay and help you finish?”

“No, go enjoy your weekend while you can. We’ve got about two weeks until hell week. Go have fun.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll have a lemon drop in your honor.” She chuckled and nodded, the gesture was sweet. Daisy was a nice girl but she was a younger girl than Belladonna, almost ten years younger. Still in that clubbing, lemon drop drinking phase. She remembered those days. “See you Monday.”

Daisy gave her one final wave and went about finishing up in the studio. With Daisy gone she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She had forgotten about Jackson.

She wasn’t even sure if she missed him so much as she missed having someone in her life that she was comfortable with.

She grabbed her jacket and purse before locking up the studio and setting the panel alarm.

It was a bit late for the subway and she didn’t see any taxis so maybe walking a few blocks would help clear her head. She hadn’t gone far before she realized someone was following her.

When a hand reached out behind her she shrieked and spun in her heels.

“Belladonna Black?” Her eyes were wide in fear and as they met the disinterested faces of two men in off the rack suits and two badges made a quick appearance. “Detectives Ramirez and Craven with the GCPD, we’ve got a few questions for you.”

Chapter Two

15 notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 6 days

Text

SHE’S AT IT AGAIN AND SHE CAN’T BE STOPPED!!!!

Concessions

Chapter 2

Pairing: Obi Wan/FemReader

Chapter Length: 3.4K

Warnings/Tags: edging, orgasm denial, sexting, masturbation, dubious consent

Description: Obi Wan chooses to undertake a trial that prevents him from sex for one year, and asks you to serve as his witness. As his close friend, you don't mind helping him. The rules of the trial are very clear. You make it your personal mission to find every exception.

☆☆☆

Sweeping a towel around your body, you smirk as your personal commlink chirps again.

Hm, eager this time, you think, tucking the towel around your chest and watching the holoscreen illuminate with a text reply.

It's not entirely a bad thing, his eagerness. Penchar is on world very infrequently, and your last meeting a year ago was rather to-the-point, which works well for both of you. His career as a merchant brings him to every corner of the galaxy, while the same goes for you as a Jedi. When your paths cross, you can usually find some no-strings enjoyment.

[if i make it into port next week, will you be around?]

You tap the side of your commlink with your finger, thinking over your schedule. You send back a non-commital response. It would be nice to make the time for it, but you can't be certain.

[can i have a little preview, just in case?] his message reads in reply.

You press your lips together, staring down at the message, dripping wet and naked beneath your towel. His timing is impeccable. Taking only a short moment to think it over, you decide to indulge.

You set the cam to auto, placing it across from your bed, on your nightstand. Then you peel away the towel and lie back, easing yourself into the soft blankets covering your bed. You fold an arm across your chest, pressing your breasts in close and giving a sultry smile. When you're satisfied with the handful of clicks the commlink emits, you pick it back up to look over your work.

You find the one you like - smile soft and eyes half-lidded as you brush the soft, dewy skin of your forearm arm against your nipples. You can't see much; only the tops of your breasts, but the angle is perfect and the light catches the curve of your cleavage nicely.

You select the file, scroll down to his name in your contacts list, and press send.

When you finish dressing a few minutes later, you check your commlink - no new messages - and blink in surprise. It's a little odd since he normally responds quite quickly, but you shrug it off and pick up your datapad, settling in for a night catching up on your work. There's an excursion Master Plo has planned for a group of Jedi knights to some of the planets along the Shaltin Tunnels and you've been tasked with charting the fuel stops. As usual, you've left it until the last minute and you finally have some spare time to get it done. You cross the room and lie back on your couch, flipping through some of your files and messages, determined to keep your concentration where it belongs.

When an hour has passed, you raise an eyebrow and finally allow yourself to stand back up and check your commlink. He might have gotten busy, of course, but this is a bit excessive.

No messages.

With a slightly furrowed brow, you pull up the file.

Sent

Mentally shrugging, you set the commlink back down and you're just about to return to your work when a message chimes.

[i guess youd rather make me wait ey?]

There must be a bad connection where he is at the moment. Hovering your finger over the file briefly, you press down on resend.

Many long minutes later, you pass the device again, eyeing it as you pace around your kitchen, making yourself a cup of tea. The screen remains blank and silent.

By the time you have a hot drink in your hand and ease back into the cushions of your couch, you decide to let it rest. This has happened before; he'll either call when his reception is better, or he won't. If not, you'll catch one another next time he's in the quadrant.

Stretching your legs, you take a sip of your tea and settle in for more charts and maps.

The next thing you know, the beeping of your commlink wakes you, and you take in a heavy breath through your nose. It's morning.

Peeling yourself from the couch, you drop the datapad, still in your hand, on a side table. So much for getting caught up on your work. Standing up and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you yawn as you bend over to look at the commlink. You squint at the glowing screen. It's just one word; your name. And it's from Obi Wan.

You blink to focus your eyes, scrolling up in your messages from him.

The soft edges of your sleep-soaked mind are sharpened into stark, bright reality all at once when you see the previous message you'd sent him.

Stars above, no - please, no, you think desperately.

Then another message comes through.

[If this is a joke, I am not laughing]

The minutes of every activity have seemed to crawl punishingly slowly from sunrise to sunset. You've been checking your commlink so often it's become irritating, and yet... you pick it up again.

Still nothing.

You'd decided not to respond back, after attempting to type several explanations through text that had been woefully inadequate. Calling him seemed impossible at the time, and eventually you'd come to the conclusion that speaking in person would be the best way forward.

When the time finally comes and you're knocking at the door to his quarters, you realize that having all day to rehearse what you'd wanted to say has done absolutely nothing to help you.

"Hello."

Seeing his face at last, you fail completely to come up with anything.

You decide to try your best at an honest apology anyway. The words come out jumbled, and too quick.

"Look, I just need to say, I am so, so sorry."

He gives the faintest of smiles, and he steps to the side, allowing you in.

"That was... incredibly inappropriate. A stupid, clumsy mistake on my part. Alright? And I'm really sorry," you finish, not able to meet his eyes until you're done talking.

The light in his quarters is warm and the glow of Coruscant's sun paints his sparse furniture. Obi Wan is still wearing his tunic, belt and boots. He must have just finished his duties, as you have. He waves a hand toward one of his chairs, inviting you to sit as you enter, but you give him a look that says you prefer to remain standing.

"There is no need for apologies, I assure you."

With that, your shoulders finally lose some of their tension. "Thank you. But for what it's worth, I'd still like to offer one."

His faint smile turns deeper, spreading over his face. "You needn't worry. We have all been a shot of spotchka past our better judgement from time to time."

Your words stop short of your mouth, brain reconfiguring. "It wasn't... that isn't what happened."

He doesn't miss a beat. "Right. Well, in any case, apology accepted."

Then he turns from you, casually removing his belt and lightsaber and placing them on the table nearby. Something about his easy demeanor makes you feel the need to clarify.

"Obi Wan. It was an accident. I hope I'm making that clear."

His smile drifts into a smirk, and then he makes a show of dropping into a serious expression. "No, of course."

"You don't believe me," you say softly.

"I never said that."

His words stun you, and you need to gather yourself before trying again. "It was an accident."

He raises his brows, making it clear he thinks you're the one being obtuse. "Oh, certainly. Those commlinks can be so tricky; I can't tell you how many times I've tried to send a simple message, only to find that my clothes have come off."

Your face heats. You wouldn't have minded him being entertained by a stupid mistake. But his implication that you would try to cover it up is getting unexpectedly under your skin.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," he says, still not fully dropping the amusement from behind his eyes. "I know; I'm sorry. But, come now. We are friends, are we not? We can be honest with one another."

The nerve. You release a slow breath. "So you do think I'm lying."

"There is no need for such harsh words."

"Listen, I'm sorry you got that picture, but I really didn't send it to you on purpose."

"Ah. Surely you meant to send the schematic for my new ship. Instead, you must have tripped, taken this photo, and sent it. Twice."

That's it. You've tried to be generous.

"No. Taking the picture wasn't an accident. And sending it wasn't, either. I just didn't mean to send it... to you."

The easy smile is gone. "Oh."

He holds your gaze, never faltering before he turns his attention back to the table. "I see. My apologies."

He begins unclipping his lightsaber from his belt with quick, deliberate movements.

"I really didn't mean to make things more difficult for you."

"You haven't."

His answer is much too quick. There's a pause where you wait for him to soften the blow, but he just looks up at you, holding his belt and saying nothing. Then he crosses the room to hang it up.

"You haven't," he reiterates. "You needn't worry about that."

If there's one thing Obi Wan does not like, it's appearing foolish. He pretends not to have an ego, and while he's proven his humility time and time again, you also know the younger, sharper, harsher man he used to be. And you see glimpses of him now and then.

"Good," you affirm. "Because I hope we are friends, after all, and I didn't mean to... rub it in your face. You know, having someone to-" You let the statement hang. "...when you don't."

He blinks at you. "What makes you say that?"

That stings. Not the idea that he could have someone else, but the idea that he would keep it from you. Or, worse yet, that he would let his wounded pride lead you to believe he does.

"Just because I have chosen not to partake at the moment doesn't mean-"

"You're right. I shouldn't have assumed." You cut him off, shaking your head, and start to back toward the door. "I'm just happy to hear you haven't been affected by my... lack of better judgment."

He walks after you. "Wait; there's no need for you to go. You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

Your eyes widen. "Oh, I'm not embarrassed. Believe me, I'm not the one who should be."

He follows you to the door, and as you exit, you promptly close it in his face.

Embarrassed?

Jedi should not allow petty, small feelings of annoyance to grow into the frustration you're currently feeling. And knowing that he's likely suffering from months of depriving himself a certain outlet should really allow you to give him more grace.

But, embarrassed?

You finish your meditation for the evening more irritated than when you began. It's almost impressive.

Getting into bed, you scroll back in your messages to find the picture you'd sent. No, you absolutely have nothing to be embarrassed about.

You chew your lower lip, and in spite of your attempts to think of anything besides Obi Wan, you can't help but imagine his face when he'd opened it.

In fact...

[Since that picture didn't seem to bother you, you probably wouldn't mind another?]

Still rubbing your bottom lip between your teeth, you hesitate before slipping off your outer robe and committing to your decision.

You're still wearing your undergarments, and you pull down the bodice you usually wear beneath your tunic, just until your breasts are lifted and squeezed deliciously tightly. Your nipples are barely visible, starting to spill over the top of the dark fabric, and you take a few pictures in the dim light, popping your mouth open slightly for good measure. You review the pictures, then lick your lips and take another.

There - the one with your cheeks flushed and saliva shining, almost as if your mouth is watering for something to be pressed inside.

You press send, and you get no response. But you go to sleep with a satisfied smirk.

"And during the latter half of the temple visiting hours, please be mindful that the docking bay area is restricted to 40 percent landing capacity due to..."

The Coruscant municipal enforcement officer drones on, entering the third hour of the mandatory annual community guidelines seminar. Your eyelids would normally be struggling to stay apart by this point in the day, if it were not for the golden-haired Jedi currently pretending to absently scratch at his short beard as he glances downward.

You check your commlink again, making sure your settings are silenced.

[if you got my last message, it's rather rude of you not to reply] you'd sent him shortly after he'd walked through the door.

He'd looked around until he'd spotted you. Then he'd pretended not to.

[i can only guess you didn't get it, then. don't worry. i took a few more]

He still didn't answer, but you watched as he slowly seemed to look down into his lap more often. After a few more moments without reply, you'd carefully covered your screen with your sleeve and sent him another angle of the shot from last night - this one leaning forward more, with the soft curve between your breasts on prominent display.

You'd been stealing glances ever since. And so had he.

[i think you're right, by the way. don't think i have anything to be embarrassed about. do you?]

You watch as he looks down again, then looks back up as if giving his rapt attention to the presentation on imported fruit. The lights lower, and you see his screen glow as he receives another message from you.

[if you want me to stop, just say so]

His hand swipes over the message, closing it. The screen goes dark.

You look over your shoulder casually, shifting in your seat, and you take a very long time before sending one last message.

This one is closer - much closer. It's an image of your nipple, peeking from between your two fingers. Your hand is cupping the bottom of your breast and your index and middle finger gently fix themselves on either side of your stiff bud, coaxing the sensitive tip to harden for him. You swallow and quickly press send, closing your screen again and casting a sideways glance to ensure only your eyes had seen. Thankfully the eyes surrounding you are half-closed in boredom.

When you chance a look in Obi Wan's direction, you see his screen illuminating the inside of his sleeve, and no reaction as he turns it off again. He remains completely motionless, looking back up at the presenter.

But you catch it when the muscle of his jaw clenches, hard. You also catch the way his adam's apple bobs in his throat with a swallow. And you absolutely catch the way he turns his head to look at you, then suddenly flicks his eyes forward again, unblinking, and doesn't look back for the remainder of the day.

You're starting to soften a bit by the time you're back in your quarters that evening, finally beginning to feel that the punishment has outweighed Obi Wan's offenses, as you look back through your very one-sided conversation. Despite yourself, you smile, taking a bite of your jogan fruit snack before bed, and decide to relent.

[just checking if i've made another error in sending... you are getting these, yes?]

You aren't really expecting an answer, just trying to lighten the mood. But you get one.

[yes]

[i see. i'm glad i haven't embarrassed myself further. what do you say we call it even?]

You get no response. Perhaps he's more irritated than you'd realized. You smirk. The thought really shouldn't be so pleasing.

Then your commlink chimes. [it would take a greater fool than i to refuse a fine gift, freely given]

The fruit juice drips down your chin. You scramble to wipe it, as caught off-guard as you are. Is he... asking for more?

[who says these are gifts? i considered them more as punishment]

You stand up to wash the fruit from your mouth and face, then cross the room to stare at the screen again. This was the last response you'd expected.

He doesn't reply back. You could leave it here. You could have mercy and respect the trial; make it easier on him. But then, he always seems to want to make things harder for himself. You might as well help him.

Leaning back and spreading out on your bed, you send another picture. Then another. Minutes pass without any response, so you send another. You get creative.

You're talking to a wall - he doesn't answer. But you're starting to get wet, thinking about why he might not be.

You dip your fingers into your own slick, and then a thought occurs to you. You send him an image of your glistening fingers. Then you set down the cam, closing your eyes and circling your clit, sucking in a breath through your teeth as you play with yourself, imagining searing blue eyes and the weight of his body on top of yours.

You're close. It's now been several long minutes since your last message and still nothing from him. So you decide to send one final message. A sign-off for the evening.

You tip the cam down between your legs and take a dimly-lit shot, touching yourself for him to see.

It feels like you've been holding your breath, right at the edge, for hours. But it can't have been more than a minute before your commlink chimes.

It's an image. You open the file.

Thick fingers grip like death around the base of a hard, leaking cock.

You choke, pussy twitching wildly as you stop yourself from tipping into an orgasm at the sight of it. He's dripping; a mess. You can see every vein in his hand bulging with the effort of strangling his swollen, drooling dick.

Dialing. Now.

The hand you aren't using to call him is still wet, but you manage to pull it from between your legs, covering yourself with your bedsheets.

The chimes come to an end. He didn't pick up.

You realize you're incredibly stupid for dialing again, but your brain took its leave the moment you opened that file.

His holoimage glows bright and blue before you, and it strikes you all at once that he's actually answered. You sit up straighter, covering your chest with your bedding, and stare at him.

He's staring right back, shoulders bare, muscles tight. You can see a hint of dampness at his temple.

"Wh- why did you send that?" you ask, blurting the first words that come to mind. "We can't..." You try again. "What was that for?"

His eyes seem to cut through the hologram and straight into you, burning down to the pit of your stomach. "Presumably, to show you've achieved your goal."

He doesn't sound pleased. In fact, he almost sounds... frustrated. Defiant. You notice his right shoulder clenching. Your eyes are roving hungrily over every bit of his body, bathed in the dim blue glow of the hologram. You lick your lips, panting out, "My goal? What would that be?"

The muscles of his neck tense as he swallows, but he stays silent. Then, slowly, he clicks a button which expands the screen and shows where his other hand is.

It's dark between his legs, but you can definitely see the outline of his pulsing, dripping cock. And you can see how hard the muscles of his hand are working to choke himself off. No movement. Just the shadows trailing over his clenched stomach as he breathes in and out.

"I imagine," he grinds out, "this is what you wanted, is it not?"

You drag your gaze back up from his center, trying to force a cool, detached tone in your shaky voice. "And... what are we going to do about that?"

He looks almost furious at the question, and his answer seethes out between his teeth.

"You tell me."

Taglist: @slinkygail @millercontracting @cacti5539 @wheres-mylove @holdingonforheaven

Please feel free to comment or message me to be added to the taglist :)

<< Previous Chapter // Masterlist

#I am dying over this fic #sexually frustrating screaming #sexually frustrated obiwan #obi wan x reader smut #Lawd space Jesus has got a piece #sometime tie this man down and spoil him #this will be the fic that kills me

53 notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 7 days

Note

if you haven't already you gotta check out gilverrwrites...another amazing writer for the toxic roman girlies! i think you'd really like them.

I just stumbled across their lovely work last night!!! And of course, I extended an invitation to the Roman Sionis Toxic Love Fangirl Club! They really capture the darker and sadistic nature of a Roman Sionis and as result of finding all these wonderful writers we get to see a kaleidoscope of Roman Sionis!!

2 notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 8 days

Text

Oh lord, ain’t this the truth.

First time smut writer: Um. Hope this is OK? It's only a bit of smut at the very end of the epilogue and you can skip it, it's ok. So sorry, um. Oh dear me. Please don't judge me. Nobody read this omg what have I done 😳

Seasoned smut writer: *ringing bell* Come get uR PORNOGRAPHY! 10k pwp, it's KINKY AS HECK so share it with all your friends!!! If you've got any suggestions for my Kinktober just drop it in the comments, I will write whatever wet, messy & DOWNRIGHT FILTHY fic about these two idiots 👏

#smut writer #all the spice #i adore smut writers who just lean into the feral shameless vibes

3K notes · View notes

thegreatwicked · 12 days

Text

SHE’S AT IT AGAIN!!!!!

Water and Rock

Chapter 14

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: slow burn, angst

Chapter Length: 5.5K

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

☆☆☆

Hour Fifty-Eight

The hot water feels good on your skin, and Obi Wan's soft strokes down your arm feel even better.

Your refresher wasn't built for more than one person at a time, so it's a tight squeeze. You aren't complaining, though, with his arm slung so nicely around your waist. You've finished washing up, having luxuriated in the heat long for far too long, but you don't want to step out.

His hand grazing your arm feels nice, but it isn't quite comforting. Not with the way his aura is slowly dissipating around you. When you'd stepped in together and turned on the water, he'd felt so serene through the Force. Now, he's pulling back into himself.

You lean a little harder into the hot, unrelenting stream. He kisses your shoulder, resting his chin in the crook of your neck, his skin warm and wet against yours. Then, he starts to drift away. As if his hand is slipping away from yours, his Force signature dims and finally disappears, leaving only emptiness.

"No," you say, a little too quickly. You turn your head a bit, although you can't properly see him while he's holding you this close. "Not- not yet."

Without a word, he opens the bond you've created and you close your eyes, feeling him again.

You're ready. You're ready to lose him. But not a moment - not a second earlier than you must.

He'd moved his robe near the door sometime before breakfast. You catch sight of it behind his head when he leans in to kiss you, leaving the refresher. You're half-dressed - clothed from the waist down, and his hands are taking advantage of every glimpse of skin you're still offering him. You step slowly backward, quietly guiding him into your bedroom.

Now that the heat is restored, your quarters are warm and inviting, and exactly where you'd like to keep him. It's been light outside for a long, long while, and as he lays you down into the blankets, you try to ignore the way the sunlight spreads down the angle of his cheek. The starlight only reaches Ilum every nineteen days. Normally, you try to enjoy every moment out of darkness. But right now, all you want to do is close your eyes and shut it out.

He catches your lips again, and you nearly flinch away at the softness of it. The end of things is soaking through him and pouring into you. You can't pretend anymore.

"Obi Wan," you whisper against his mouth, pushing your fingers through the thick locks of wet hair at the nape of his neck.

"Mm," he quietly answers you, letting his lower lip drag against yours.

You can't stand it. The aching - it's already begun, and he's still here. You press your fingertips hard to the back of his head and open your mouth, breathing deeply through your nose as you crush your lips against him. When you pull back, he looks a little dazed, and he searches your eyes.

"Don't be gentle with me. Please," you say, gazing up at him. "I can't take it."

His eyes soften with understanding. He's leaving, and drawing it out with tenderness is growing crueler with every touch. He kisses you again, passionately this time. When he pulls away, he cups your face, keeping you close as he lies down beside you in the bed. His aura still glows for you, surrounding you with warmth. That much, you know he can't help.

You press your body into him and he raises an arm to put it around you. He hasn't put on a shirt yet. You can smell your soap on his skin.

"What do you plan to tell the council?"

Your question pierces the silence, frosts over the heat in the air.

His chest falls a little with an exhale. "I will tell them I'm prepared for my next assignment."

You lift your chin to look at him. "And when they ask where you've been?"

The muscles of his shoulder shift beneath you in a shrug. "It's quite unlikely they'll ask. And I certainly won't volunteer the information."

You let the silence linger. "But we aren't keeping your visit a secret?"

His voice lowers when he finally answers. "Being a member of the council comes with many difficulties. But, one of the benefits includes very little questioning."

You blink, letting his indirect response sink in as you consider how well it will go over if you avoid being questioned. You're not eager to lie to Master Tiin, but you've spent more than enough time undercover to learn the art of deflection.

There's no reason for any member of the council to suspect anything beyond friendship between a master and his former apprentice. But, now that you've gone several hours without reporting in... it would be easier to claim technical difficulties with your communication than to explain why Obi Wan hadn't left the minute the storm ended.

"When you get your next assignment..." you trail off, hesitant to broach the subject but forcing yourself to proceed logically. "When we both get our next assignments... What- what I mean is..."

He takes your meaning without your needing to finish the thought. "The position of High General also comes along with a number of advantages." He shifts you in his arms to look down into your eyes. "If your name finds its way onto one of my duty lists, I will find it another one."

You pull your eyes down from his, feeling relief at the simplicity and a pang of stunned sadness at how easily you can be removed from one another's lives. It's very unlikely you would have had another mission together anytime soon - Oba Diah had been the first time in years, and when the war ends, you'll be able to choose where you go. But hearing it out loud is... new.

"So, that's it, then," you say after some time, carefully leaving the bitterness out of your tone. "No loose ends."

He presses his lips together, not saying anything. His eyes trail down your face, and then he leans down to kiss you again.

When his lips drag, inch by soft, wet inch down your neck, you close your eyes, and you try to imagine a lifetime in a handful of minutes.

Hour Sixty

Even the brightest days on Ilum are nowhere near the brilliance of a morning on Coruscant, and yet, the sunlight feels like it's searing you down to your core. Your doorway illuminates the back of Obi Wan's head in a faint glow as he faces you.

You hand him something small and wrapped, drawing your eyes down to your hands. "I packed you a few yalo cakes for the road."

You hear the smile in his response. "You spoil me."

Blinking, you force yourself to match his smile and toss a glance at the chrono in your kitchen.

Six more hours. There were supposed to be six more...

You finally look back at him when he lets out a soft sigh through his nose. "We seem to say goodbye more often than hello."

"It's not an easy thing to do," you respond.

"Yes, well," he says, stepping closer. "Perhaps we just needed more practice."

It's nonsense, this little back-and-forth. The last few hours have been steeped in these exchanges. Talking just to keep hearing one another.

You want to kiss him, and instead you just straighten one of the shoulder straps of his bag. "I guess we've pretty much perfected it."

Heat begins to prick at the back of your throat, so you tighten your manufactured smile, turning away from him to pull on a heavy robe and open the door. "Come on. I'll walk you out."

He says your name quietly, gently placing a hand on your arm to slow your hurried movements. He holds you still in the doorway under his suddenly penetrating gaze. "There are... so many more things I want to say to you."

You don't - can't - say anything in return. He searches your face, then tells you the rest in silence.

Maybe this would have been easier if you had allowed him to sever your bond earlier. But you don't want this to be easy. You want it to hurt. You want to feel it all, and a small, selfish part of you wants him to feel it, too. Because even after everything, that same small part of you has always believed he could walk away and forget you.

The larger part of you immediately pushes back with warmth and light, and you take his hand in yours. "You've told me more than... than I'd ever thought possible. You don't need to say another word."

You turn away quickly then, to finish putting on your outer robe and boots, and he follows you out the door to his speeder. He dusts the snow from the seat and straddles it, then starts it without trouble. Your heart sinks a little. Even if it hadn't started, you would still have a speeder to loan him. It wouldn't have bought you much time - just a walk to your supply shed. But it would have been time nonetheless.

You watch him shift in his seat, getting ready to pull away. You're determined to keep your smile in place, and determined to keep flooding him with nothing but contentment and peace until he's gone.

Suddenly, he leans the speeder to the side and stands up, keeping one hand on the handlebar and using the other to hold your face in his gloved hand.

"I am not in the habit of asking the Force for favors," he tells you. "But nearly every time I have, it has been for you." He holds you steady in his hand, gazing deeply into your eyes. "To keep you safe. To bring you strength. To bring you peace. To allow me to see you again."

You're speechless at his admission; struck dumb as he lays himself bare.

"May the Force be forever with you."

The words and the sentiment behind them penetrate your mind as he kisses you, tightening his grip on your jaw, sinking his mouth into you like he's taking his last breath before a plunge. Your arm lifts up, your palm snaking around the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair, pulling him close-

And he breaks away, tearing his mouth from you in the same swift motion he uses to mount the bike again. The cold whisks away the warmth of his touch instantly. The speeder takes off all at once.

Your fingers are still tingling from where you'd curled them through his hair - hair that's whipped back by the wind as he races across the barren ice sheet, disappearing into the distance.

He doesn't look back, and it's his last kindness to you. Because when he severs your connection through the Force, your face crumbles.

Your eyes blur and his tiny outline on the horizon trickles sideways into an indistinct line. His form meets the planet's just as his signature sinks back into the hum of the rest of the universe.

You aren't sure how to stay standing. You're not sure you can walk back to your doorway. After some time, you eventually turn around. Squeezing your eyes against the sting of the wind, you begin by putting one foot in front of the other.

Hour Sixty-Six

You've finally managed to will yourself to begin tidying your living space, unable to concentrate on meditation or any other means of distraction. You've never been so blissfully full and yet so empty and numb. The hollow feeling in your chest is nearly unbearable. You can hardly think of anything else. But you can force yourself to move, even if it's focusing on simple tasks, for now.

You pick up a blanket, fold it, and rest it on a chair.

You gather one candle, and then another. You store them back in the cupboard.

You begin to sweep the bits of ash on top of the wood stove with your hand-

Your knees nearly give out beneath you, and you manage to catch yourself on the edge of the stove. The hollowness in your chest is replaced with a sudden and unyielding pressure. The Force cries out, stabbing you with a single word. You squeeze your eyes shut.

Utapau.

Days begrudgingly morph into weeks, your determination to keep putting one foot in front of the other the only thing keeping you upright for the majority of the time. The first time you leave your home again, a quick trip to the main base for resupply becomes an extended visit. You spend too much time talking to the port authority workers there, dragging out your conversations until hours have passed. You feel strange and embarrassed when you finally leave.

You'd always been good at compartmentalizing. At least when you'd been performing your security duties and maintaining your outpost, you'd been able to turn off the part of your mind that handled emotions. Up until now, you'd thought you'd gotten pretty good at it.

As you chart a quick path home, you make a mental note that it may finally be time to return to the land of the living. Meditation can only go so far as a coping method, and evidently you're a bit starved for contact with other sentient beings. Perhaps it's time you finally reach out to a friend - if you can really call any of your working contacts friends - and try to regain some semblance of normalcy over dinner. Maybe a drink. Maybe several.

Later that night, you lie in bed, as you often have been, wide awake. During your daily duties, it isn't impossible to keep your thoughts from straying to Obi Wan. But as you try to find rest and your mental barricades lower, it's inevitable. You can't hold it off forever.

Utapau echoes constantly within you.

You turn, lying flat on your back, closing your eyes. You've had plenty of opportunity to reach out to him and share the message the Force is obviously trying to send you.

But what would you say? What would be worth breaking your promise never to contact him? A vague feeling? A single word?

"Careful of your thoughts, young one."

Your eyes snap open. Your head turns toward the voice in your room. You loose a sudden breath from your chest.

You want to say his name, but you're afraid the lump in your throat will harden and choke you. Instead, you just stare long enough to gather yourself and speak. "What are..."

"What am I doing here?" Obi Wan smiles. "I could ask you that very question."

You blink. "I... I don't..."

"You called." He says, slowly stepping closer. Then, kneeling, he reaches a hand up to your face. "You called out in the Force. And now I'm here."

Your eyes search his as he brushes his palm gently against your skin. Is this a dream? A delusion? Or could he really be here?

"I'm... sorry," you finally manage to say, when the gravity of what you've done sinks in. "I didn't mean to reach out. I didn't mean to... to-"

"Don't apologize," he says softly, interrupting your mumbling. "Sometimes the Force works through us in ways none of us can expect. But I am here now." He moves his hand from your cheek and places a kiss where it had been. "I will always come when you call."

Your eyes close of their own accord when his lips brush your face. You can't fathom a reply. This can't be real.

"Now, I'll ask again: Why am I here?" He looks at you with that dazzling sparkle in his eye, and it makes your stomach flip. "You called out to me for a reason. What is it?"

The single word that's been thrumming in the back of your consciousness for months bubbles to the surface. You take in a shaky breath.

"Come now, you must tell me," he says, a bit more sternly.

It catches you off-guard. He's hardly given you a moment to collect yourself. You hesitate. "I... there is... something. I don't know what it is, really, but-"

"Tell me," he insists, locking his eyes with yours. Your face heats with frustration; uncertainty. He's cutting you off before you can even form your words properly.

You keep your eyes steadily on his, and you nod. "Okay. Yes. I'll tell you. It's... it's just a feeling, and... and a word - a place-"

The holocomm chirps from the other room.

Your eyes break away from Obi Wan to the blinking light of the incoming call behind him. His gaze follows yours. Neither of you moves for what feels like an eternity. You know you shouldn't ignore it, but Obi Wan is right here, back in your arms, after everything. You can't simply turn away from him for...

... for your duty.

Suddenly it's all clear again. Like waking from a dream. That part of things is over, and you made your choice.

"I should answer."

He backs away, strangely silent, giving you the space to sit up in bed and push your covers off.

The alert begins to repeat itself, and you step onto the floor, turning back toward him. "Will you still be here when I come back?"

He just looks at you, then behind you to the holocomm. "Take the call, darling. It could be important."

The sense in his words urges you on, and you hurry gracelessly out into the kitchen to catch the caller in time.

You had sent a short update about your "communications issues" many weeks ago, and since Obi Wan had returned without further delay, you'd gotten a brief message back about his safe arrival. If the council wanted to give you a new assignment, they would have left it in a message or sent the orders electronically. You can think of no reason for a direct call.

You release your apprehension into the Force and press the button to allow the call through. Mace Windu appears before you.

"Good evening, Commander. I am sorry to disturb you outside of your working hours." He gives too brief a pause for you to respond before continuing. "The council is requesting that you immediately report to Coruscant, and we needed to be sure of your availability."

You take a moment to let the information sink in before answering. By the slightest raise of his eyebrow, you realize you've gone too long without a response.

"Yes. Of course, Master. I am at your service."

He nods graciously. "Please depart within the next standard day. We will arrange for you to meet with the council as soon as possible."

"Yes, Master," you answer, without hesitation this time.

There's a long pause, and you realize he's not going to continue.

"Might I ask what this is about?"

"I am afraid all details will need to wait until you arrive," he replies.

"I understand."

"See you soon, Commander. And please, plan on an extended stay. "

You incline your head in a slight bow, and the transmission ends. The glow of the hologram fades into blackness where you're left staring, seeking answers where there are none.

You turn back to the bedroom, and as you'd slightly expected, it's empty. As you walk through the doorway, you whisper into the darkness.

"Obi Wan?"

Silence.

You wait. You close your eyes and reach out in the Force, where you sense nothing. Sitting on the bed, you cross your legs and begin to meditate on the image of the man you'd been trying to wipe from every corner of your mind.

You stretch out your consciousness to its furthest limits, finding nothing and hearing no one. Squeezing your eyes shut, you're determined to continue trying anyway.

Hours later, you've finally given in. Your heart is no longer racing, though your mind will continue to spin with the implications of both Obi Wan's visit and the council's order. You decide it's best for now to try and get some rest. And just as you begin to slip into the fog of sleep, you swear you can feel a familiar presence.

You hear your name as if called from a great distance; stretched across the stars. Blurring the lines of reality as you drift from the waking world, you hear the voice, closer now.

"You must tell me. Bring me the message the Force has sent you."

Falling into the warm blackness, you take in the words without responding, half-certain they're a dream.

"We will speak again soon, my dear."

When your journey to Coruscant finally ends, you exit the landing dock as if it's been an eternity since your last visit. Your legs feel unsteady beneath you, the Jedi temple looming over the rest of the skyline before you. You've had plenty of supply trips here, but this is different. This is coming home.

You've arrived early. Your meeting with the council isn't set until tomorrow, which will give you some time to check if your old quarters are still available and settle in for the night.

On your walk down the corridor, you take a moment to greet some old friends and catch up briefly. The tightness in your chest begins to unwind.

Until you hear the name you'd been hoping to avoid.

"Have you heard the news of your Master Kenobi and General Skywalker?"

Your master. That, he will forever be. It will be especially hard to ignore here, of all places.

You shake your head, and then you listen to the tale of the two Jedi heroes rescuing the chancellor from the clutches of the Separatists and defeating Count Dooku at last. The story is filled with brilliance and chaos - everything you would expect from the pair in question - and when it comes to an end, you politely thank your friend and smile at the comments saying how proud you must be; how lucky to have been his padawan. It brings a glow to your face, despite your best efforts of tamping down your pride and affection.

The galaxy's greatest hero. No surprises, there.

The conversation flows on, and when you've caught up on the latest reports of temple life and the war, you take your leave to locate your quarters. It's a bit of a relief when you find them unchanged from your time away. You decide to take your meal for the evening alone, a bit overwhelmed at the idea of dinner in the main hall - every old acquaintance no doubt dying to discuss your master.

As you fall asleep that night, a heavy weight seems to press down on your chest. You're exhausted from your trip and from the anxiety tugging at your mind about your meeting with the council. You keep your eyes closed, letting yourself drift into the welcoming current of the Force, reminding yourself to let it all go.

And yet, somehow, the weight worsens. It's like you're pinned to the bed. Your breath becomes tight and restricted. You try to open your eyes but you're sinking ever deeper into a black abyss, unable to awaken.

"Blast him!"

An eerily familiar voice calls out the command and you see his body plummet from the cliffside, careening through the air...

He's been shot down by a blaster cannon. He's falling, and there's nothing you can do. If only you could reach out. If only you could-

He will die.

Unless...

You gasp awake. The vision is gone.

You chase after it in your mind, reaching out desperately to the Force for answers. The harder you claw for the images to come back, the more quickly they seem to dissipate, like mist, swirling away from your touch.

You catch your breath, panting in the darkness.

The room is cold all night. Your sleep is fitful.

When the light is just beginning to hint at the horizon, you close the door to your quarters behind you. The gardens are usually quiet during this time of the morning, and though your body is aching from a mostly sleepless night, you think perhaps your mind can find rest in meditation, if the surroundings are a bit more suitable.

You're wrapped in full robes, walking down a familiar hallway when you catch sight of Master Windu leaving his quarters.

"Good morning, Master."

He greets you with a soft smile and a slight nod. "It's good to see you, Commander. How was your journey?"

"Long," you admit. "But it's nice to be back."

He turns to match your direction as you continue toward the gardens. "Your absence has been noticed. It's a shame your return was not under better circumstances."

You hesitate, then decide to use the opening. "Might I ask what circumstances have brought me back?"

"Unfortunately I am not at liberty to discuss it." He slows to a stop, facing you with hands folded beneath the long sleeves of his robe. "The good news is that Master Kenobi is expected to return from the senate ceremony early this evening, and then our meeting can commence."

"There's a ceremony today?"

His solemn expression seems to brighten a little. "Not even he can say no when the entire senate insists on a ceremony in his honor."

You quirk an eyebrow. "An afternoon with politicians?"

"Indeed. He didn't seem very enthused when Anakin informed him that they would both need to attend."

"I'm sure he was thrilled," you say, smiling. "And you must be very proud of your former padawan."

He lifts his chin. "Anakin... has become a very impressive Jedi. He has come far, and learned much."

It isn't quite an admission of pride, but then, you weren't expecting one. You nod in agreement. "It seems the senate would agree."

Master Windu doesn't mirror your affectionate smile regarding Anakin. He's never been one to overpraise the young man, but you're surprised when he stays completely silent. If you didn't know better, it would almost seem like a sore subject for the Jedi master.

His lack of response draws out until you decide to change the subject, turning toward the adjacent hall leading to the garden.

"I thought I would spend the day in meditation. I'll be visiting the gardens on the lower level if I'm needed," you tell him, smiling, while he gives you another unreadable expression in response. "I look forward to our meeting, Master."

"Be well, Commander."

You note that he didn't reciprocate your eagerness for the meeting, either. You decide not to dwell on it, and take your leave.

Master Windu has a lot on his mind at all times, let alone at this critical point in the war. You all do.

When you turn the corner, your feet are suddenly held in place. With the sight before you, it's as if gravity has become insurmountable.

Obi Wan is sweeping down the corridor, looking as if he's stepped directly from the pages of Jedi legends.

You haven't seen his ceremonial regalia since early in the war, and you'd nearly forgotten how incredible he looks in it. 'Handsome' is a word that falls short in every way, and yet it's the word running rampant through your head, replacing all other thoughts at the moment.

He's wearing full armor, brilliant white in all the places it isn't marred with battle damage. The shining golden pins on his chest plate hold in place a long, flowing cape which is draped behind his broad shoulders. His face is stoic, but his eyes are bright. He walks with the type of swagger that you imagine gives even non-Force users an idea of the latent power he holds.

You suppress your own signature, stepping into the recessed doorway to a closet where gardening supplies are kept. There's quite some distance between you - there's a good chance you could still make it to the exit where the lower level gardens begin without him seeing you. Blaming your lack of sleep for your questionable judgement, you stay still, watching him for a moment longer.

A padawan - a human boy - scampers down the hallway toward Obi Wan, skidding to an awkward stop a few feet behind him and forcing himself into long, dutiful strides. He carries a datapad, and when Obi Wan turns around to look at him, he seems to nearly drop it.

"Good- good morning, Master," the young man stammers, glancing down at the floor as he hurries to catch up. He reaches out, offering up the pad. "I was told to bring you the new seating chart for the ceremony."

Obi Wan slows to a stop, thanking the boy as he takes it. After a quick glance, he makes a 'tsk' sound between his teeth. "Of course, he must he seated next to the Chancellor..."

He seems to be mumbling to himself, but the young man tenses at his irritation. "Sir?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing." Obi Wan raises a hand to wave off the comment, then finally glances up to see the padawan's face. It's striken with nerves.

It's not like it had been in the old days of the temple, when masters spent much of their time with the younglings. Nowadays, serving on the front lines means that most Jedi don't encounter the younger generation until they join the battle. Many of them have become more like stories than flesh and blood. This padawan clearly hadn't thought of this as a normal errand.

At last, Obi Wan seems to notice, looking down at him.

"What's your name, young one?" he asks with a slightly softened voice.

"Jeerick, sir."

"Thank you for bringing this to me, Jeerick."

The boy smiles, bowing his head slightly. The padwan is probably not yet attuned enough to the Force to feel the way Obi Wan is calming him like a frightened bantha. But you can sense the subtle shift in the air when he extends a bit of comfort.

"Will you and your master be attending the ceremony as well?" he asks, handing back the datapad.

Shaking his head, Jeerick looks down at his hands. "No, I have an assignment with the younglings today."

"Ah. No doubt a better use of your time than an afternoon of long-winded speeches."

That earns a small smile. Jeerick seems to hesitate - perhaps working up the courage to say something else. When Obi Wan bows politely and turns to go, Jeerick finally blurts, "Master Kenobi, is it, um, true what they say? That you blew up a whole Separatist fleet and saved the Chancellor?"

Obi Wan raises an eyebrow. "Oh, dear. I hope that isn't what they're saying in the training halls. I'm afraid General Skywalker did most of the heavy lifting. I was barely involved."

As deferential and magnanimous as always. Some things will never change.

"Oh," says the padawan, nodding. "I see."

A whisper of a smile touches Obi Wan's mouth. "But as for the Separatists... it wasn't quite the whole fleet. I had to leave some for the rest of my men."

A grin lights up Jeerick's face again.

"Run along, now. Mustn't keep the younglings waiting."

"Yes, Master!"

Your smile mirrors Obi Wan's as you watch the padawan hurry on his way. You take the opportunity with Obi Wan's back turned to slip out of the doorway and make it to the exit. Your footfalls are soft and careful, and when you're far enough away, you look over your shoulder one last time.

He's beautiful, truly. You wish you could tell him just how magnificent he is.

Instead, you step out into the gardens and put distance between you as quickly as you can. You let out a soft sigh when you finally allow yourself to sit and relax, easing into your meditation, hoping the Force will help you pass the time without feeling every minute of it. Unfortunately, you're already well aware your hope is futile.

Knowing that you'll be presenting yourself before the council with Obi Wan presiding had been hard enough. Knowing he'll be looking like that while doing it...

You close your eyes, sending a silent prayer to the Force for strength.

For strength, and for a short meeting.

A/N: For anyone who might be interested, I have a new, short, multi-chapter Obi Wan/Reader fic that will be straight smut with very little plot called Concessions. The first chapter is up here and on AO3.

As always, thanks for your support and readership. It is very much appreciated!

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

<< Previous Chapter // Masterlist

#sexually frustrating screaming

39 notes · View notes