#100% something had to have happened to him personally

[spider-stark]

THIS THIS THIS

first of all: boy oh boy, i think i am in love with you. seriously, it already means so much to me that you even read my story, but to then take the time to actually keep thinking about it?! and to be kind enough to write out your thoughts aND SHARE THEM WITH ME? it makes every bump in the road while writing completely and entirely worth it.

second: yes. i thought a lot about Matt while writing this. while he's never physically in the piece, his presence is still everywhere. much like God, Matt has become something that lives under her skin, constantly testing the boundary between what is and what is perceived. we--as the viewers--see all the different sides of Matt. we're granted a unique understanding of his thoughts, his choices, his reasoning. but the reader doesn't have that. her viewpoint is limited. more than that, she is directly impacted by everything he does. and matt--as we all know--isn't exactly the easiest to be in a relationship with.

ultimately, my point in saying all that was that, when writing Same Sin, i worried how matt might come across, whether his lines were an accurate reflection of his character. i worried he came across harsh or insensitive. but then i realized that it is an accurate reflection of his character--specifically when being viewed through the lens of another character, especially one who feels like they've been wronged by him (as you said, by either intentionally or unintentionally projecting his own insecurities and self-righteousness onto her)

while Same Sin is a piece about Frank, i have to believe it says plenty about her relationship with Matt, too. aside from the obvious--that she's hurt, their relationship is broken (which, fun little note: ik this is most evident through lines about elektra and what not, but i personally felt her having his name saved as Matthew said a lot about the emotional distance between them. i like to think that, in the earlier days of their relationship, his contact was something like Matty or a pet name or whatever)--it also speaks to more positive qualities. yes, she called Frank and he immediately answered--but does it not say something that her knee-jerk reaction was to call Matt not once, not twice, but seven times? that when she realized someone was following her, she instinctively started towards Matt's place? no matter the state of their relationship, she clearly still trusts him, still views him as someone who will keep her safe.

and he fails. Frank saves the day. and as the one that wrote it, i applaud Frank for it! woohoo! i fully expect him and the reader to get a dog and live happily ever after. but what if things had been different? what if Matt had answered? and, even if the story stayed exactly the same, what about when he finds out about everything that happened?

this is where i think you're right, and i agree with you 100%. no matter the reader's perception of Matt, i don't think his response would have been what she feared. the snippets we're given of Matt are all out of context--they apply to what the reader is thinking, feeling, etc., but they're not being said in that moment, not a direct reflection of what he might actually say or do or think if he was physically there with her.

i have no doubt that if Matt had answered the phone, he would have just been glad she was alive. i don't think he would have turned the situation around to become about religion or guilt or shame. all he'd care about was that she was alive. maybe, in some reality, they might even use that moment to try and mend their broken relationship. maybe it'd work. maybe it wouldn't.

either way, you're right. i agree with you. and i love you for giving me an opportunity to ramble, and apologize that this is so long and all over the place (my brain is fried from schoolwork, organizing is not my strong suit in this state lol)

(what's worse is that I have way more that I could say, but am purposefully holding back since this is getting very, very long. but again: thank you thank you thank you. you're incredible.)

SAME SIN

pairing - frank castle x reader

summary - in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings - blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count - 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens. 

Sickness hit in a crushing wave. 

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip. 

Then there was stillness. 

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—] 

{—You or them?} 

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a no nonsense Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

[yanmler]

Hello!! I was hoping if you can do the first years reacting to a gn reader whose love language is physical affection? platonically pls and thank u!!!

Summary: the first years with reader whose love language is physical affection

Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt + 🤏 Ortho Shroud

Warning: gn!reader, ooc(maybe), platonically, hcs

(English is not my native language sorry for any mistakes)

Ace Trappola

I can tell you with 100% certainty that at first he treated it as if he was doing you a favor. Like, "Huh? Well, if you want, fine.🙄"

It's all a lie, you know?

The embarrassment was definitely there at first, but once you explained that this was how you showed your love, he just teased you about it jokingly.

Give him a week and now you won't be able to tear him away from you. A head on his shoulder, hugs and absolutely any physical contact is 95 out of 100 of all your time spent together HONESTLY

In the college hallways, in class, in your free time - the two of you are in each other's personal space.

SERIOUSLY, all people have already become accustomed to seeing you and his 1+1, that when you are not near each other, they ask several times if everything is okay and where your friend is "What, where's Ace?" "Hm? I don't know, why?" "What do you mean you don't know where he is?🤨🤯"

Also when you show your love to your other friends he just stands there like "you have three minutes and then you come back to me 🧍‍♂️"

And when someone tries to reproach you two for being "too close friends", he is honestly ready to FIGHT.

No talking, no caustic phrases, blink and he is already RUNNING "NOPE, no one will blame MY BEST FRIEND for loving me, NO"

Deuce Spade

He was surprised and at first thought that you had fallen.

One conversation(1) and now he understands that he won’t get rid of you so easily. At first he thought it would happen rarely (spoiler: no), but after TWO OR THREE LESSONS? LITERALLY? It dawned on him that it would ALWAYS happen now.

Have you seen a photo where two people are sitting and one person's legs are on the other person's lap? It's like... always when you sit together, seriously

Now you have a pillow to lie on during class, no joke.

At first he was very embarrassed by such attention, even if you have been friends for some time, but gradually he began to get used to it and give you touches in return.

When you show love to someone else, he takes it completely calmly, because a second later you are already leaning sideways on him again and laughing, saying something about your mutual friend.

HONESTLY, HE THINK IT'S COOL Let me explain. You are not afraid of any judgment, you are not embarrassed and you are completely calm about everything that your friends give you in return - isn't that great?

I think he deserves to be #3 in physical contact out of all the freshmen because he doesn't always but he really tries to give you what you want

Someone doesn't like the way you show love? Show them this person, they will be the #1 gentleman and talk to them and then act according to the situation.

"Yuu shows them love like this, I don't mind, because they are my best friends"

Jack Howl

Remember when I named Deuce #3 in physical contact? HERE'S #1

The first time you started actively showing him your love and appreciation was definitely when he was a wolf I AM SURE OF THIS

His first thought about it is that there was one and only moment, but after that now you cling to him and in human form (lol) twice as much as before

FIRST OF ALL, HAVE YOU SEEN THE INTERNET TREND OF LAYING ON OTHER BICEPS? OH YEAH, YOU KNOW

But why am I doing this - holding hands, holding his arm, stroking the back and much more - NOW this happens every day

I think he's not a big fan of physical contact and it bothers him, but 1. you're his best friend 2. he's willing to tolerate it if it makes you feel better

It doesn't bother him that you act like this with all your friends. He knows what kind of person you are, and you spend a lot of time with him anyway, so there's no problem making time for your other friends, right?

Definitely defends you when he hears one of the students discussing this trait of yours in a negative light. You're practically his family, he's willing to stand up for you, you know?

Epel Felmier

THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IS TO EXPLAIN TO HIM that this is how you show love, and you are not trying to make fun of him after any cosmetic procedures that Vil has subjected him to.

As soon as the thought that you are just happy to see him and showing him your love, he instantly stops being as annoyed about it as he was a couple of minutes ago.

For some reason I'm sure that he is one of those who hugs you by the side with one arm while standing next to you or strokes your back

But from your side he is ready to accept any physical contact, the main thing is that Vil does not find out that you ruffled Epel's hair or touched his face.

I think he tries to minimize touching in college, but more so that neither he nor you get in trouble for looking shabby or wrinkled.

You will have plenty of free time and you can spend all your time outside the college building touching Epel, just wait until the end of classes.

Hugging or touching others? No big deal, he knows he's your priority anyway. Spend your time with others - he doesn't really care.

But if someone tries to tell you something about your behavior, he won't even try to figure it out, you know? You can go about your business, he'll catch up with you later. 💥💥💥

Sebek Zigvolt

GO AWAY DON'T TOUCH HIM, ENOUGH, HE JUST FINISHED HIS HAIR, HUMAN

HE IS NOT HAPPY, but give him a week and a talk with his Diasomnia group so he understands that he is not so against it.

Moreover, you have become a close friend to him during this time, he is ready to suffer a little 🤏

He made a list of rules, SERIOUSLY. Where, how, how much you can touch him. I think the time from the moment you started showing him your love with touches until the moment he starts giving them back is A MONTH?? I DON'T KNOW

Like, most likely because his expression of love is completely different (quality time? Acts of service? idk) and it is more difficult for him to adjust from his usual pace to the one at which you are ready to receive and give love.

The most he can give you in college is to hold your hand (so that no one from his dorm is around, you know?).

Gradually the number will grow, but with him I think it will be very slow, even if you are best friends. Let the boy get used to it, he is in shock

PLEASE LISTEN to me the first time he initiated physical contact was when he put his hand on your shoulder and praised you (literally "good job" nothing more) for a test you did well.

Are you touching someone else? Okay, but I think he looks at you with such a dissatisfied face."🫥" Rather because, comparing with himself, he cannot always give you as much as you give, give him time, HE WILL TRY

Ortho Shroud

He is happy, it's very cute!

If you're not afraid of losing a hand, you could try ruffling his hair, I don't know, good luck?

But seriously, he is really glad that you love him and he will try to give you the same in return, after all, you are best friends for a reason!

The first day this all started, he definitely told Idia about it, you won't convince me otherwise

But I also think that compared to others, you have less physical contact with him. It's like he's too active to sit still and you just can't keep up with him flying around.

But in turn, he already considers you a member of his family. You spend a lot of time with him and almost also cross paths with his brother, so he can show his love simply by spending quality time or gifts.

Please do not edit, translate, repost my works on other platforms, also without my permission and @ or take my art without art credit

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I doubt I’m the first person to come barging in saying this, but I’m not happy with how Malleus’s consequences played out. Obviously we don’t have a full translation to work with so this should be taken with a massive load of salt, but he’s really getting off with just the temporarily broken horn?

I understand why the writers did it. You can’t take one of the main cast out of the game for an extended period of time lest you impact the gacha money. And the rest of the overblot guys had but a slap on the wrist too so nothing was ever going to happen.

But still, isn’t it too convenient that there just so happens to be a precedent for Sage’s Island to excuse this exact situation because Malleus feels bad? At least the other guys had the argument that their overblots were relatively contained.

But maybe it is a fitting punishment that Malleus lost the usage of the one thing he used as a crutch. That he needs to learn how to use more than brute magical force to handle his problems. I guess I’m just bitter that Malleus always seems to get away with much more than the other characters, and here he seems to be doing it again.

Sorry if this is repetitive.

[You can read my thoughts on the book 7 finale here!]

To be fair, they did say the broken horn would take an estimated 100-200 years to grow back + would require monitoring. In his current state, I believe Malleus isn’t able to use his UM or similar “disaster-level” magic. It seems he can still use the rest of his arsenal of spells?? But we’ll have to follow-up to see for ourselves what the true range is, since we didn’t see Malleus use much magic at the end of book 7.

But yeah, other than that 😅 Seems like all is fine? Malleus is going back to school, Lilia’s still alive and returning to NRC as well, his grandma seems to be handling diplomatic matters + smoothing over foreign relationships, fae fixed the physical damage to buildings, other countries are settling back into their own daily lives, etc. I guess we should’ve expected this, given the medium and the pattern of letting OB boys off easy. It’s all for the sake of keeping the marketable characters present and still lovable. (Though I do want to point out that, because the story ended sort of quickly, Malleus may not have been granted enough time to show us how he's dealing with the aftermath or what other consequences there were. This could be something covered or expanded on in a future update, or perhaps in the manga, light novel, or anime.)

I think that maybe the new lore surrounding Sage's Island could connect with a future update (there's many theories that it could tie with Mickey or Grim), but its placement here is... I don't know, the framing of it reads as very convenient for Malleus. I'm not saying that Malleus shouldn't be forgiven or granted a chance at redemption (he certainly should, especially if we're giving this to the other OB boys). His OB may have been on a far larger scale than the others' were, but that's no reason to deny him or to think that there's 0% chance he can change for the better. What I am saying is that telling us, "This other powerful mage also did an oopsie and wasn't exiled for it, he only got scolded" feels like we're redirecting attention to someone else instead of focusing on Malleus :/ which doesn't sit right with me.

This really is not helped by the narrative bringing up all these additional details which only seem to minimize Malleus's impact on the world. No one died, no major areas were affected (save for Sage's Island), the only injuries sustained were those of some NRC students, the only physical damage sustained was mainly the Diasomnia dormitory (which was easily patched up with fairy magic), Maleficia + the headmasters are handling the press coverage of the event, there's now a group (the Fairy Dream Life Association) that adore Malleus and want to stay in the dream world, etc. I understand that the point of the big fight against Malleus was to prevent him from doing more harm--and it seems like they were successful, so good for them. I also understand that Malleus's absolute power allowed him to control space and time within his briar barrier (so I guess any deaths that would have resulted from people falling asleep while swimming, driving, cooking, etc. didn't happen?). But that feels... again, too convenient, and gives Malleus another "out" of being forced to realize he's done something truly horrible (since apparently no physical harm resulted + what little harm that did happen was easily fixed), that he potentially has blood on his hands. Does he even truly comprehend the emotional and mental turmoil he put his victims through? Maybe not all 20,000 residents, but definitely a non-zero amount of them. I don't pick up any of that based on how he's acting. Malleus doesn’t talk about or acknowledge any of that.

It doesn't even seem like his classmates hold any grudge toward him for what he did??? Even though NRC students are the exact type of people who would do that??? Yeah, Leona and a few others express shock when Crowley says Malleus is coming back to school, but I didn't see a SINGLE person protest or put up a fight or consider not showing up to Malleus's party. In fact, the first years seem oddly excited to be seeing Malleus again after all of that. It weirdly seems like there was more resistance to going to Lilia's farewell party at the beginning of book 7 (because at least there Leona expresses WANTING to leave early) than there was for Malleus's party at the end of book 7. Is this supposed to show us that the NRC students are now so pro-cooperation they don’t mind Malleus being back?? Even though those same dorm leaders were surprised at the meeting where it was announced?

On top of all that, he also conveniently gets what he OB'd over: Lilia not leaving, not dying, and reenrolling at NRC. Malleus isn't forced to reconcile with that loss, isn't made to confront mortality. It just gets pushed off to a later date. None of the other OBs are magically given what they got mad over to begin with. They had to work to overcome their own issues, but Malleus seemingly doesn't have to (because he no longer has to currently grapple with the distress of Lilia leaving), so it seems unfair that Malleus is the only one that gets it all. This could be something they tackle in like… book 8? Like I’m sure he must have feelings around him killing Lilia—but right now, he can still enjoy a happy ending.

One of Malleus's horns being injured might be a physical symbol of change and may limit his magical powers (no UM, no disaster-level magic), but he's still a powerhouse seeing as he seems to have helped amplify Lilia's UM for the party + sent the invitations to everyone by magic. He can still have his power, I’m NOT saying he should have no magic or that he should be physically harmed further. But if he's to learn to use more than brute strength or magic to resolve his problems, then why not start with words? Words like, "I'm sorry", and "It was my fault", and "I shouldn't have imposed my will on you", etc. And not just to NRC, which happened in canon, but to the world.

If the story won't commit to actually assigning consequences to the world for what Malleus did, at LEAST let him handle the social repercussions of it all. Show us other students being wary around him so he has to earn back their trust instead of it being handed back to him. And why not have Malleus be the one going on TV (after he has recovered, of course) to apologize to the world instead of having his grandma handle it for him? Malleus apologizing just to those in attendance at the party isn't enough, because that insinuates his actions only affected the guests present, when, in reality, his actions scared so many other people and had them intervening. Have him say sorry to S.T.Y.X., to RSA, to all the other countries he endangered. At least do RSA (since Ambrose is also being interviewed), S.T.Y.X. (since they were largely involved in the containment), and Foothill Town residents. I would have liked it if Malleus told us how he is going to make amends. One party's nice and all, but it doesn't tell me what he is going to do in the long term to make things better.

To be clear: To reiterate, I don't want Malleus to be physically harmed or "further punished". What I want is for Malleus to actually understand that everything he did was wrong, acknowledge that he broke the trust of countless people, and actively take steps to learn and to prove to everyone he is worthy of having their trust. I'm disappointed that it seems like Twst skipped these crucial moments in favor of having a rushed happy ending. If there isn't space to do it now in book 7, give us some lines that imply he's got a plan or some ideas in mind for next update or something OTL He has maybe one or two lines tops at the party, and that's it. We really needed more to close off book 7 in a satisfactory way for his arc of learning to accept change.

Here’s to hoping that book 8 (?) can show us the things book 7’s conclusion didn’t deliver on.

[m4iya]

⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚 Order up! Matcha green tea, 100% sugar, 100% ice with black pearls and coconut jelly for @frosted-flakes!

Collab? Kenma Kozume (fluff, post high school, mutual pining + forced proximity)

Your phone had been blowing up with notifications all day since last nights stream. Who knew your viewers would get so heated over a couple jokes? Heck, was it even your viewers? It seemed more like the ones that were freaking out weren’t actually watching for the full context.

Well, that’s what you said every time. It kept them watching, right?

Though, being tagged in rants and comments wasn’t the only thing happening this time. You were receiving an absurd amount of messages from viewers as per usual, but also from other streamers and influencers. The most common words present within all of them being:

“Guess who mentioned you in their stream last night!”

This time, it felt a little different from other controversies you’d been wrapped up in, so you couldn’t help wonder who this mystery person was, and what you had done to earn yourself a mention.

One scroll on your timeline told you just about everything you needed to know. A post sat at the top of your feed; a video captioned “@/mc of all people?’

Clicking on it, a clip of someone’s stream began to play; a QnA of sorts.

“Kodzuken, will we be getting a collab with anyone soon? Can you drop any names?” The streamer read aloud before pausing to think.

“Hmm.. there’s a few things in the works, but I don’t know for sure when they’ll be out.” He replied, absentmindedly flicking through the questions on another monitor.

He paused for a few seconds before continuing to speak. “I’m not the best at reaching out to people, but I’d like to see what kind of content I could make with @/mc. She’s pretty funny.”

Proceeding to continue with other questions, he completely ignored the way the comments blew up at him.

Out of every streamer you knew, he had to be the absolute last person you’d have expected to even have any idea of who you were. You'd been watching his content for a while, having seen him at influencer events and such. Though, you'd never been able to approach him at any of them, often using 'I was talking to my viewers, that's why I couldn't approach him' as an excuse to yourself.

Even though it wasn't exactly your objective as an online personality, you figured that controversies and out of pocket statements would be one way to get his peoples attention. It wasn't like you were exaggerating your personality per se, you were always pretty outspoken, so the only extra steps would be recording or streaming your antics.

Even though it looked like it worked, you had no clue where to go from here. Would you send him an email? Or a message? And what would you even collaborate on? What would happen to his view count if he did make content with you?

You tapped onto his profile on Twitter, scrolling through his recent posts as you wondered what to do. Suddenly, a notification popped up on the top of your screen: A message request.. From him!

Kodzuken hey, this is @/mc, right?

You had a pretty large following, and he had mentioned your name in his stream. Staring at the message for a few seconds, you wondered if he was trying to be funny.

MC u really aren't the best at reaching out to people lol and yeah thats me

Your messages maintained an air of nonchalance, hiding the way your eyes were peeled—waiting for his next response, your heart thumping loud enough for it to reverberate through your ears.

Kodzuken thats a little mean anyways i'm assuming you saw my stream in that case so how does a collab sound?

MC I'm not too busy tbh I should be free next week. u sure u wanna collab with me? ur viewers will probably freak out over it

Kodzuken my channel not theirs 🙄 what do you wanna do for the stream?

MC something simple maybe some type of challenge? are u free to call so we can set it up?

Kodzuken give me a sec ill call you

Your hands shook in place, palms sweaty as you waited for him to call you first.

When your phone eventually rang, you let it sound for a few seconds, clearing your throat. Answering the call, you held the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?" He spoke first, his voice being exactly how it sounded on stream.

"Hey!" You internally sobbed over how that might've sounded.

And so the conversation began to flow, the two of you brainstorming ideas and details about the collab. It would be held on his channel, with you editing the stream into a video for your own channel. Before the two of you hung up, he asked for your number so he could send over his address. You wondered why he couldn't just send it over DMs, but your heart was already racing too fast for you to even bother asking.

You got to work immediately, organising your schedule and allocating time to buy the things you needed. He said he had most of the basic things already, but to make things funnier, you suggested a couple ingredients that you'd buy yourself. The idea was to hold a cake baking challenge with odd ingredients. Without telling each other what flavours you were using, you needed to decorate as nicely as you could, and you'd taste each other’s dessert at the end. One of you will guess incorrectly, and the penalty will be to post something on the other's social media account after the stream.

You both agreed not to do anything rash, but also not to plan or rehearse the ending too much. It had a mix of the chaos that was usually in your content, and the viewer interaction that he'd implement in his own.Preparing things behind the scenes, you both kept each other updated until the day arrived, and you nervously made your way to his place.

Standing in front of his home, you took a deep breath before knocking on the door. You heard the shuffling of slippers from the other side, stopping abruptly at the front door.

"Who is it..?" A voice groaned from behind the door.

"Um.. me?" You nervously answered.

A faint gasp sounded from the other side before a flurry of steps took off, leaving you wondering what just happened. Could it be that he forgot that you were coming over today?

He returned around a minute later, opening the door immediately. You noted how crinkled his clothes looked, his voice as though he'd just woken up. The skin of his face was dewy—freshly splashed with water, the evidence visible on the hoodie he wore. It wasn't the one he usually had on in his streams.

"Sorry about that." He muttered, attempting a chuckle. His laughter definitely didn't come off as nonchalant, not with his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

Though, you definitely weren’t feeling too confident yourself. Your hands were clammy as you bent over to pick up the bags that you brought with you which contained the things you'd both be using in the stream.

"I'll help." He quickly offered, taking the things in his own hands with a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Butterflies. Your stomach churned in a way that it hadn't done since high school.

Following him inside, you realised how big his home was, surprised that he seemed to live alone. As you walked to his kitchen, he gave you a haphazard tour, which was limited to the rooms you both passed. He steered you away from the direction of his own room, telling you that it was 'just a little messy right now.' Looks like he really was asleep.

Once you reached the kitchen, it surprised you to see his camera and tripod already prepared. He placed the bags down on the counter, walking towards his setup.

"Should I set up my stuff as well?" You asked as you pulled it out of one of the bags, having brought it just in case.

"It's fine, I'll send you the footage." He replied.

With that, you prepared the materials you'd both be using. He provided the bowls, spoons and mixing tools. You handed him an apron and wore your own, giggling at how he struggled to wear it despite it being so simple. You offered to tie it for him and he did the same, even though you were more than able to do so yourself. You lifted your arms as he took the fabric around your waist to tie it, gently weaving one piece over the other.

"Is that too tight?" He asked. "Want me to loosen it?"

"Yeah, just a little."

You could feel your heart beating in your ears as he spoke from behind, helping you with this short, mundane task. Things were all over the place today, and you weren't sure how you'd get yourself under control.

The two of you went through a few more things, and soon began the stream. You greeted the viewers, and introduced yourself to those who didn’t know you.

And so the stream went on, unfolding much more differently than you had initially expected. It seemed that the people who were criticising you had either stuck around to see what would happen, or had simply left.

You cracked jokes with each other while mixing your ingredients, using the mystery flavours that you had poured into separate bottles last night—so tired that you could barely remember what was in them.

At the end, you both decorated the cakes together in an attempt to make them as appealing as they could be. Yours was coated in red frosting, and you used white buttercream in a thin piping tip to write out his name in cursive on the surface of the cake. His was haphazardly covered in pink frosting, purple polka dots shaped from fondant scattered over the surface and the sides. He had decorated the edges with sugar pearls and rainbow sprinkles, running out of time before being able to write your name on it.

Cutting each other a slice, you both took turns tasting it. You could barely contain your laughter as he cut into his—the centre was so moist that the knife he used was coated in batter as he removed it from the cake. You opted to eat a piece of the edges instead.

Exaggerating your reaction, you coughed, walking off camera to grab a drink of water. The ingredient he had used was chilli, and it wasn't settling well with you at all. His laughter echoed through the room as you drank from the cup of water; probably because of the slightly exaggerated reaction that you had rehearsed with him before the stream in the case that he happened to choose something spicy.

As he took a bite of your slice of cake after you had returned to the stream, his face contorted; confusion? He chewed once, then paused, scrunched his eyebrows, and continued chewing again.

"Is that—" He coughed. "Is that coffee?"

You could barely contain your laughter at his reaction. Well, he wasn't completely off. It was coffee, alongside a couple different spices such as cinnamon, nutmeg, and.. well, you had lost count after the first two.

"Not exactly! Wanna try again?"

He held his nose bridge, 'deep in thought'. You both knew that one of you needed to get it wrong to go through to the penalty of the challenge. A few obviously wrong guesses later, it was decided that he'd be the loser. After talking to the chat a little, answering some questions and interacting, it was revealed to them that you'd have a video on your channel soon, which would contain extra content and that the penalty post would be up soon on his account. With that, he concluded the stream, slouching over the table with a sigh as you took a seat on one of the tall stools, picking at the cake he had made.

"At least the frosting tastes good." You laughed, taking a spoon of it.

"Yours wasn't actually too bad," He muttered. "Just.. very flavourful."

The situation suddenly set in; it was now nighttime, and your belongings were scattered everywhere. How were you supposed to just pack up and leave? That same feeling from earlier was now completely overwhelming you as you felt your face warm up. What was going on? Keeping your eyes on the slice of cake, your face began to heat up. In your peripheral, you noticed his head turn.

"You okay?"

“Just a little tired,” You smiled, avoiding his gaze. “I should probably get leaving soon." Reaching your arms behind your back, you fiddled with the knot in an attempt to untie it. The quicker you could pack up, the quicker you'd be out of this mess.

Though, even the apron wouldn’t budge at all no matter how hard you tried to undo it.

"Did you superglue this or something?” You chuckled, exasperated. It’s so tight!”

"Oh,” His head peeked up. “I loosened the first tie, but I double knotted it just in case." He stepped towards you, offering to fix it yet again.

"All done." His hands reached over to the collar, tugging it over your head to which you pulled it down, folding the apron in your lap.

"Guess I'll do yours as well?"

You stood from the chair, as he turned his back to face you. This was definitely something he could've done himself. Though as you fiddled with the fabric—in the silence of the room, the way his breath hitched became overly apparent.

Well, you honestly couldn’t tell whether it was yours or his who’s breathing you were hearing. Your eyes scattered as undoing the fabric of the apron was the last thing you were thinking about right now. It was a little late to be realising this, but he was much taller up close than he seemed online, and given the way the apron wrapped snugly around his body—he was also a little thinner than you imagined. Not to mention the stray hairs at the nape of his neck that had escaped from the bun he’d made.

“..Are you done?”

Shoot. Who knew how long you were standing there with your gaze scattering everywhere? You quickly untied the knot with a single swipe, and he lifted the collar over his head, handing it to you. As you reached out to take it, you noticed how tightly he held it, seemingly not wanting to let go. It did seem a little out character for him to be so forthright—having been the one to reach out to you first, inviting you over and being completely unlike how you initially perceived him. Not that you had thought he was mean, he just didn’t seem like the type to be so outgoing.

Or maybe it was motivated by something. Maybe the small patches of plush pink painting his cheeks, the way his lips were slightly parted so as to prepare himself to speak, his gaze focused on you for the first time today—maybe things were a little different for him as well. You for one knew yourself, being well aware of what you’d been going through today.

“..Do you have something to say?” You prodded, teasing although your voice was small, shaky, and laced with nerves. You definitely weren’t in any place to be picking on him.

He cleared his throat, gaze leaving yours once more. “..Do you have plans tomorrow?” Your eyes fluttered to his slender hands, their grip loosening as he spoke.

“No,” You replied. “I had nothing planned for this week other than—well, this.” Taking the apron from his hands, you set it on the counter. His hand moved to brush a loose strand of hair out of his face, “Do you live far?”

“A little.” Your car was parked outside, but you weren’t the biggest fan of driving at night, and alone as well? Not happening—not unless it had to. “But I drove here, so i’ll just-”

“You can stay the night.” He interrupted.

“No, I can’t—really-“

“I have space for another person.”

“I don’t even have a change of clothes!”

“I have spares.”

You were surprised that he’d offer something like that, and double down on it as well. Well, his place was huge; but you didn’t i expect him to go around telling random people they can stay over. Especially when he’s only met them once. He was now stacking the dishes in the sink, yawning as he did so.

You couldn’t help tease again, stepping towards him. “So you actually want me to stay over?”

He clicked his tongue, turning on the water. “And if I do?”

That.. wasn’t what you expected to hear. You couldn’t see his face, but the redness glazing the tips of his ears told you that he’d probably been going through the same things as you all day. Well, it was more than just today for you; and you wondered the same for him.

extra:

“Hey, we forgot about the penalty!” You recalled, slipping into one of his spare hoodies.

He sighed, brushing a hand through his hair as he scrolled through his phone, opening the camera. “Sit over there.”

“Here?” You took the seat on a chair in front of his setup, crossing your legs. The two of you giggled as you set up the photo, with him directing you to wear his headphones.

You took the photo of yourself, throwing up a peace sign, and captioned the post ‘get used to this face, ur gonna be seeing it a lot more’.

Watching the replies immediately come rushing in, you laughed together. It definitely wouldn’t be the last time you’d both record something together.

[luiluvr]

let it grow || luigi mangione

dad!luigi i love u forever :( based off this request! spent a lot of time listening to let it grow, cause the Lorax soundtrack goes hard, also this is to the person who wanted boy dad luigi!! <3

WARNINGS: none! no uses of y/n, & i didn't give the kids a name this time — leaving it to ur imagination! slightly proof read

SUMMARY: after taking a wind-down shower, you hear murmurs from the kid's bedroom, Luigi is reading them his (and their) favorite bedtime story: The Lorax.

WC: 1k

The Lorax. Always The Lorax. 

Luigi’s all-time favorite as a child, he was so giddy when you both finally had children of your own – he made sure he had the book on hand at all times. Even when they were babies that didn’t fathom what was happening; he’d read to them. Again and again, honestly you get sick of hearing the same story all the time. It’s meaningful to him, which is respectable, for it being a children’s book it reflects the real world plenty.

Most kids wanted to read other books by now, but your two sons never complained once when they asked Luigi to read to them. When he pulled out The Lorax, they’d be so excited. They just loved hearing him read, he had this aura. He would express the characters so well, exclaim and imitate sounds; so the kids preferred him reading over you. You read to them every so often when Luigi wasn't readily available, but besides then, he was theirs for bedtime stories.

For the night you left Luigi to get the kids tucked in to bed while you showered, you needed that fifteen-minutes of peace and quiet, he never turned down the opportunity to do something with the kids while benefiting you in the process.

You managed to wash off, get your hair dried so it wasn’t uncomfortable to sleep at night. Luigi didn’t seem too invested in doing a lot tonight, so you figured he wouldn’t. Until you went out into your room and heard some murmuring down the hallway. You raise an eyebrow and slowly walk towards the noise, mid-cleaning your ears.

“That was long, long ago. But each day since that day I've sat here and worried and worried away. Through the years, while my buildings have fallen apart, I've worried about it with all of my heart.” Luigi’s voice echoes softly as you peer into the door, smirking softly as he uses his best Once-ler voice.

“But now,” he says softly, “Now that you're here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear. UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” The two boys with thick curls on their small heads, similar to Luigi’s – look at him. Listening intently. Despite hearing this story a hundred times before, it was as if they were still taking it in for the first time – all over again. They were curled on either side of him, watching the pages. 

His gaze shifts to the boys, and he smiles, not quite finished reading but wanting to interact. “So, what does that mean exactly?” 

“If somebody doesn’t care, then nothing’s gonna get better?” For kids their age, they caught onto things well. Or it’s the fact Luigi has explained every waking detail of this book even though they 100% didn’t understand the worldly concepts connected to the writings.

“That’s right, so suppose something’s not right in your life, you have to care a lot about it to actually fix it. You can say ‘yeah, I want to be better about this,’ but never do anything. It can also mean about different timeline movements that changed our world today. Like racial equality, or women’s rights. If no one ever actually cared enough to change those things, do you think the world would be how it is?”

“No.” The youngest says. He’s only three-years-old so his vocabulary was still a work in progress. 

“I don’t think so dad.” The older boy murmurs from his bed.

“You’re right,” he began, until your older boy interrupted. “Dad, do you think when Dr. Seuss was  writing that he was thinking about the world we live in rather than the one he created?” His voice was pitchy, and he stumbled on a few words, but for a five-year-old it was rather impressive – even to you.

Luigi smiled at that, he was so proud his boy was learning, soon the youngest would pick up on it too, he was just too little right now. He only liked the drawings – a very simple boy. “Absolutely, kiddo. If I could prove any theory I’ve ever had, it would be this book, right here,” he gestures at the small hard-back cover he’s had since he was a child. “Is based on our reality.” 

It always fascinated you how Luigi had such a way with the two little ones. “So… Catch!’ Calls the Once-ler. He let something fall. ‘It’s a Truffula seed. The last one of all! You're in charge of the last of the Truffula Seeds. And Truffula Trees are what everyone needs. Plant a new Truffula. Treat it with care. Give it clean water. And feed it fresh air. Grow a forest. Protect it from axes that hack. Then the Lorax and all of his friends may come back.’

“They let it grow!!” Your oldest giggles. He really liked the book, but Luigi recently introduced them to the animated film, and he adored the music the most.

“They let it grow indeed.” He smiles.

Luigi flipped through the final two pages, gently shut the book and gazed over his sons. They gave him cheesy grins as he sat the book on a small shelf by the bedside, your oldest scurried back to his bed across the room, while the youngest admired his father – and for a moment his eyes flicker to you.

You winked at him before Luigi gave them both goodnight kisses. In unison their youthful voices, “Night daddy!” 

“Goodnight you two, get lots of sleep. I love you.”

“Love you too!” 

“Wuv you!”

Luigi chuckled, and turned off their lamp, leaving only the illumination from a small dinosaur night light you bought when your first was born. You waited outside, causing Luigi to jump slightly when he shut the door. “You’re always lurking around, y’know that?”

You chuckle, “yes, how cruel of me… Those kids are going to be able to repeat that book word for word one day.”

“Yeah, well. It teaches them a really important lesson.”

“Does it?”

“Very much so, my love.”

“And what’s that?" You grin, holding his arm as you both walk to your room.

"That I was the only one willing to read to them."

[alexanderlightweight]

Ok, so I read your pinned post and it says it's ok to prompt out of wed. But it feels wrong but I'm doing it, bc I happened to be rereading mob wife Alec (such a good verse, I have read it sooo many times now. Just 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻) and honestly this thought would not leave my mind. So imagine at one of these meetings, Alec happens to notice a sketchy smarmy guy and he's watching him closely bc he's concerned he's going to do something bad. (maybe something to one of the women who are there serving or one of the wives.) Sketchy guy notices Alec watching him and he assumes its bc Alec is interested. (bc straight guys and their absolutely stupid egos, do not get me started.) anyway, things happen, guy accuses Alec of coming onto him. And Alec is so insanely offended, he's speechless. All he can manage to do is point at Magnus and go, "have you seen my husband?!" Bc absolutely not a single person can hold a candle up to Magnus.

it doesn't quite match up 100% but this is where mob!wife Alec took it. it's been a while but I was delighted to write in this verse again so thank you for this delightful prompt

<3 lumine

dressed to kill

-

Now Alec knows he’s not the best at this undercover work.  

Whether as a distraction or in desperation, pretending to be something he’d not has never been one of his fortes. Something Magnus is very fond of reminding him of and well, enough time has passed that Alec can admit he was pretty terrible at pretending to be straight.  

Especially in front of Magnus.

And even now, for all the effort Alec, Magnus and even Simon have put in, Alec is still horrible at blending in with mundanes. 

Which leads him here. 

To a situation that he is truly unable to fathom and still doesn’t know how he ended up in.

“I’m not sure I heard you correctly.” Is what he automatically responds with, it’s an attempt to buy time but the thought of having to hear such stupidity again changes his mind.  “No,” he immediately says when the man opens his mouth again, “no need to repeat it.”

Alec knows denial intimately.

He lived submerged in it for over two decades and now he firmly reaches for the long since abandoned feeling and wraps it around himself.  Denial may not have worked in the face of Magnus but fortunately for Alec, no one compares to Magnus so he’s safe.

“I’ll ask someone to get you medical aid, you’ve clearly had more than you can handle.” Alec says it to be gracious.  He’s trying to not make a scene and he’s certainly not interested in having to explain his involvement in yet another mundane death. 

Or at least he tries.  

Then the true absurdity of the situation hits him and he can’t help it.

He laughs.

Not a full-bodied laugh, the kind Magnus, Izzy or Jace can draw from him, but the deep, darker chuckle that builds when he’s on a hunt.

“You think you’re something worth my interest?” Alec’s voice is low, the predatory instinct of a hunt entrenched in him. 

The quieter a shadowhunter is, the more deadly they are.

Alec has never needed to shout to make his threats known, he also doesn’t need a threat to teach this mundane a lesson.

“I am already married to the most gorgeous being in any dimension, who are you to think you can compete?” All the evidence Alec needs is the hand he points in Magnus’ direction and it’s with a scoff of disgust that Alec leaves. Even without active runes he’s faster than the most agile of mundanes and in an instant he’s at Magnus’ side. 

He really doubts he had the self-control to listen to one more assumption of Alec’s interest in someone other than Magnus.

-

It’s automatic, for Magnus to reach for Alexander even as he slots into place next to him.  No words of greeting are needed for Alexander to automatically tuck himself into Magnus’ side.

“What’s wrong?” It’s clear that Alexander is flustered, and not in a ‘I-lost-track-of-this-mundane-conversation-ten-minutes-ago-and-would-like-to-be-done’ kind of way.

“Someone had the audacity to think I was interested in them.”

Magnus’ hand tightens on Alexander’s hip even as he processes the words.

Unfortunately, despite how much he despises hearing such a thing, it’s not unexpected.  One of the prices Magnus has had to pay during these ventures are the mundanes who show interest in Magnus’ boy.

In the shadowworld they are fairly prominent figures and between the two of them, they have few enemies who would risk crossing them both.

That includes coveting what isn’t theirs to desire.

And while Magnus doesn’t doubt for a minute that the mundane was making absurd assumptions, he is curious as to how a mundane thought Alexander was approachable.

“How?”

It’s a genuine question, Magnus has met quite a few people who have been interested in Alexander, he’s just never met one that had the gall to think it was reciprocated.

Alexander pauses, brow furrowed as he thinks and then he shrugs, expression soft and a little sheepish. “I stopped paying attention pretty quickly. I just wanted him to stop talking.”

Magnus can’t help but laugh, delight thrumming through him as he disguises his humor with a kiss to Alexander’s hair.  

-

(the guy was too straight for alec to deal with, the vibes were just a no and the guy’s prey instinct kicked in via survival mode and he took off before Alec could point him out to Magnus. the reason the guy thought Alec was interested in him? Magnus and Alec will never find out but it was actually because alec was watching the bartender make drinks with fire -he was comparing it to Magnus talent and finding it lacking- and the guy happened to be somewhat in eye zone)

and it is 100% canon that Alec goes around this universe and all my universes comparing mundanes and shadow world beings to Magnus and finding everyone else lacking.

magnus finds it absolutely charming when Alec is tired and starts mumbling about how the bartender completely lacks the same elegant flair that makes Magnus' alcoholic fiery drinks so much more enticing and appealing (tipsy Alec admiting he only tried that first drink Magnus offered him because he wanted to see what Magnus' magic fire tasted like and instead he got a mouthful of blue vodka and everclear and a part of him has never forgiven Magnus for that betrayal and Magnus is always treated to a wrinkle of Alec's nose when he's offered a new drink before he tries it). Magnus doesn't say anything about it because he thinks its both adorable and hilarious.

[dilly-dahlia]

hi!!! what happened with Laurance's old VA? sorry i've been out of the loop for a while 😭

thank you!!!

hi!! idk if i’m the most qualified to answer this since i don’t have the most information and it might not be accurate so if anyone else wants to add please do!!

from what i know: a while ago (i’m talking MyStreet season 1/2) Sebastian Todd used clips from Aphmau’s Phoenix Drop High series for a blooper video he posted and it made Jess and Jason upset since he didn’t ask permission so they kind of ghosted him and Laurance wasn’t seen for a while the first time. i think during this time he filmed a live stream where someone asked if he’d ever come back to be Laurance and he said something along the lines of “Jess was a terrible boss and I hated working with her” (not exactly what he said, but a summarized version)

also during this time he was complaining about not getting jobs for voice acting which is kind of looked down upon in that community so i think that’s why people didn’t hire him too?

but anyways, obviously he was rehired because Laurance came back for MyStreet season 3 and MCD Rebirth, but someone (i don’t know who) said that he was just a toxic person and very difficult to work with

I’ve also been told that he had some mental disorders and they all sort of piled up and a couple years ago he had an episode and attacked some of his fans on social media, so…

I’m not sure what he does now but from what I’ve heard he’s changed his name and has assumed a more gaming/work out brand for himself. I’ve also heard he makes adult content now but I’m not 100% sure on that since I haven’t (and don’t want to) looked into that

again i’m not the most qualified person for this and basically everything i just said is word of mouth!! if i’m wrong about something please correct me respectfully and if you know more about Laurance’s original VA please add to this post!

regardless to say I think DJ Hansen (the VA who voiced Laurance in Jessica’s anniversary video) did a phenomenal job and I hope we get to see more of him!!

EDIT: here’s a bit more from the comments!

EDIT 2: here is another post that explains way better than I did and also brings up more recent points I was not aware of so check it out!

[ronnykins-needshelp]

Random silly reincarnation idea where Shen Qingqiu never thought of the mushroom and actually died trying to save Luo Binghe.

And then Luo Binghe tried his best to open the crypt but that never happened so once he gave up he went ballistic and ended up destroying half of the mortal realm, also the demon realm bc he doesn’t discriminate. Obviously he killed everyone besides his disciple siblings who were in the city that day. However he did end up destroying huan hua palace because if they didn’t kill whoever harmed what was his in the first place he would end up killing himself.

So hundred years later Shen Yuan gets reincarnated as a rich master of the Shen household [ let’s pretend they are his fathers immediate family descendants in which he SQQ never found out about ]. They have a huge agriculture and livestock empire and thus he’s a little farm boy. He doesn’t at all dabble into cultivation besides talismans and what not. He’s humble and helps out with his family’s inner farm [ personal animals ] and sometimes the commercial when management is running low. He loves goats but what he really loves are the beasts of the demon realm, which often roam after the merge of the two realms.

All Thanks to Luo Binghe. He was absolutely amazing, Shen yuan probably read all the books about him. Aswell as heard the plays, songs, and even folklore. He obsessed over his Heaven forsaken love with his old teacher. He didn’t understand why he loved him in the first place [ he’s rich, give him a break ] because his master made mistakes left and right. But nonetheless he loved it. The homos were cute in his opinion.

But anyways he had a knack for the beasts, he indulged in many books about them and had a very good intuition. He may not have a golden core but he definitely has a golden finger when it comes to knowledge on beasts.

So for at least 50 miles he’s known as the beast expert. Shen Yuan has been picked many times over next to a cultivator. Plus he’s free. These beasts can either: be tamed, fall in love with him, be scared of him, or run away. It depended but most of the demons loved him.

push comes to shove when he gets someone begging him to take care a black-moon Rhinoceros python that appeared at the border of a city. He is ecstatic to finally see one of them much to his elder brothers anguishes.

He travelled to the area and helped clear out the people. He knew a lot of information about this beast in particular because Luo Binghe had ridden one when he destroyed Huan Hua palace. Even if he wasn’t a cultivator there were other ways to calm it.

Calm he Did because he had it laying down with the python in its mouth begging for more pets within an hour.

Before he could indulge it with more something came tumbling out of the forest and killed it. There was only one sword who could kill a big beast in one swift movement and that was Xin mo. If it had been any other situation, Shen Yuan would have been fangirling over Luo Binghe blessing him with his presence. But it wasn’t, and the little[ huge ] boi he wanted to take home was dead.

So he started ranting and ranting to no ends. Luo Binghe only had a bewildered expression. No one had treated him like this. Always respectful, or fearful, or both. The last person to get this snarky with him, he had been searching for the last 100 years.

“ Shizun. I found you. “ Luo Binghe said with a smile.

then straight up kidnaps Shen Yuan. He was dragged kicking and screaming. Obviously he didn’t want to meet his hero.

So now Shen Yuan was confused because Luo Binghe keeps calling him shizun? But he just shares his family name?? Why did he think he was his dead teacher????

And plus.

He killed his fucking Black moon Rhinoceros-Python. He has an absolute vendetta against this man. So he went around his harem [ yes he has a harem, it’s mostly to distract himself from the pain of losing his shizun and yes it still has hundreds of women ] and chatted with them, making friends, and gossiping. Since he was stuck here he decided to get back at the demon emperor. So he convinced a lot of the wives to leave. He used the fact that most haven’t even seen the man for a long time.

This leaves Luo Binghe outraged because !! He needs love!!! People!!! To love him!!! But his shizun is making that difficult. Was it because he vowed to find him after he reincarnated? He didn’t know

Cue shinanigens where Shen yuan makes Luo Binghes herum smaller and smaller and having those who stayed like him very much and prefer his readings more. Luo Binghe doesn’t know what to do with him because he acted so much like the man he yearns. And he’s jealous.

He is frustrated and turned on at the same time. Luo Binghe sees that this Shen yuan loves beasts so he deliberately leads them into his harem so he can watch from afar his gushes.

Luo Binghe still gets the cold shoulder whenever they are together. He really doesn’t say why, but he’s very petty and will refuse to talk to him until he gets a black-moon Rhinoceros-python pet. Yah that’s it. But Luo Binghe doesn’t know that. He really doesn’t. He just wants his shizun back

Idk an ending yet LMAO

This is a basic outline of the concept of my fanfic!! Starting writing later but def gonna be a good idea. I love Shen yuan getting blood off him and shamelessly saying he was beginning to know the creatures here in the sect. With Luo Binghe in the background freaking out [ he’s still going to bring more creatures, Shen Yuan looks way too cute with them ].

[twopoppies]

Speaking of social media, is it true that harry defended Ow from the hate she was getting online and specifically mentioned larries on tw? I wasn’t around when that happened. How did the fandom react and what do you think about it?

Hi, love. No. That's not what happened at all. But that's how some harries and antis twisted it. What he said was:

Styles is not the most online person — he uses Instagram to look at plants and architecture posts, has never had the TikTok app, and calls Twitter “a shitstorm of people trying to be awful to people” — but he’s still aware of how those small, toxic corners of the internet are treating the people closest to him. “That obviously doesn’t make me feel good,” he says, carefully. It’s a tightrope he’s treading in discussing this. He wants to — and does! — see the good in his fans, but there’s no denying that like every large online community, this one has a faction that runs on hate and anonymity. 

[...] “Can you imagine,” he says, “going on a second date with someone and being like, ‘OK, there’s this corner of the thing, and they’re going to say this, and it’s going to be really crazy, and they’re going to be really mean, and it’s not real.… But anyway, what do you want to eat?’ ”

While Styles takes comfort in knowing his whole fandom is not like that, he still wonders about how to respond when the noise gets too loud. “It’s obviously a difficult feeling to feel like being close to me means you’re at the ransom of a corner of Twitter or something,” he says. “I just wanted to sing. I didn’t want to get into it if I was going to hurt people like that.”

It's particularly the middle paragraph people glommed on to and made about larries (particularly the "it's not real" part). But also the author uses the phrase "small, toxic corners of the internet." This is just idiotic to me. Yes, of course he could mean larries. But he literally could mean any group of fans. I can think of a LOT of toxic corners of the internet where people are disgusting to others. And it doesn't mean he's speaking about Olivia, either. That reads like a hypothetical situation IMO.

This is a man who isn't going to discuss or confirm his relationships or his sexuality. But he's going to be incessantly asked about both. So he's going to give vague or hypothetical answers. For example, he says earlier in the piece:

Styles, without prompting, points out how silly he finds some of the arguments about how he may identify to be: “Sometimes people say, ‘You’ve only publicly been with women,’ and I don’t think I’ve publicly been with anyone. If someone takes a picture of you with someone, it doesn’t mean you’re choosing to have a public relationship or something.”

Obviously, Harry is a master at swerving a question he doesn't want to answer. And this answer is a lot of semantics. But he has a right to answer that way.

So, if you look at Holivia from a bigger picture stance and take in everything we know about it, then look at this interview (which was specifically arranged to promote DWD), you can decide for yourself if he's defending her. Personally, I don't think he was considering her in his answer at all because I think Holivia was 100% a PR relationship. But he a good person who wouldn't want anyone to be hurt, even if they weren't actually his girlfriend? Yeah.

Full article here

[niranutcake]

.

I wasn't sure if I should've even posted this... Please don't read it if you don't feel like it. I just... wanted to vent my frustrations at least somewhere rather than keep everything inside

I helped out a friend. Well, at least I considered him one. Half a year ago he asked me to lend a bit of money. I don't have much myself. The only source of my own income is a 36$ stipend. I don't currently have a job and I live with my parents, but their income plus mine is enough to give the four of us stable and happy life. So out of pity and kind heart, of course I helped him, because it felt like he needed it. He promised to return the money. He didn't. I asked what was wrong and for my money back, because I needed them. But he just ignored my messages.

Now, after going MIA for half a year, he returns. Apologising. And asking for more money yet again. I already told him my frustrations about his inappropriate behaviour, for which he apologised yet again and told me how his life was rough, how he got his money stolen when being away on a sports competition and he wasn't able to return home, how he needed to sustain his girlfriend (and now, how it turned out, a wife) and pay rent and his parents and noone helped him. He has a normal job. He knows how much I earn.

I wanted to believe him. But my trust was seriously wavering. I gave him money. The last one for food that I had, because he was assuring me he'd 100% return it tomorrow before evening. I chose to believe him. The next day I starved. Now I don't have money for food for the end of the week. He said his paycheck got delayed, even sent a picture of the paper, said he'd give back tomorrow. I chose to believe him. I was left with nothing again.

There's a lot of emotions inside of me right now. I feel hurt, betrayed, angry, frustrated and more. I told him everything about how I felt and afterwards decided to block him. I'm tired of his empty promises.

But I also feel said, because, like, he wasn't like this before. We met eachother in a small organisation (that I'm not longer in), he was a fun, energetic, open boy, and we quickly connected with eachother. We smiled and laughed at jokes, did assignments together, I joyfully cheered on him on a dance competition. I remember him as a good person. But then he comes with this.

It left me confused and hurt... What could've happened? Why did he act like that?? Why did he say all of this? Was he even telling the truth? I really don't know...

Now I feel bad. I'm still confused. Something like this never has happened to me before. I don't know what to do... I just... *sigh*...

Am I doing something wrong?...

[split-spectrum]

CONCESSIONS

Chapter 5 - Finale

Tags: sexually explicit content, elements of dubious consent, light bondage/restraints (handcuffs), masturbation, edging, orgasm denial, nipple play, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, cum play, this is 100% pure smut from start to finish

Length: 10.9K

Summary: 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.

☆☆☆

"I'm sorry," Obi Wan murmurs against your lips.

He says it even as he continues to kiss you. Even as his thumb nudges against your jaw, rubbing up the soft skin of your cheek. His hot breath is still inside your mouth as he whispers, "I don't know what came over me."

It's been over since it began. He's pulled away repeatedly, humming variations of denials and apologies against your lips, your cheek, your neck. But stopping still seems nearly as impossible as starting did.

The two of you don't do this. You don't kiss. You flirt, and you fight, and you share stolen moments that you can later pretend never happened. You touch him in the dark, and you don't talk about your feelings. You don't look at one another with heady desire coursing through your veins anymore. You just don't. You just can't.

And that's why, when he leans in again, instead of melting into his touch the way you want to, you glance up from his lips, catching his eyes. It's the barest of hesitations, but it's enough to make him slow down, swallow, pull back.

"Sorry." He says it low, stuck in the back of his throat, and it makes you feel like you're drowning.

It fucking kills you to hear him like this - quietly losing his air of formality. His hair is mussed where you'd grabbed onto it, and as he pushes himself up from the bed, he grazes thumb and forefinger over his short beard, like he's trying to wipe the taste of you from his mouth.

You watch his movements, entranced and silent. He glances back at you, and suddenly the distance between where you lie and where he stands feels like a growing chasm. You lean your weight onto your elbow, about to get up and join him. You don't know what you'll do or say, but you can feel him pulling away, back into himself.

As you sit up, he takes a single step back, and just like that, it's over.

"I-" he starts quietly, eyes meeting yours and then darting away, "I need to... clear my thoughts."

Your mouth falls open, his name about to come out. But you don't know what follows it. For once, he's tied your tongue.

"I'll be in the refresher," he says, turning abruptly. "Excuse me."

Before you can begin to think of anything to say, he's heading toward the refresher, the warm, damp air from your own use billowing out when he opens the door.

He stops only to gather a change of clothes, not even glancing back as he closes the door behind him.

 

--

When the room is quiet, and all you can hear is the soft sound of water flowing in the distance, you roll onto your back, closing your eyes. That had been too far. That had been looking for trouble.

And fuck, you're still aching for it.

You're still reeling at the things he'd said. His walls had dipped for the briefest of moments, letting you in, and somehow, you'd managed to blow it, snapping him back to his senses at the worst possible time.

He'd caught you off guard. If only you hadn't hesitated, he would have found relief. Instead, you have to lie here, just thinking about the way his mouth felt against yours. Thinking about the way he'd instantly started to pull you apart at the seams, from the moment he'd gotten his hands on you.

You're practically throbbing under the soft fabric of your sleep clothes as you slip your legs beneath the covers. Stars, what you wouldn't give for some privacy right now. Years of discipline are failing you spectacularly as you squeeze your eyelids tight, trying to think of something - anything - besides the way his beard had brushed against your neck when he'd been talking in your ear.

Your hand is flat against your leg, rubbing thoughtfully, when you hear the door open again, Obi Wan emerging fully clothed.

You try not to be obvious, glancing over at him only once, then returning your stare to the bunk above you. When he shuts off the light, you listen to his bare feet as he crosses the room, then vaults gracefully up the short ladder to his bed above you.

It almost feels like you've been caught at something, even though your hand is still resting at your side. You try to focus your thoughts, calm down, and go to sleep. But all you can think about is how big and warm his hands were when they'd held your waist. How hungry his kiss had been. How deep and dark his voice had gotten against your ear.

"I should thank you..." A softer, more subdued shade of that same voice drifts down from above you.

You nearly flinch at the break in silence.

"For keeping your promise," he adds.

The hum of the ship is the only sound as you process his words. It's the last thing you'd expected him to say, though you really hadn't expected him to say anything. Usually, you don't have trouble spotting his sarcasm. This time could be an exception. You aren't certain what would be appropriate to say back.

"You're welcome," you venture.

You fight the urge to admit that it had never been your intention to stop. That despite your better judgement, you still want to take things as far as he'll let you.

After a few long heartbeats, you speak up again. "I uh, thought you felt it was a mistake. Asking me."

A soft exhale. "I should never have said that. I've put you in a difficult situation. Forgive me."

Your eyes search the darkness. As usual, he leaves so much up to your interpretation. Another long moment passes. Suddenly, you want to keep him talking. Something about the way he's holding you at arm's length tells you that if you let things end here and go to sleep, your friendship is going to shift in ways that can't be undone. So you try to think of something else to say.

"How was your shower?"

"Cold," he answers. "Very cold."

Your eyelids flutter. You try not to picture his rigid body, his hand braced against the shower wall as the cold water pulls him back from whatever might have been on his mind.

"I'm sorry if I've made things more... difficult for you."

He doesn't answer for a long time. Then you hear him slowly shift in his bed. "I suspect that by this point, things would be difficult regardless of anything you had done."

"You mean going this long would have been hard for you no matter what?"

"No," he says quietly. "I mean that this was a terrible time for us to be assigned to a joint mission."

"Oh?" you reply, your heartbeat kicking up as you try to keep your tone casual. "Why is that?"

His hesitation is palpable, almost like you can hear him holding back his response.

"You can tell me," you encourage, letting your voice grow soft and breathy.

"Well," he lets out slowly, "I spent the majority of our conversation in the galley thinking only of taking you against the wall. If this was a solo mission, I would like to believe I could avoid such thoughts."

For a moment, all you can hear is the white noise of all the remaining blood in your head rushing to your center, and you ignore the urge to make an embarrassing noise. Instead, you swallow, replying, "It's a good thing I wouldn't have let that happen."

Another pause. "Can you be so sure?"

Your face is growing hot. It's like you can feel him toeing the line, waiting for you to pull him back. You open your mouth, words coming out tentatively. "It's, uh... it's my 'sacred duty', isn't it?"

"I might have tried to coerce you," he responds.

If he keeps offering up blunt confessions wrapped in his soft, chaste delivery, you're going to lose your mind.

"I'm well acquainted with your tactics of persuasion, Obi Wan," you say lightly, as if you aren't seconds away from touching yourself. "What would you have done to coerce me into letting you fail?"

"I think the question is better asked, what wouldn't I have done?"

Shit, he's doing this on purpose. He must be.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I might have appealed to your sense of decency; tried to convince you to have mercy on me."

You should stop the conversation here. You should laugh and give him some clever quip about him never showing you mercy in training matches. You should tell him it would never work, and leave it at that.

But instead, your throat going dry, you simply ask, "How would you do that?"

It's an opening that shouldn't exist; a lit path that should have remained dark.

He answers, slowly, "I would have held you against that wall, rather than let you leave."

"Mm-hm," you hum softly, listening intently as his words become quieter.

"I would have ended that foolish argument."

Your fingertips graze the side of your leg again. "How?"

"I'd have kissed you. Properly."

"Yeah?"

"And I would have shown you exactly what you do to me."

It's hard not to let your words come out as an airy whine. "What- what do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean."

Your chin tilts up. Your hand slithers below your waistband. "Obi Wan..."

"I might have pulled your clothes off, then and there. Would you have stopped me?"

You shake your head, though he can't see it. "No."

"If you'd let me, I would have touched you. Stars, I wanted to."

You can't answer. You're circling around your clit, wetness soaking your fingers.

"I wanted to ask for what you'd offered me before."

"Wh-what I'd offered?"

"Your mouth," he answers, sounding like the very thought is painful. "Though I couldn't. If you had said it, I would have had to refuse."

"Refuse?" you breathe, reduced to repeating his words. "Why?"

"Because I-" He cuts himself off. "I would have..."

You try to keep your panting quiet.

"With the way you... use your mouth on me, I couldn't have stopped there. I would have fucked you... I..." he grinds out. "I would have-"

A moan escapes your lips, and he goes suddenly silent.

The recycled air hangs still for an eternity.

He'd heard you.

You can do nothing but wait. Wait for the question. The confusion. The accusation.

But it never comes.

Then, finally, movement.

He rolls in his bunk, and you freeze, pulling your hand up and lying still as you hear him shift.

You want to say something, to make an excuse, to pretend nothing had happened. But the sound had been unmistakable. And your breath is coming too short to even speak.

You have no idea what he intends to do, but for some reason, he seems to be getting out of bed.

You can barely make out his form when he slowly steps down from above you, crowding into your bunk in the darkness. He comes closer, whispering your name, and when you don't reply, he leans down, giving you plenty of time to pull away.

You don't make a move; don't say a word. His mouth finds yours, and you sigh softly against it.

He kisses you, slowly this time, exploring you carefully and precisely. He waits to feel every movement that you reciprocate, brushing his bottom lip delicately across your top lip, waiting for you to spread open for him, which you eagerly do. Minutes pass before he finally slides his tongue into your mouth and drags a needy sound out of you.

He passes a hand down at the same time, reaching under your clothes and between your legs with a quiet certainty. Pressing his first two fingers down, he sinks into your wetness and draws them out again. His lips pull apart from yours.

"You were touching yourself," he says, the faint light in the room dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His hand drops to the bedding, evidence smearing across the fabric as he looks to you for answers.

"I..." You're obscenely embarrassed, but you try to keep from dropping his gaze. "I didn't mean for you to... to notice."

His features have taken on an emotion you can't quite place. "How long have you felt... like this?"

Your face flushes. It must be a joke, but you have no idea how to respond. "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I had no idea you..."

"What?"

"When you offered to help me, I hadn't thought..."

You look at him for a long time, taking in his blown-out pupils, his kiss-swollen lips, his undeniable sincerity.

The truth washes over you, slowly sinking in.

All this time, he'd thought you'd been simply putting up with his request. That you were being a good friend. That you'd only offered to help him out of obligation.

His gaze falls off to the side, then drags back to you. "I had thought it was for my benefit alone."

You try to find the words to express how fucking mad with want that he's been driving you this entire time, but you come up empty. Instead, at long last, all you can say is, "No."

"No?" he whispers.

You shake your head softly. "No."

For a moment, he looks as if you've punched him. Then his wide eyes flicker down to your lap. "Show me, then," he breathes. "Will you?"

When he lowers his hands to your hips, resting his thumbs inward, awaiting your permission, it's like his touch is scorching you; boiling you over, even through your clothes.

You suck in air, trying desperately to clear your head. There's a reason you can't just give in and let him sink his fingers back in exactly where you need them. There's definitely a good reason. If only you could think of anything beyond how good his hands would feel on your skin...

But, no. Biting your lip, you shake your head and use every remaining shred of your willpower to say, "If you want, I'll show you. But not like this."

His face falls, confusion staining his features as he pulls his hands back. "What do you mean?"

You try to keep your panting quiet enough that he can't hear it, pressing back on your elbows and lifting your chin to look past him, over the side of the bed. "Could you get my pack for me?"

His uncertain look lingers, but he pulls your pack up and hands it to you. Digging inside, you find what you need.

His demeanor shifts the instant he catches sight of them. "You packed them anyway."

You give him a shy shrug, looking at him coyly through your eyelashes. "Never hurts to be prepared."

He swallows. "Those would not be necessary for what I had in mind."

He gives a pointed downward look, and you try not to shiver. Steeling yourself, you answer, "If you want to watch, we should put certain... assurances in place. As your witness, I think it's best to be safe."

It's a lie, of course. A lie to finally get what you want, after all this desperate trying.

His reaction earlier had shown you that the only way you can be sure to finish what you start is to literally hold him in place. You can't risk him losing his nerve again. Despite the fog of sex clouding your thoughts, you know this is your final chance, and you have no intention of wasting it. You aren't just going to offer him simple, straightforward relief. You're going to draw it out until it's the only thing he can think of. Until he can do nothing but give in.

"So," you ask, dawning your best false bravado and sitting up to encircle one of his wrists in the first of the binders. He doesn't pull away, but he hardly looks pleased. "What's it going to be?"

As you ask the question, you activate the first binder and meet his eyes. The uncertainty is still there, but it doesn't completely mask the excitement beneath. He exhales, then tucks his other arm behind his back, allowing you to chain him to the handle of the durasteel panel at the end of your small bunk. His shoulders are pulled into a hard line and he rests in a kneeling position, looking down at you as you slowly lie back on the bed.

"Thanks for trusting my judgement," you tell him, getting comfortable in the soft covers, but hesitating before slipping your hand beneath your clothes again. His eyes follow your movement, and your fingers rest just shy of where they should be going.

"You left me few other options," he replies, settling back against his restraints.

Looking up at him, you suddenly feel self-conscious. Has your coercion gone too far?

"You had options," you clarify. "You still have them."

He smirks. "Hardly. Remain a free man, or watch you pleasure yourself. To call that a choice would make me a fool."

You give a soft breath, then your fingers drop low. You can see his smirk falling away just as your eyelids flutter shut.

Your hand glides easily to where it had been only moments before, listening to the sound of his voice as you'd touched yourself. Your chest is tight with the anxiety of knowing he's watching you, but it's equal parts unnerving and thrilling at the same time. You start to play with yourself and the mix of adrenaline and desire shoots through you like lightning.

"Undress for me," he instructs. "Let me see."

It isn't said with anything resembling a demand, yet you shake your head, leaning back against your pillow. You're in charge. He has to know that.

"I know you aren't used to it," you reply, wrist slowing as you give him a soft smile, "but I'm giving orders at the moment." Your hand stills. "You're here to watch, nothing more."

You can feel him tense as your movement disappears. He stays quiet, as if waiting for you to continue, and when you don't, he finally speaks up.

"Don't stop, darling."

His soft encouragement nearly makes you pull your slippery-wet fingers over your clit and come on the spot. Even as you begin to drag your wrist in achingly slow circles again, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure anywhere dangerous, you're thinking about it. Maybe you could afford to tip over the edge and bite your lip hard enough to hide it. But not after he's worked you up this much. You're going to be a mess, and you know it.

Instead, you use your other hand to unbutton the top of your bodice and breathe a little deeper, holding your voice steady as you casually reply, "There it is again. You called me that earlier."

"What?"

"Darling," you say softly, trying to let it sound like an offhand observation.

"I used to call you that all the time."

Your brow creases. "I don't remember that."

"Ah," he says, sounding suddenly reserved. "Perhaps it was under my breath, then."

You open your eyes to look at him, expecting a smile, but finding him completely focused between your legs.

Stifling a whimper, you push your pants off with hurried, uncareful hands, staring up at him the whole time. You've given in much too quickly - you were supposed to draw this out. But you can't help it. He's talking you right up to the edge without even trying.

"Oh," he groans, watching you spread your legs for him and delicately begin to play with your pussy.

You lower your lashes and drag your eyes down his still fully-clothed body. You need to keep focused - keep pushing him closer to where you are.

"I should confess, this isn't the first time I've touched myself thinking of you."

He gives a small nod, not tearing his eyes from their spot. "I know. The holos."

You swallow, building your courage. "Not just then."

His eyes briefly flick up to your face, an urgent question in his gaze, but they hang there for only a second before he's distracted back to your center.

Letting out a slow breath, you let yourself ease your middle finger against your clit, the air on your skin chilling the wetness running along the insides of your thighs. "After that night we fell asleep together."

A loud huff of breath escapes him. "You... you didn't..."

Building toward orgasm isn't going to take long. You're practically soaking your fingers as you admit it to him: "Right afterward; just like this."

You let out a little shudder, speeding up your movements when you hear the soft clink of him readjusting in the binders.

"Let me touch you."

You leave it hang, as if you hadn't heard it.

"I touched myself here, too, imagining it was you."

Your free hand lifts to your left nipple, brushing it softly at first and then circling it until it starts to harden. Your bodice is open at the top, but still held tightly together at the bottom. As you near the edge, you study Obi Wan's face, watching his frustration build at each slow, deliberate movement. You pull your other hand up and drag your slick over your sensitive skin, using it to bring your other nipple to a hardened bud.

"Have you ever been touched like that?"

He doesn't answer, jaw tight and eyes fixated on your roving fingers.

"I think you'd like it," you go on, cupping your breasts and lazily drawing your fingertips over your skin. Then, you sit up and crawl the short distance to him.

"What do you think?" you ask innocently, hands spreading under his outer tunic. You rub your hand experimentally back and forth a few times to see if he'll bristle, but if anything, he seems to lean into your touch. Sliding your hand beneath his outer tunic, you brush his nipple through the remaining cloth. Delightfully, you find that it's already hard.

You smile, pushing his outer tunic over his shoulders. "You're a little more indecent than I thought, Obi Wan."

His lips are parted as he stares down your body, then back to where you're touching him.

"You have no idea."

You suck the edge of your bottom lip into your mouth, then take both your hands and trail them lightly against the soft fabric of his inner tunic, from his shoulders down to his stomach, palms flat. Then you bring your thumbs up to his nipples and begin to tease. His eyes roll up, then fall shut. He doesn't say anything out loud, but his chest begins to heave with shallow, harsh breaths.

You go on like that for a long while, drinking in every sharp intake of air, every roll of his shoulders, and every time he opens his eyes to look at you through a glossy daze.

"Let's make you a little more comfortable, hm?" you finally say, reaching to remove his inner tunic as well, but struggling with the resistance of the rest of his clothes, the multiple layers all held tight by his belt. You lower your hand, then stop to look at him before gently tugging at it.

"Can I take this off?"

"Yes," he answers before you even finish your last word.

You grin, freeing his waist and shoving both his tunics back, pushing open his neckline to reveal the bare skin beneath, until he's naked to the waist. With his clothes still draped halfway over his arms, you simply stare. The muscles bound to every inch of his frame are almost too much of a distraction to notice the obscene bulge straining in his pants. Almost.

"You, uh..." Your voice nearly cracks and you carefully clear your throat. "You look... really good like this."

Obi Wan, still gazing at your nearly naked body, barely seems to have noticed you talking. "I can't say what I think of the way you look." After a moment, he adds, "There aren't words in Basic for the things I want to do to you."

You feel a pulse between your legs, then smile weakly. "Let's just focus on you for the moment."

Your thumbs brush over his bare nipples again and he gasps. "That- that feels..."

He dissolves into short breaths, going silent for a long time as you drag the tips of your fingernails up and down his chest with feather-light touches. His biceps flex in time with your hypnotic rhythm as his skin pricks into goosebumps.

"Good, isn't it?" you say softly, not expecting a response as you watch him curl and flex beneath your touch. You go lower, daring to slide your hands low enough that they graze the skin beneath his belly button.

When you can see his stomach beginning to tighten in apparent frustration, you start to tease his nipples again, and he lets out a noise somewhere between startled and relieved. You only tease him briefly, then give him a moment's break to catch his breath, tracing his bare shoulders with your fingertips.

"How..." he manages after his panting subsides, "...did you know..."

You give him a wry smile, flicking your thumbs back and forth softly over his nipples again. "How did I know you'd like this?" you finish for him. "Just a feeling."

He moans in response, hips bucking forward. His face is starting to get flushed, and you suppress the urge to lathe your tongue over his neck.

"Why don't you lie down for me?" you purr into his ear.

He pulls at the binders, making an obvious point. "You've made that rather difficult."

Hesitating, you look him over, trying to let the logical part of your brain swim back to the surface. On the one hand, you know taking him out of the binders is going to lead to a conversation about getting him back into them, which ultimately could put an end to this. On the other hand, the image of Obi Wan lying beneath you, spread out, completely at your mercy...

"Just one hand."

You hold his gaze for a moment, waiting for him to agree. He raises his brows in that charming way he has, not saying anything back. Ever the skilled tactician, even in a moment like this, he's not going to volunteer anything he doesn't have to.

"I'm going to let one hand free, just so you can lie down," you clarify, reaching behind him to use the fingerprint scanner on the pre-programmed binders. You rest a hand on his shoulder, leaning close to the side of his face. "That means you lie down as soon as I press this button, right? Nothing else. Nothing to break the rules."

His eyelashes are hanging low as he stares at your mouth, not answering. It takes him a long time to drag his eyes back up to yours, and when he does, your heartbeat kicks up wildly. You click the button, only vaguely aware that he hadn't yet answered.

His hand finally loose, he doesn't let go of eye contact as he reaches for your chest, lightly dragging his fingertips beneath your collarbone.

"L-lie down," you whisper, not moving as he smooths the side of his knuckle down your bare skin. You arch your back instinctively, letting out a short, soft moan when he grazes your nipple. Your eyelashes flutter closed, despite your efforts. You force them open again.

"My goodness," he says breathlessly, sweeping his hand up to your cheek. "You are beautiful."

Fighting hard against the flush that you can already feel is settling deeply in your face, you force a dismissive smile and lift your own hand over his hand. "The words of a man currently tied to my bed, who would say anything to make me let him loose."

He meets your gaze straight-on. "The words of a man too desperate to tell anything but truth."

"Obi Wan," you murmur softly, not sure if you mean to chastise or encourage him.

He slides his hand to your jaw, starting to lean in for a kiss. That finally pulls you out of your daze. Heart racing, you lean in first. And harder.

Before he can meet your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, you close your mouth over his, plunging your tongue deep and drawing out a moan from him.

Using the momentum to push him back against the panel, you raise his hand up above his head, kissing him with every bit of the passion you've been holding back, ignoring the pulsing need to give in and simply press your body up against him, kiss him, taste him. Instead, you focus on getting his hand into position, and give a satisfied hum against his mouth as you clip the second binder back into place.

He makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat, but he does not stop kissing you.

His lips are ravenous, as if he knows the second he stops, you're going to pull away. He isn't playing with you; isn't going along with your teasing. He's unabashedly trying to feel whatever he can get. You use it to your advantage, pushing his pliant body toward the bed, sucking his bottom lip as you ease him down until he's lying beneath you.

When you finally pull apart, you murmur against his mouth, "I'm sorry."

He's looking up at you, lips parted, looking slightly accusatory but overall like he would very much like to continue kissing. "That was quite unfair."

"I... I couldn't trust myself," you admit, sitting up.

He licks his lips, then answers in an infuriatingly calm tone, "You might have trusted me instead, then."

You sit back, letting your eyes travel brazenly over his body, his arms held above his head and the rest of him lying spread out for you. You swallow, then try to match his unaffected tone. "Well. You never agreed to the terms, did you?"

His chest is heaving, but he still maintains that silky-smooth intonation. "I was hardly given the chance."

You drag your fingers up and down his skin, starting with his arms, which look thick and bracing from this angle. The dark hair of his underarms is inexplicably salacious.

"And if I gave you the chance now?" you ask, fingers drifting lower, brushing over the sensitive skin of his sides. You watch him shiver, skin prickling.

"The terms were... quite restrictive," he retorts, then closes his mouth to breathe through his nose.

By the time you reach his waist, he's visibly straining under your touch. He no longer looks combative. He just looks very, very serious.

You brush your fingers along his pants, taking care to stay above the waistline. After you've run your nails along it a few times, you casually ask him, "Can I take these off?"

He nods his head, ruffling his hair in the back. "Please."

"Mm," you answer, then slide your thumbs back up to play with his nipples again. "Good to know."

He sucks in, letting out sharp, harsh little breaths as you toy with him. You bring one thumb up to your mouth, lick it, and then slide it across his right nipple. Then you lean over his body to blow softly over the wet skin.

He jerks, sucking air between his teeth at the sensation, and meets your eyes. "Wh-why did you ask, if you weren't - ah - going to..."

He trails off as you lightly drag your nails down his chest, not stopping as you brush over his hardened nipples. His back arches off the bed and you can see the muscles of his arms clench tight.

"Because," you reply, forcefully nonchalant, "I want to make sure you won't stop me."

"I assure you," he grinds out, "That is the furthest thing from my mind."

He's dangerously close to encouraging you. Should you remind him that he can't technically ask for this, or you will have to stop?

No. He knows the rules. He said it himself.

You tease a finger beneath his waistband, then go back to stroking him lightly over the chest, humming approvingly at every little panting breath he gives in return.

You try to think of a way to re-frame things, giving him a careful reply. "Besides... it's not like you have the means to stop me, if you wanted to."

He nods along vigorously, watching you get closer and closer to his straining cock with every brush of your hand.

"You're right," he breathes.

You palm him through his clothes, his head falling back in relief when you finally touch him. The weight of his cock in your hand makes you want to moan. He's leaking through the fabric, so hard it must be painful. He gives a small whimper at the contact.

Your mouth already watering, you continue to give him soft, slow strokes, watching his face contort beautifully. Enjoying the sensation, you intend to draw this out as long as possible. The thought suddenly makes you shake your head a little.

"I can't believe you thought I was doing this all for you," you say softly. "You really thought I wasn't enjoying myself? That I wasn't into this?"

"Believe me..." He pauses to catch his breath, opening his eyes to look down at you. "If I had thought that those holos you sent were anything but instruments of torture, I would have taken your door off its hinges getting into to your quarters."

"What?" you blurt out, hand stilling on his cock. "But... you wouldn't have been able to do anything."

His brows furrow slightly. "On the contrary. Giving myself pleasure is strictly forbidden. Giving you pleasure..."

"...would have left you even worse off," you finish for him, trying to be reasonable.

He gives you a rakish grin. "A sacrifice well worth making."

Fuck, you need his cock in your mouth.

You gather fabric tight in both your hands, dragging his pants off his hips all in one slow, deliberate pull. You keep the fabric taut, gripping hard until his cock bursts out, standing rigidly all at once. Enveloping the leaking tip in your mouth, you can't hold back any longer. You take him all in one swallow.

He gasps, shockingly loud this time.

The sound warms your cheeks, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, and you begin to bob your head over the length of him as he lets out anguished sounds from deep in his chest.

You keep your hand wrapped around the base of him, pumping him steadily, drool filling your mouth embarrassingly fast. His hips are bucking to meet every jerk of your hand, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of him filling you up. You lift your eyes to see his face, but from this angle all you can see is the underside of his beard and his flushed, open lips. His head is thrown back in what looks like silent agony.

You slide your lips back to his head, sucking there until he makes a deliciously urgent, overwhelmed sound. Then you pop off of him for a moment, licking your lips and letting him catch his breath. His chest is flushed red, sweat beading at his brow. He looks down at you, eyes wild.

"Fuck," he whines raggedly. "Oh, fuck..."

You smile innocently. "Good?"

He drops his head back, panting. "Unbelievable."

You hum in response, gently kissing the side of his cock. He twitches, and you flatten your tongue, licking a slow stripe from his base to his tip, then spread your lips and take him again in one languid mouthful. You drag several more expletives out of him, gripping his thigh with one hand and starting to tease his balls with the other.

"Oh, yes," he moans, hands dropping limp against his restraints. "That's it. Don't- don't stop..."

Your eyes go wide and you slow down, hesitating. Isn't that... isn't what he just said...

You hold him with one hand, stopping and swallowing so you can speak. "I, uh- um..."

He sits up, pulling at the chain to look at you, eyes glossy and lost. "Your mouth," he rasps. "Please."

That seals it. Damn him.

He's at the edge of coming. You can feel his dick throbbing in your hand, and you could give it to him. You could, but...

"I... I can't," you answer, hating the words. You stroke him a little, not able to move away or let go. Not able to stop entirely.

Breath escapes him in erratic huffs. He sounds like he's almost laughing in disbelief, but his face is all desperate panic. "What?"

"I can't," you say, sounding like you're pleading. "You told me you couldn't ask for it. You made me promise."

His mouth is hanging open. All he says is your name as an obtestation.

Your face crumbles. "I'm sorry. I have to. You... you wanted this."

He shakes his head. "No, no, listen-"

"I should really..." You need to excuse yourself. Put as much distance between you as possible. Lock yourself out of the room if you have to. But looking at him like this... His hair is a matted mess. It's flattened against the crown of his head and jutting up behind his ears where he'd rubbed against his own arms, writhing under your touch. His jaw is slack, his chest ruddy and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You've never seen him like this before. If you didn't know better, you'd think he'd seen battle.

"S-should really..." you repeat, face pinched tight in denial as you jerk him slowly and watch him buck at the slightest touch. "I should go."

"No, wait," he urges, voice cracking a little. "Just- just stay. For a moment."

"I don't think I should." You finally pull your hand away and he sighs roughly.

"Let me feel you," he pleads, eyes meeting yours.

"No, I... I'm not supposed to," you reply, wanting absolutely nothing more than to give in.

He shakes his head. "Please. Let me touch you."

A flush overtakes you, and you sit up to pull the edge of a blanket over your unclothed lower half. "I can't... let you do that."

He looks physically pained at your answer. "You cannot leave me like this. Only a touch. Just one hand. I'll do nothing to break our agreement."

His offer is so clearly going to make things harder for him, and perhaps it's selfish to accept it. Perhaps you should hesitate; let him take some time to reconsider.

Perhaps a better friend would have taken a moment to meditate on exactly what it meant for you to allow this one final concession. Or any of the other little concessions that have led you to this very choice.

But you aren't a good friend. You are a very bad, very fallible friend. And you release just one of his wrists. And he's sitting up, leaning toward you before you've even moved the blanket.

He kisses you, hand dropping down immediately, dragging from your stomach down to your navel. It feels like he's setting you alight. When he goes lower, you bite back a pathetic whine. You're already so worked up, the faintest attention from him is overwhelming.

"Uncuff me," he whispers against your lips, fingers grazing your sensitive skin.

You sigh helplessly. Stars, you want nothing more. You swallow, shaking your head in a feeble attempt to regain control. His fingers slide between your legs and his mouth falls open when he feels how wet you are.

"Oh, darling, uncuff me."

You shake your head again, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers delve deeper, your slick dripping over his hand. "N-no, Obi Wan, I can't," you plead, close to the edge already.

How can you tell him that the binders are now your last shred of self-control and you have no idea what will happen if they come off?

"Mm-" you whine high in your throat, letting yourself give into the feeling of him touching you, if only for a moment. Then you reach down to grasp his wrist, as if to stop him, but making no effort to actually go through with it.

Feeling his wrist move beneath your palm, you can't deny the thrill of letting him do this to you while holding onto his arm. You're acting as if you're holding him back when you're practically guiding him through it.

He curls his fingers up and presses them deep inside you, making you moan. It's such a needy, depraved sound that your eyes widen in surprise and you suddenly realize that you need to stop before you lose control completely.

Obi Wan catches the look in your eyes, though, and it's in that moment that you realize - you already have.

He leans forward to kiss your neck, pumping his fingers faster. "Let me taste you," he whispers against your neck, breath hot and ragged. 

You lift your head, giving him more space to drag his tongue across your skin. "We shouldn't."

"There isn't a single rule you would be breaking."

You bite your lip, unable to focus on anything but the way he feels inside you.

"Please, let me hear you come, or I'll spend my nights dreaming of it until I go mad. Let me taste you. It's all I ask."

"Fuuuck." You drag out the word.

Every other day of your life, you can be a Jedi. You can be mindful and temperate and restrained. But not tonight. Not with his eyes so soft, his deep, accented voice sliding thick around your name, pleading for all these lovely sins.

If it had been anyone but him, you could have said no. But it's Obi Wan.

Obi Wan, whispering soft encouragement when you lean into his side, pressing your finger on the button.

Obi Wan, rolling over your body and wrapping you in his arms the instant he's free, pinning you to the bed and sucking at your neck like you're dripping honey.

Obi Wan, pulling you down to the edge of the bed with the strength and wildness of a man who's been denied far too long.

Obi Wan, kneeling between your legs and sliding his tongue into your pussy before you can say another word.

"Obi Wan..." His name spills out of you like a confession. Like you've been waiting to moan it like this since the day you'd agreed never to do it again.

His eyes are closed, his proud, regal nose buried deep between your thighs. He starts to drag his tongue up the river of slick pouring out of you, over and over and over while you squirm at the warm, unyielding pressure he's giving you. He's nowhere near your clit. This is all for him. Just tasting you, like he'd said.

It takes him a few minutes to gain some semblance of composure, finally pulling back to lick you properly, from the pool of your wetness all the way up. His tongue is flat and firm, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat when you roll your hips against him.

"Shit-" you gasp, pleasure winding steadily through your body with every methodical drag of his mouth. He's kissing you; sucking you - fervent, hungry, almost punishing. When his tongue delves into you again, the bedding twists beneath your hands.

"So good," you urge him on, wishing you could come up with better words to describe what he's doing to you, but your mind is half gone already, melted into a puddle of 'yes' and 'ohh' and 'just like that...'

You fight to open your eyes. It's going to be over too quickly if you keep them closed, letting the heat curl up hard and sudden. You need to stretch this out. You want to enjoy every moment, every detail. But looking down, you quickly realize, is only going to send you rocketing over the edge.

His eyes are still closed, his brows knitted hard together. You can't resist running your fingers through his beautiful golden hair, enjoying the way the dim light plays in the feathery locks. Running your hand along his ear, you sigh without meaning to. You could come just from the sight of him.

"We can... slow down," you force out, trying to make him give you a second to breathe. He just keeps licking you. Same steady pace. Same hard grip on your thighs.

"If you want," you try again.

He finally slows, murmuring warm words against you. "You haven't the faintest idea, do you?"

An electric thrill courses through you at the sound of his deepened voice, hearing and feeling it at the same time. "Mm?" is all you can manage to squeak out.

Then he pulls his mouth from between your legs and looks up at you, beard sopping wet and just the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. "How badly I've longed for this."

As he replaces his mouth with his thumb, rubbing softly at your clit, you gasp and stammer out, "Because of the Nikk-" you shudder, shocks of pleasure rolling through you as he slides the back of his index finger up and down, gathering your wetness. "Th-the trial?"

He slides that finger, along with a second one, back inside you. Your gasp turns broken, choked off in the back of your throat.

His blue eyes are piercing in their intensity, his voice low and a little rough when he gives you his answer before sealing his mouth over you again.

"No."

Your eyes roll back in your head as he plays with your clit, tongue stroking over you as your hands bury themselves in his soft hair.

"Obi Wan!" you choke out, all the heat inside you gathering tightly and ready to burst. "Fuck!"

He gives you perfect rhythm, working you from two directions at once; inside and outside, steady and merciless. You can feel the soft bristles of his beard against the tender skin of your inner thigh as his jaw moves, and you mentally file it away - knowing the memory is going to haunt you every time your own fingers bring you relief when you're alone.

When he finally sends you flying over the edge, your moans turn into ragged whimpers, your body tensing hard as your pussy convulses and twitches around his fingers. You cry his name again, almost in shock at how good it feels. He's wringing every bit of your orgasm from you, dragging his fingers in that perfect curl until you have to sit up, palms digging into the mattress and rocking your body forward as the pleasure starts to flirt with overstimulation.

When you do, though, you can see the motion his body is making. It's dark in the room, but the light coming off the nearby control panel is enough to see Obi Wan's hips thrusting even as his upper body stays pinned between your thighs.

A sudden wave of euphoria shoots through your veins as you realize he's fucking himself against the bed while you're coming in his mouth.

"Fuck," he gasps, pulling off only when you shove back his shoulders. His eyes don't leave your center. "I can't... I need-"

Your mouth is still hanging open as you collapse back on the bed, legs trembling. You blink at him through a daze, watching him where he kneels. His hand - the same one he's just slid out of your pussy - goes straight between his legs and he moans.

His expression is like nothing you've ever seen him wear before. He looks completely debauched; eyes so big and soft and tormented, deep red flush set high on his cheek bones, and mouth dropped open like he's fighting for his breath. Despite your bone-deep satisfaction, you feel a flutter in your stomach from seeing him like this.

"I can't," he repeats, using one big palm to cradle your thigh as he strokes his cock furiously. "Please..."

Your hand slides down to touch his as he grips your soft skin, thumb dragging through the wetness that's spread all over your inner thighs. Your head still in the clouds, you manage to pant out, "You... made me promise..."

"A promise, is that all?" he asks, voice shaking. "Keep it. I just... need to feel you."

Wondering if it's your hazy thoughts or his words that are making no sense, you loll your head to the side. "How... could we...?"

"It isn't against the rules. I swear it."

Technically, many things could be allowed within the rules. The way the Nikkama is worded... though it's been translated so many times...

There's the letter of the law, and the spirit of the law. Which one can you bring yourself to follow?

With Obi Wan staring up at you, stomach smeared with his own sticky mess from rubbing himself against a mattress instead of you, technicalities suddenly sound incredibly tempting.

"Damn," you say softly as you unabashedly stare at him. "You truly are a great negotiator."

His brows knead together. "Negotiating? No, darling, I am begging."

He sinks one knee into the edge of the bed, leaning over you. "This is a cry for mercy."

As he strokes himself, you find yourself spreading your legs.

"Obi Wan..."

"Please, I... a-anything," he stammers hoarsely, hand grazing his cock and then tightening as he looks down. "I need it quite- quite badly."

You watch the way he palms himself, brazenly drinking in every inch of your body. And you realize how truly weak you are.

"You... couldn't put it inside..."

Relief seems to flood him as he shakes his head, leaning into you and stroking himself faster. "No... no..."

He thumbs gently at your pussy, spreading you open, and groans.

"Stars, you're so... You're dripping," he murmurs, sounding awestruck. "Lovely girl."

You make a high noise in the back of your throat, not able to answer as the heavy warmth of his cockhead is pressed against you, sliding between the lips of your pussy.

Obi Wan makes a sound like he's taken a blaster bolt straight to the chest. He still has one leg on the floor and you can feel his thigh shaking, struggling to hold him up. He's half pressing himself down into your warmth, frantic and messy as his hips buck at their own pace.

You're still buzzing from your first orgasm, but there's something deeper than just the physical that's starting to burn again already. The look on his face alone is enough to make you throb.

"We... we have to stop," you say, in a voice that's anything but convincing. "We- we have to."

"It's alright," he pants out, eyes glassy as his hands slide to your waist, holding you steady to fuck through your slick, inviting warmth. "It's alright."

You know it's not, but feeling him rocking against you like this, desperate and needy and savage, you can no longer bring yourself to care.

"F-fuck." His voice breaks, dropping off from a whine. "It's too much-"

He drops his hand into the bedding, the other hand holding your leg open as he thrusts against you, slipping over and over through the wet mess of your pussy as you writhe beneath him, hips rolling at the stimulation. His thick head dragging over your clit with each thrust is stoking the heat inside you, building it up all over again.

"Too much, it's too... oh, stars above, I'm going to come, I-"

He looks up at you with sudden, shocked eyes as if he's pleading for you to stop him, but you're too blissed-out and worked up to do anything of the sort. He reaches down, gripping himself and whimpering, still rutting against you, even through his fist.

His hips buck once more, twice, then...

"Fuck, I'm coming..."

He shudders, the head of his cock thrusting over your clit and shooting warm ropes of cum over your pussy, coating you until you're dripping with it. As each spatter of cum hits your skin, waves of pleasure and relief flood you, almost as if you're the one who's finally being allowed to come after weeks and months of building it up.

When he finally finishes, you let your head fall back, exhausted.

"Shit," you breathe out. "That... was incredible."

A low groan is all he gives you in response, still thrusting his softening cock against you. His eyelids dip low and he seems lost in a trance. You close your own eyes, letting yourself enjoy it. You can't deny your satisfaction, soaking in his sticky mess.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Obi Wan," you tell him after a few long moments of feeling him slowly drag against you. You wonder if he's quiet from disappointment, or something else. He doesn't answer you.

"I guess we failed, then?" you ask softly, trying to hide the desire in your voice when he slides over your clit. He doesn't stop moving, just slows to a pace that sends shivers down every inch of your body.

Still looking like he hasn't quite come back to himself, Obi Wan finally replies, "I wouldn't say that."

You smirk, but it's cut short when you feel him start to glide against your entrance. You stiffen, unsure whether it was an accident.

"I... I thought..."

"It's alright," he says soothingly again, just as he had before. He doesn't make any effort to elaborate.

He slides back and forth a few times more, then gathers some of the cum that's dripped down your legs with the head of his cock, pushing it back inside you. It's only when you feel him pressing at your entrance again that you realize he's starting to get hard.

"Obi Wan..." you murmur, eyes rolling back when he tenses, about to push in.

"Yes." He says it as a statement and a question, all at once. Looking up to meet your eyes, he waits, as if wondering if you'll ask him to stop. As if terrified that you will.

It's then that you realize, you aren't going to stop him. You simply don't have the power within you. Whatever it is that draws you so deeply to Obi Wan is stronger than you can bear to hold off anymore. But you have to put up a show, even if the lie is only for his benefit.

You swallow. "I don't think we should."

His eyes close with a particularly slow thrust. When he opens them, he replies with an edge of nervousness in his voice. "You don't think we should, or you don't want to?"

Trust him to get to the heart of the matter. You tamp down the hot whine in the back of your throat. "It doesn't matter," you reply, knowing you just gave your answer.

"I -ah - I won't..." he breaks off into a moan when the head of his cock presses shallowly into you.

 "...won't put it in?" you ask, vulgar. 

He shakes his head, mouth open. "No, I won't."

Your pussy sucks him tightly, making you gasp. "N-not all the way?"

He moves, and you hear the obscene sound of him sliding in and out of you. "No. No."

He shoves in a little deeper this time, making room for himself. Everything in you is burning to ask him for more. Feeling this much of him is like torture. He's right there, so big, so thick, and you just want him to fill you as completely as only he can.

Instead, you nod along with his words. "As long as you're in control."

He pulls out with a gasp, thrusting against the side of your pussy as if you've brought him back to reality for a moment.

Gasping to catch your own breath and fighting the urge to clench your thighs around him in frustration at the loss, you ask him shakily, "You're in control, right?"

He nods, arms trembling as he holds himself over you, still simulating fucking you with quiet ferocity.

"Perfectly," he promises, the word sounding drawn out, like he's barely aware he's saying it.

"Good," you tell him, fully concentrated on his cock spreading you open again, pushing into you with careful restraint. "Okay."

He holds there for one blissful moment, then frantically pulls out again, rubbing over your clit and moaning. The sound makes your pussy throb, clenching around nothing.

"I- I just need..." he lines up with you again, and you can feel a heavy spurt of precum dribbling from his cock just before he pushes inside. "Oh, need to feel you."

This time, when he stretches you open and you watch his face get drawn and tight, you realize this is the last time you can stand it. If he pulls out again, you will actually lose your mind. You feel like you've lost it a little already.

You reach a hand up, brushing back the hair that's fallen over his face, then wrap both your arms around his neck. "You are feeling me, Obi Wan."

He lets out a deep groan, pushing shallowly in and out of you.

"Do you want to come inside me this time?"

He makes a choking sound, hips stuttering wildly as he pulls back out. "You would let me?"

Heat warms your cheeks, as you suddenly remember his earlier words. "Well... didn't you say something about begging?"

Obi Wan meets your eyes, his cock hanging heavy against you. "Please, let me finish inside you."

It makes your stomach flip, and it takes your full concentration not to come on the spot. You force out a teasing, "What happened to your Jedi resolve?"

He's still holding you in his gaze as his voice goes low and plaintive. "You've broken it, darling." He gives a little groan as he pushes the tip of his cock back inside. "Along with the rest of me."

His hips shift down a little this time, and his next thrust is world-shattering.

You make a noise somewhat like a sob and he slowly pulls back, moaning deep in his chest.

"I'm sorry, that- that was a mistake, I-"

You spread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, drawing him down to your lips for a kiss, and he sheaths himself again, fucking into you as if by instinct.

As you melt into the kiss, all the smiles and the wide eyes and the hesitating glances disappear instantly, as if a switch has been flipped. The air suddenly feels electric, and he's inside you, and everything is right in the universe.

He caves his body into yours, pounding into you with a desperate, relentless rhythm that you can feel humming in your blood. It feels like someone kick-started your heart for the first time in years.

"Thought about this for so long," you confess, losing yourself in the perfect strokes he's giving you. "You feel... so fucking good, Obi Wan."

He's panting out obscenities between every moan, but pauses to hear you speak. When he stops, at long last, it's to take off your bodice. Your breasts fall softly free of your clothing and you sigh in contentment as he pulls your naked body close, kissing you deeply.

His arms fall to your waist and he pins you down to the bed, fucking you hard and mean and perfect. His cock is so deep it's making you want to cry in relief as the waves of pleasure overtake you.

"I'm... I'm gonna come," you blurt, embarrassingly quickly.

He answers in a voice you've heard in devotary halls and senate chambers. A voice of smooth confidence and authority. A voice you've heard speaking countless holy words. 

His voice is shaking as he begs.

"Come for me, please."

You gasp his name.

"Come on my cock."

Your fingers clasp helplessly around the muscles of his arm as you twitch and writhe, face pulled tight in devastating bliss.

"Come all over my cock and let me feel it."

You come for him, the feeling ripping through you with shocking intensity as he fucks you recklessly, hungrily, desperately.

He snaps his hips hard suddenly, a shocked, "Fuck, Fuck!" tearing out of him. He spills deep inside you, coming and coming and coming as your pussy milks every drop out of him.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, as he pulls back and stuffs you full again. You can feel his cum starting to leak out as his thrusts become slower and more ragged.

"Ohhh, stars," he breathes out, suddenly empty of obscenities. "Oh, my word."

He stays there, head bowed and cock deep inside you, draining the last of himself until both of you have quieted your moaning. Then your eyes meet, and you blush. You share a knowing look, and then you kiss him.

He kisses you back, cupping your jaw gently, then slowly pulls out, making you both groan. He lies down next to you in the messy blankets, pulling you close, and you roll over to look at him properly.

"That was..."

"I know."

He kisses you again.

You lie in silence, then, just enjoying the feeling of being held by him. Finally, you work up your courage and ask him the question that's been waiting at the tip of your tongue.

"Are you... I mean... was that alright?"

He regards you, looking confused. "My darling, how could you ask such a question?"

Your lashes flutter and you look down, caught off-guard for what feels like the hundredth time by his affection. "No, I mean... with the Nikkama, I'm just... I'm sorry if I let you down."

Obi Wan's eyes go soft, and he whispers your name. "Would you like to know why I chose to ask you to act as my witness?"

Despite your bone-tired body, you're suddenly wide awake. Finally, an answer to the question you'd repeatedly thought you'd figured out.

"Yes. Please tell me."

He looks down. "Because..." He pauses to lift your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. "Of all the people in my life, there are few with whom I would feel comfortable discussing... well... matters of a carnal nature."

You nod, unsurprised.

"And... of those few, there was only one person whom I felt I could trust never to return any feelings of mine."

Your eyes go wide.

"No matter how absurdly attractive..." He kisses your hand. "How wildly intoxicating..." He kisses your cheek. "How maddeningly irresistible I may find her."

He leans down and kisses along your jaw, tracing his thumb alongside it. His words are making your head swim.

"Wh... why would you think that?" you whisper, utterly stunned and confused.

Obi Wan answers matter-of-factly, "When you ended things between us-"

"When we ended things," you interrupt, brows furrowed.

He looks at you evenly, then softly continues, "When things came to an end between us, you asked me to promise we would never behave inappropriately again. It was my belief that was what you wanted."

You feel like a rug the size of a planet has been pulled out from under you. 

"We both agreed... I mean, I thought we both agreed we were becoming too attached."

He smiles gently. "We did agree on that."

"And I... I mean, we..."

"When you asked that we spend less time with one another, I certainly agreed it would do some good. What I didn't expect was that the next time I reached for your hand, you would pull away."

You can hardly speak. "So you never..."

He lifts his eyebrows good-naturedly. "You broke my heart, my dear girl."

Years of unrequited moments come crashing down all at once. Every time you'd looked at him longingly from across the room, wondering if things could be different...

And the way you'd treated him during this entire trial...

You'd been torturing him. It was no wonder he thought you were doing him a favor by indulging him.

"Obi Wan, I... I regretted ending things," you confess, looking up at him. "I thought so many times about telling you my feelings, but I always held back because I thought it was what we both wanted."

"Well," he replies lightly, though his eyes are penetratingly intense. "What do you think now?"

You capture his mouth in a kiss that's full of every emotion you've left unspoken for years. You don't need another moment to think about it. You've thought about it so terribly, terribly long.

He pulls you close, deepening the kiss as you sigh softly through your nose. This is where you want to be. No question.

When you part, you're both smiling like a couple of padawans. You lay your head on his shoulder and pull the blankets tightly around your neck. Obi Wan drags lazy kisses along your brow, and your eyelids begin to grow heavy. You should really get up and tidy things before you drift off, but right now there's nothing that could make you want to move from his arms.

In the silence that follows, Obi Wan draws slow circles with his fingers over the soft skin of your shoulder. You clear your throat quietly.

"Just to say it, though," you murmur into his skin, "I am sorry we didn't pass the trial."

You can feel him smile against the top of your head.

"What is achievement without failure? I am more than willing to try again. Provided that... you were there to help me?"

"In ten years?" You lift your eyes to him, warm in his embrace. "Of course I will be."

--

A/N: Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this final chapter! I hope you liked it! <3

Taglist: @slinkygail @wheres-mylove @millercontracting @cacti5539 @b0xerdancer-writes @spcecadet6

Previous Chapter // Masterlist

[lavenderpop]

*smacks Draxum* this bad boy can fit so much angst and despair

[mettywiththenotes]

See it's panels like these that make me wish we could have had a full battle involving Izuku and Tomura fighting together with the vestiges against AFO

[puhpandas]

I keep thinking about how on earth they would canonize ggy bc like. at this point if they have to sacrifice Gregory screentime of just him to make something we already know actually canon, I would rather just take the screentime, but on the other hand they have to canonize it if they want to do anything at all with that plotline, and that makes me wonder if theyll stick with it as canon in the games at all or just leave it as background knowledge if u read the book 😭

[shackleton2]

I love this scene.

When you think about how sure Steve was that saying those words would immediately not just get his 2012's attention but cut his puppet strings completely, and THEN you think about what Rumlow said to him in Lagos and what he said about that to Wanda: "Rumlow said 'Bucky' and all of a sudden I was a 16 year old kid in Brooklyn again" ?????

I think Steve has a pretty sad private insight about his state of mind after waking up in the future. I don't think he becomes consciously aware of it until he is Tired Endgame Steve. But he woke up in a strange world all alone, was immediately pointed at an alien army destroying his home, and mentally survived it. How? Maybe by partitioning and compartmentalizing his whole self to an insane degree that most of us would not only be incapable of, we also wouldn't get away with it, because someone who KNOWS US would be like dude wtf why are you being a weird mannequin right now?

So 2012 (and the years past that) Steve Rogers is playing the role of Captain America full-time. He is going along with what modern people assume of him after being a dead legend for decades. Captain America is not of a particular era, he is a timeless symbol. He is not so much "of" the 1940s as a person, he is a cartoon character with a WW2 theme. He is a soldier. He is a grandpa because everyone quips about it. He is indestructible and always mentally ok the same way everyone's WW2 grandpa was always ok.

What he is definitely not is Steve Rogers, the actual living guy who grew up poor in Brooklyn and ran off to war. Which is fine because there is no one left in the world who remembers that guy-- nothing but the occasional moment of recognition Peggy Carter in the nursing home can offer him.

Bucky Barnes shattered that when Steve saw his face on the bridge and every time he saw him or thought of him or was reminded of him after that.

So when he's fighting his 2012 self and can't get out of his chokehold he tells him Bucky is alive because he knows the guy behind him is a strong but brittle front or shield protecting Steve Rogers who is too traumatized and desperately alone to even FIGHT.

I know I'm anti Endgame but

The fact that 2012 Steve was trying to kill current Steve because he thought it was Loki but immediately stopped when hearing Bucky's name 😕

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.