#Ghosts are the only ones who can feel the bond and appreciate it

[nelkcats]

Death Companions

It is said that all people have a partner, one that is predetermined; some are platonic soulmates, others romantic soulmates, but the main thing was that they were meant to be by your side, understand you, and not always support your decisions.

They were more like a kind of impulse control, someone to help you see beyond your choices and thoughts. While they were "meant" to understand you, that doesn't mean they supported all your decisions without complaint. Some would say they were there to help you be a better person.

But there was a catch: no one would know who their companion is until they die. Maybe it was a cruel twist of fate, that you would be forced to live your life without any clue as to whether you were doing it correctly. That you might never meet your partner in your life, that you would only have each other until all the stupid tests ended.

A way for the universe to say "fuck you" to humans who desperately wanted guidance on how to live. Or maybe, it was a way of telling them that there was no such guide, and that if they gave all the clues humans would never be free to make their own decisions.

So, maybe Jason Todd and Danny Fenton were the luckiest people on the fucking planet, for being the only ones who knew about each other, for being the only ones who could see that thread connecting them.

Personally neither of them felt lucky, dying was horrible, but at least the thread helped them feel less alone. Maybe someday one of them would be brave enough to follow it.

[goldfades]

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

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for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[aspidisnothere]

Presence. Viktor x Sapphire (Arcane OC) blurb below the image!

Her presence wrapped around him before her body did, a current of warmth and understanding that seeped into his soul. Cloying and refreshing all at once, her essence never sought to overwhelm him, only to anchor, grounding the chaos in his mind while fanning the flame of their shared connection.

Her thoughts no longer vied to replace his but wove seamlessly into the fabric of his consciousness, a delicate symbiosis of two minds moving as one. When her chest pressed to his back, the quiet rhythm of her heart syncing with his, until he couldn’t say if he hears one heart or two at once. Her need blanketed him with delightful heaviness, making him pliant, giving him the opportunity to lean back into her, to surrender, in a way.

His senses parsed her chemistry instinctively, with reverence of a lover. Every molecule was a hymn to their bond, a hymn that spoke of trust deeper than words, a love built on the unshakable foundation of shared understanding. She was the only one who could dismantle him so completely and rebuild him stronger in the same breath.

Her giggle bubbled up in his own throat, light and unrestrained, a sound so rare it startled him into opening his eyes. The echo of her laugh ringed in his mind, while her lips stayed closed and her joy spilled into him like sparkling wine trough the intricate wires connecting their consciousness. He turned his head, catching her mischievous smile.

“Something amuses you, Sapphire?” he asked, though he didn’t need an answer. Yet, he asked anyway, because hearing her voice was a pleasure he would never take for granted.

She laughed then, actually laughed. A soft, velvety sound that vibrated against his skin as her hands slid up his chest. “Something… someone…” she murmured, her voice a whisper that settled over him like silk. Maybe a little deeper than remembered, like she grew more confident in her own body.

Her hands slowly slide up his body, hard planes of his hexed flesh throb beneath each caress and Viktor lets out a short sigh, just as Sapphire hums in appreciation in the space between his uncovered shoulder blades.

She chuckled again and Viktor felt the corners of his lips tilt upward.

He stopped her hand, intertwining their fingers and lifting them into the light filtering through the greenhouse glass. The interplay of shadow and glow caught the metallic threads in his hexed flesh and reflected in the delicate human softness of hers. Their bond was there, palpable in every shared glance, every unspoken thought. Her consciousness brushed against his, tentative but present, giving him a taste of her emotions, her unwavering trust, her unspoken devotion.

“You’re cataloging scents again,” she teased, her voice carrying the gentle lilt of her amusement. “A brilliant mind that refuses to rest even for something so trivial...”

“Scent? Trivial?” Viktor’s voice dipped into incredulous disbelief, though there was a faint curve of amusement to his words. “You do realize how much information a single molecule carries? How it can tell a story, mark a moment, or even warn of danger?”

Sapphire’s smile widened, and she tilted her head to nuzzle into the nape of his neck, lips grazing metal etched into the spines. Her voice a low, teasing whisper. “I realize you’re the only one who could turn my perfume into a philosophical debate.”

Her breath ghosted over his skin, pulling a quiet hum from deep in his chest. “Hardly philosophical. Perfume, as you call it, is merely a layered compound, designed to—”

She cut him off with a playful squeeze of his hand. “—to distract and delight. You love it because it reminds you of me, not because of the molecular structure.”

He paused, turning his head just enough to catch the edge of her grin. Her words disarmed him, as they always did, wrapping him in that strange, contradictory comfort she embodied. She was his chaos and his clarity, and it left him feeling both unbalanced and utterly centered.

“I…” His voice softened, hesitant but honest. “I love it because it’s you.”

For a moment, the light filtering through the greenhouse caught in her hair, turning the strands into threads of liquid amber. Her smile softened, the teasing glint in her eyes giving way to something quieter, something far more dangerous to his carefully guarded heart.

“You see?” she whispered, leaning forward until her lips touched the sensitive skin of his neck again. “Even you can admit it. You’re not as logical as you like to think of yourself, Viktor.”

“Mm,” he murmured, his lips quirking again, this time with a hint of self-deprecation. “And you’re not as gentle as you pretend, Sapphire.”

For a long moment, they stayed there, quiet in the haze of the greenhouse, her warmth sinking into his back, his pulse slowing to match hers. Viktor finally broke the silence, his voice a whisper meant only for her.

“It is a lot of power to hold over someone. I wouldn’t want to abuse it.”

Sapphire smiled into his skin. “You can have it.”

[bluecollarmcandtf]

"Dude, I'm in your brother-in-law!"

Panic twists your gut as the bizarre scene sinks in! Those unnaturally clouded eyes are the trademark of Jimmy, your long-dead friend, and they're sitting in the skull of Carlos, your sister's fiance! The ghost is up to his usual antics, possessing yet another guy in your life without any regard to you.

"Did you imagine a tight gym rat like this would wear undies like these?" Jimmy chuckles, referring to Carlos' patterned boxers, "I mean how could you be so intimidated by a guy who's got hearts on his crotch?"

The underwear is the least of your worries: the man is supposed to be walking down the aisle in an hour! It may have been a dick move for your sister to get engaged to your high school bully, but that didn't mean you wanted her future husband to be late to the altar!

"Don't even bother asking me to get out of this body, dude!" the deep baritone of Carlos sings with Jimmy's cadence, "The only thing I plan on getting out of is this tux! Training like this needs to be appreciated, and who better to appreciate it than you? I'm sure you'd love to know what your sister is getting tonight..."

"I mean just look at these abs. It's like a rock hard washboard if you want a feel..." Jimmy winks one of his starkly blank eyes at you, "...speaking of being rock hard, it looks like you're enjoying this bonding time with your new brother-in-law. After all, Carlos does need to apologize for all the bullying he did in high school."

With a racing heart, you shush him and beg for Johnny to leave. He needs to return Carlos to normal before anyone notices! The wedding would be over if someone found the groom naked and flirting with the brother of the bride!

"If you're gonna be my new little bro..." Jimmy says with an unsettlingly accurate impression of Carlos' demeanor, "...then I think you should get to know me. Come on and grab my fat, meaty pecs; pinch my nipples; let me know who the real man is around here..."

It's hard to resist. You've only ever caught stolen glances at Carlos. The jerk would always shove you into a locker when he caught you staring in his direction, yet now he was begging for your attention.

"Come on, bro. Grab my athletic little ass and grope my crotch. It's the least I can do after targeting you for all these years."

Before you realize what you're doing, you find yourself rushing towards the shredded latino and pressing yourself against his exposed body, layered with dense musculature. Part of you still expected Carlos to kick you in the nuts and call you a slur, but his lips instead gleefully embrace your own.

"Damn, if I'd known being queer was this good, I woulda married you and not your sister!" he exclaims. You just roll your eyes, knowing Carlos isn't actually saying these things. Jimmy is just puppeteering his mouth for your amusement, "I bet having your dick in my mouth will be better than the tits of any girl! The only way a piece of crap like me can apologize is on my knees..."

You stifle a moan as all 200 lbs of the naked jock drops to his knees with a dopey grin. Carlos' soulless eyes stare at the tent in your pants like it's the most desirable thing in the world. It doesn't take long for him to unbuckle your pants and open his mouth...

...twenty minutes later, you're still catching your breath while Carlos slowly redresses.

"Now you can watch your sister marry this homophobic dirtbag and know that you've shoved your shaft down his throat," Jimmy purrs, enjoying his final moments in Carlos' form, "I'm not going to brush his teeth, so he'll have to taste you throughout the entire wedding."

You giggle at the thought of the guy wondering about the strange flavor in his mouth while reading his vows. Somehow, Carlos doesn't seem as big or intimidating as he once did.

"If it were up to me, I'd commandeer his whole life," Jimmy went on with a sparkle of enthusiasm in Carlos' clouded retinas, "I'd walk him out there in nothing but his heart-patterned undies and announce to his whole family that he's a flaming homosexual. Then I'd like to spend a couple weeks working his body as a stripper at the nearest club, and of course I'd come home to you every night..."

The idea of Carlos coming out to his orthodox family and working as a stripper is an insane one, but it did turn you on. It's too bad your sister's taken a liking towards him, otherwise, you'd tell Jimmy to go crazy with the guy.

"Imagine your old high school bully coming home to you every night, hot and sweaty from dancing all day, with a new skimpy costume for you to explore. Damn, I'd want you to find a new way to degrade me each night while I wore him. It'd be healthy, I think, after all he's put you through."

Jimmy's crazy ideas never cease to amaze you. A little time belittling Carlos sounds hot as hell!

You give Carlos one last kiss and remind your paranormal buddy that he has to leave soon. The stud frowns, looking sad that he won't be possessed by a gay spirit anymore. At least you know that if this man ever screws up, if he ever wrongs your sister, if he ever hurts her; Jimmy is just one seance away from charging back in his body and making this twisted fantasy come true. It's only a matter of time before Carlos screws up his marriage, and then he's yours.

You almost can't wait for your sister's marriage to fall apart, and it hasn't even begun...

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 6)

Over the next few weeks, Simon makes a strenuous effort to show you that he is sincere in his desire to make amends. He arranges several opportunities for you to spend time together, each one designed to allow you both to get to know each other better.

At first, you were hesitant, still unsure if his actions were truly sincere. The memory of his past behavior lingered, and you remained wary of his intentions. Yet, his persistence and the subtle shifts in his demeanor begin to chip away at your skepticism. 

You had thought him to be all proud and tough, icy and distant. This is not to say that he isn’t all sunshine and smiles, but he’s polite, softer, more gentle. All of these qualities, though, and he only seems to save them for you. With anyone else, he is just as stern and serious as he was when you first met him. It’s slightly amusing to see, and it warms your heart in a way you’ve never felt before. Yet, as the days pass, you begin to see another side of Simon. His thoughtful gestures and quiet kindness surprise you, revealing a depth of character you had not expected. You realized that he paid attention to minute details, noticing the little things that make you smile and remembering your preferences and dislikes. 

One afternoon, he surprises you with a picnic at your favorite spot by the lake in the park, having remembered an offhand comment you made weeks ago about how much you love the peacefulness there. As you sit together on the blanket, the gentle rippling of the water soothing you, you find yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn't anticipated.

"Simon," you begin, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "I've noticed how much effort you're putting into gaining my trust. It's... unexpected."

He looks at you, his expression earnest. "I meant every word of what I said. I want to make things right between us.”

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "I can see that now. And I appreciate it."

Much to your surprise, you find yourself looking forward to your time with Simon more and more. You had only really started doing these small outings with him as a way to mend a relationship, and nothing more. But, now that you’ve gotten to know him, you can’t deny the growing fondness in your heart. 

Simon, too, seems to cherish these outings more than he lets on. You see it in the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, in the gentle timbre of his voice when he speaks to you, and in the subtle touches that linger just a bit longer than necessary. 

He sends you flowers twice a week, leaves a book on your doorstep on Sunday mornings, and on Thursdays you receive jewels for upcoming soirees. 

At balls, he is practically glued to your side, your dance card always claimed by him. It’s become the talk of the ton: the cold-hearted Duke falling for the spirited lady he once scorned. The whispers and speculation only seems to spur Simon on, as if the very notion of your growing bond was a delicious secret. If any bachelor even so tried to ask you to dance, Simon would cast daggers in their direction. He acted as if you were already married, unwilling to let anyone else near you. You always pretended not to notice, but you noticed every detail. 

At the park, he often finds ways to make you laugh, his demeanor softening into something akin to warmth. One particularly sunny afternoon, you suggest a game of croquet. 

Simon opened his mouth to shoot down your idea, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to play for the sole reason that he knows he would lose against you. Who has time to play croquet, anyway? 

“You call that a swing, Mister Riley?” you tease, watching as Simon's ball veers wildly off course.

He chuckles, his eyes full of amusement. "Perhaps my skills lie elsewhere, my lady. Though, I must say, your form is impeccable."

You preen at the compliment. "Well, someone has to maintain some semblance of skill in this game," you chuckle.

Simon often invites you over to his estate for long walks, showing you around the vast gardens and the serene grounds he’s so proud of. Each visit reveals a new aspect of his life and his personality, drawing you ever closer. 

One late afternoon, as the sun begins to set and paints the sky in hues of orange and pink, Simon leads you to a secluded part of the estate—a quaint, hidden garden filled with blooming flowers and a gently gurgling fountain at its center.

“I come here to think,” he says softly, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. 

You’re touched by the gesture, understanding how much it means for him to open up a private part of his life to you. “It’s beautiful here, Mister Riley. Thank you for showing it to me.”

He smiles, a genuine, heartfelt expression that makes your heart flutter. “You’re welcome. I want you to feel at home here.”

You cock your head at that, when he says home. He stares at you for a moment, studying your expression. He then breaks contact, turning to face the fountain. 

"After my time in the military, I found it hard to adjust to this life," he confesses, his gaze fixed on the trickling fountain. "I put up walls, thinking it would protect me. But all it did was push people away."

You glance at him, your heart softening at the raw honesty in his words. "We all have our defenses, Mister Riley. But it's never too late to break them down, to really get to know people. It’s one of the best parts of life.” 

He looks at you, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "You've taught me that. More than anyone ever has."

Your heart sings at his words, and all you want to do is squeeze him tight. 

"I need to say something else,” he continues, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "I've been wrong about so many things. About you. I want to be a better man, for you."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. You see the sincerity in his eyes, the genuine desire to change. “Mister Riley,” you say softly, reaching out to take his hand, "I can see that you're trying. And it's not about being perfect. It's about being honest, about being real. I appreciate that."

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that lights up his face. "Thank you. That means more to me than you know."

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "I know I've made mistakes in the past, and I can never truly erase them. But I hope that, in time, you might come to see me not just as the duke who wronged you, but as a man who deeply cares for you."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you squeeze his hand gently. "I think I already do, Mister Riley.”

“Simon. Call me Simon.” 

Your mouth is ever so slightly agape, and you lick your lips, heart racing. “Simon," you repeat, savoring the intimacy of using his first name. The sound of it feels right on your lips, a bridge between your hearts.

Simon’s heart constricts in his chest the moment his name rolls off your tongue, and he wants nothing more than to kiss you right now. He wants to be yours, forever.

“This garden is yours as much as it is mine. A place where you can come whenever you need peace, or just to think.”

"Thank you, Simon. That means a lot to me," you say, touched by his gesture. "And I hope you know that I'm here for you too. We're both learning and growing, and I'm glad we're doing it together."

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the garden, you and Simon sit in comfortable silence, hands intertwined. The tranquil setting reflects the newfound serenity in your hearts. The walls that once stood between you are crumbling, replaced by trust, understanding, and something that feels like the beginnings of love.

part 5 < > part 7

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think all the characters are assholes?

Because i think they are despite their tragic backstories and i also don't think they appreciate Yuu enough, except for maybe the first years

I mean, the TWST characters are (mostly) inspired by Disney villains... Plus, they’re immature high schoolers still in the process of emotionally maturing. Of course they're not going to be perfect balls of sunshine. They're all going to be rude or have faults in their own ways, but they also have their strengths and charm points. I do call them assholes (lovingly), but I would hesitate to slap a singular label on any of the characters when they're all very well-rounded and morally ambiguous.

On the topic of Yuu, I think it makes sense that most of the cast doesn't really "appreciate" them. To begin with, most of the characters are not the openly sentimental types; they wouldn’t overtly express that gratitude even if it were present. Then we have to consider that Yuu isn't directly involved in their character growth or arcs in most cases; it's often the other characters who are confronting the OB boys or instigating, physically battling them to snap them out of it, and then comforting them afterwards.

As early as book 1, that pattern holds true. Ace is the one that initially pissed Riddle off. Adeuce are dueling Riddle. Ace decks Riddle and claims his last straw. Trey is the one calling out to Riddle as he's losing it. It's the members of Heartslabyul who gather around Riddle when he reawakens following the OB. (I'm not going to go through and list off what happens in every single book, but I'm sure you can think of many other instances... Lilia insulting Leona, Deuce and Epel having the heart-to-heart on the beach, Octavinelle's plot against Jamil, the twins checking up on Azul post-OB, etc.) To me, it feels like it is the boys and their bonds with one another responsible for the change, not Yuu's involvement. Yuu is usually along for the ride and actually does and says very little despite all the fandom jokes about "being the school's unpaid but overworked therapist" or Crowley's shallow claim that Yuu can help the boys learn to cooperate (which feels more like a vague ruse only shown in the prologue to shoehorn Yuu into the plot). There's actually very little in-game that shows them being active in helping the students change for the better. Much of the time, the boys can resolve their own struggles to get along without Yuu being there (like all those pair-ups in book 6–sure, it may have taken a while, but the fact remains that they did eventually resolve their own issues and cooperate without Yuu having to orchestrate for them; this also happens many times in events like Port Fest, Wish Upon a Star, Ghost Marriage, the Halloween events, etc). A very common complaint (at least among English speaking players) is that Yuu isn’t “involved enough” or that they don’t have a big impact on the events of the story. Therefore, most of the boys not feeling close or indebted to Yuu makes sense from their POV. What has Yuu actually and explicitly done to help them? Not much. It’s mainly in individual fan interpretations where Yuu/a Yuusona/an OC in Yuu’s role is actually able to play a more substantial part in each characters’ life and growth. In general, the standard in-game Yuu is more of a "fly on the wall" character that witnesses events unfold rather than someone who plays a large role in each book. The boys are seemingly the main characters, not Yuu. It's just convenient to have Yuu/a blank slate in the story because they, as an outsider, need TWST concepts explained to them (thus making it easier to give exposition to the players who may also be unfamiliar with the information). The first years, by comparison, are closer to Yuu simply because 1) Yuu is implied to be in the same year level as them (so they're more likely to be exposed to one another) and 2) their preestablished relationships with Grim, Ace, and Deuce opens them up more to first year interactions. "Friends of friends", if you will. It makes more sense than Yuu being appreciated and loved by everyone/most people in the main cast of 22ish. (How many people do you know irl that have 22ish significant friends?) They spend the most time together. Everyone else tends to stick to their own groups (with maybe the exception of Heartslabyul, since Yuu is already close with Adeuce). They’re just... not as intimate with Yuu, and therefore not as inclined to find much appreciation for them.

I want to clarify that this doesn’t mean there are zero instances of the characters outside of the first years expressing gratitude toward Yuu. Like, of the OB boys, it’s only Vil who consistently apologizes for the trouble he caused (note though: it’s not specifically to Yuu, but to everyone in the VDC/SDC squad. Yuu is then given prize money from most of the other boys as thanks for letting them crash at Ramshackle… Of those, only Kalim cites being grateful that he was able to stay and have fun with everyone because of Yuu green lighting the decision. This makes sense, as Kalim’s one of the few who wears his heart on his sleeve and is friendly to most. It just isn’t true for the majority of the cast, and we shouldn’t expect it to be.

As late as book 5, you can see characters like Leona not being so happy to be called out to or for Grim to act all buddy-buddy with him. That indicates to me that the rest of the cast is not that close to Yuu + related parties and doesn't have a real reason to be. (Note: I'm not counting character voice lines here as proof of friendliness with Yuu, as it can be argued that the relationships and events explored in the cards don't run in tandem with the main story and are meant more as fanservice for the players.)

Again, while it's not that fun to read in a narrative, it does leave things open-ended for anyone who wants to self-insert or to expand on those blank relationships for their own characters. I believe this is by design to appeal on an individual level to players. You get out of it what you put into it!

[chaifootsteps]

I don't get this fandom's fixation with insisting Blitzo is the one who views relationships as transactional when there's so many examples of him obviously wanting to have more than that. IMP is basically his attempt to make himself a new family with Loona as his daughter and M&M first as the people he wants to threesome with but more realistically, his friends

Stolas meanwhile behaves in a much more transaction based mindset where he assumes if he gives X he can get Y

he views his cheating on Stella as not counting as cheating because 'cheating implies a betrayal and [Stella] never gave two shits about [him]'. Even though the marriage was arranged and he never loved Stella either (he somehow forgot he burst into tears when he first saw her and was miserable about the whole idea?) he expected Stella to make an effort to love him because that's how marriages work. He didn't seem to appreciate that it being arranged would make his partner's feelings more complex and things might have gone better if he hadn't tried to play happy families with her, despite the fact he also had reservations about the arrangement and is gay so he should be able to empathize with Stella on some level

he assumes giving Via a trip to Loo Loo Land in the hopes of getting back their close bond but it isn't until he actually listens to her that any progress is made (and while on the trip he actively upsets her by harassing Blitzo right in front of her)

but the bigger example of course is Blitzo. he uses the book to get sex out of him, literally describing what they have as 'favors for favors' and 'transactional'

then he lowkey kind of does it again when he uses the crystal in the hopes of getting a romantic relationship in return

Stolas is so fixated on the idea of Blitzo as an object who just fulfils his desires that he punishes him whenever he has a life of his own to attend to (taking Loona for the jab) or whenever Blitzo points out his fantasies are not reality (replying to 'that's a romcom' with 'fuck you'). He's so committed to this that despite knowing Blitzo's insecurities he dances with someone else because that person is giving him attention and that's all that matters.

And when Blitzo doesn't respond to the crystal with what Stolas wanted to get out of the interaction - a romantic partner - Stolas dips immediately. He doesn't explain himself and he doesn't make any attempt to keep Blitzo in his life. It's incel logic at its core - he doesn't want Blitzo in his life even as a friend, despite the fact he supposedly likes him, because ultimately he doesn't actually see Blitzo as a person. he's an object who is supposed to fulfil the transaction Stolas is still unconsciously setting up

worse than that is Stolas has fooled himself into believing he's the good guy who was doing good things for him out of the kindness of his heart. he reframes exchanging his book for sex as 'supporting him', reframes humiliating him in front of a crowd by sexualizing him as 'letting everyone see how much [he] likes [Blitzo]', talks about his passive aggressive texts trying to get Blitzo to still come over on the full moon as 'wanting to spend time with [Blitzo]' even though those nights were probably going to end with Blitzo feeling like he had to sleep with Stolas, again

tl:dr but so far Via is the only person who can break her end of whatever exchange Stolas views an interaction as being without him getting pissy about it, since he tries to empathize with her even when he repeats the exact same mistake 5 minutes later. he doesn't care Stella was forced into marriage too since he expected her to play house because that's what he was doing, and he cares so little about Blitzo despite saying he thinks highly of him that not only does he not want his friendship, he's happy to ghost him after their fight in full moon then for a full month going into ghostfuckers. Blitzo didn't give him what he wanted and Stolas doesn't actually care about his feelings, so Blitzo may as well not exist

This fandom, and increasingly Viv, don't seem to have the first clue what Blitzo is or what his problem is or what he wants. He just does things in whatever order, according to what makes Stolas look better.

[bbobpul]

my youth is yours — jeno

NOTE. hey 😮‍💨 sorry for ghosting

PAIRING. jeno x reader

GENRE. hurt/comfort, angst

SYNOPSIS. entering adulthood with you long-term boyfriend, jeno

WARNINGS. dis might hurt bc iz lil realistic 😫

W/C. 3.1k

masterlist ⟵⁠(⁠o⁠_⁠O⁠)

Is love something you can learn, or is it engraved in your bones the moment you open your eyes to the world? Is it something you master, or something you feel on a random Thursday night after spending the day with someone who made your heart skip a beat? Is this something you develop after years of spending every moment of your life with the same person?

Because, to you, love means only one thing. Love can only come from one person. Love can only be felt with Jeno.

No, you didn't grow up together or meet in a special way. He was merely there, but it suddenly felt like more.

The two of you met in high school. It was nothing special. High school brings you into contact with a large number of people. You create a lot of friendships in high school. But it was Jeno, and one day you were paired up with him on a minor project set by your teacher because she would be gone for a short while.

Before long, a bond formed between you, blossoming into a friendship that extended beyond school hours. You'd hang out after classes, help each other with homework, and share late-night thoughts, and the absence of each other during the day would leave the day incomplete.

Everything proceeded at exactly an appropriate pace—it wasn't rushed or fast, nor was it painfully slow. It was just right with Jeno.

Looking back at your first few years with him, it seemed so natural and carefree. Seeing him was like having a ton of weight lifted off your shoulders—of course, the same is true for him. You appear as though you wince at his corny antics, but deep down, you both know that you feel the same way. He kept telling you, "Your love fills me up with so much happiness," at every opportunity he gets, and you love it every single time.

He radiates joy and warmth, and despite his kindness to everyone, he always makes you feel uniquely cherished. In his eyes, you're not just anyone; you're everything.

And it hasn't changed from high school to this point in college. As you approach adulthood, the love that accompanied your growth as an adolescent lingers.

Jeno's voice stops your thoughts with, "Bub, what do you want for dinner?" Glancing to your side, you notice him fixated on the road. After a long day at the university, you are currently headed home to your shared flat. Because you both decided to attend the same college and because it is obviously less expensive to stay in the exact same place, you both saved money for the apartment you are currently residing in. You both agreed that returning home under the same roof is the best choice for the two of you because you will both become busy over time.

When the red light came on, he looked at you and said, "Should we drive by your favorite restaurant and just order so we could go to sleep early?" after noticing that you were spacing out for the nth time.

"Huh? Oh, okay, bub. I'd love that," you replied upon hearing his voice, feeling as though you were suddenly snapped back to reality, anchored by the sound of his presence.

"You must be so tired, hmm? Is it Mr. Chua again?" he asked, his tone filled with understanding.

You chuckled at the mention of the infamous professor you often vented about. "No, he wasn't around today, actually. I was just really tired from all the lab work I did earlier," you replied, appreciating his attentiveness to your daily struggles.

He acknowledged your reply with a hum, and he skillfully threaded the steering wheel through the drive-thru. He ordered you your usual and gave you an affectionate smile. The vehicle filled with the soothing sounds of the radio and the faint hum of the air conditioning as the sun started to set. You felt warm and cozy even if the temperature inside the car was very cold because you knew that you were heading home with the love of your life.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he reached out for your hand, and in a tender whisper, he said, "I love you," as he began parking at your apartment's parking lot. The simplicity woven into every second spent with each other, filled with love and care, is the kind of love that is true and right.

Your evening flew by, and your early bedtime goal was quickly abandoned as you spent the entire night watching movies with Jeno. However, when spending time with him replenishes you more than a peaceful slumber, what good is sleep?

Sleep is what your body needs, and you just ate your own words when you fell asleep on Jeno’s shoulder.

He noticed that and chuckled lowly. He reached for the remote and quickly turned off the television before positioning himself to properly carry you back to your shared room. He knew that waking you up would be of no use because you are a very heavy sleeper, and you hate it when your sleep gets disturbed, so he tried his best to be as gentle as possible so you would stay in your peaceful slumber.

He laid down on his side of the bed after tucking you in and planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

A lot of your evenings went by like that. Spending a quarter of your day in college and going home with him. It has become your perfect daily routine. Although there are times where Jeno fails to drive you home because of how demanding his course is, you end up going home alone, and commuting is an extreme sport. Sometimes, it will be too hard to hail a taxi because of the rush hour and all the other students going home at the same time who are also desperate to rest. Sometimes, even if it was Jeno who said he would come home late, you end up arriving home later than he did. But what is adulthood without a bit of suffering?

‘Love won't make you rich,' that's what you heard from your mother when you said you were dating Jeno. Of course, your love hasn't always been a pleasant sight for everyone. You began dating in high school; of course, people would think you're foolish to enter into such a commitment at such a young age.

There are times when you wonder if your mother was right, especially when you and Jeno fail to pay rent on time, struggle to find part-time jobs to feed the both of you, and add your stressful college work to the mix.

But all your worries will soon disappear in the wind because it's Jeno you are facing those problems with, and eight years of sustaining yourself doesn't seem so hard because there is Jeno, who is your lifeline, your anchor, and your foundation. And even if the world turns its back on you, there is Jeno ready to face all of your worries, your fears, and your doubts because it's Jeno, the one who loves all of you.

"Good morning." You heard Jeno talk from the hallway.

You furrowed your brow in confusion. 'Why is he still here? ' you thought to yourself. It's Saturday, and you both have work, but your shift is at noon, so you didn't bother getting up early, unlike Jeno, who has a 9 a.m. shift.

Jeno has been waking up late several times since last month. If he is not absent, he will be late. It's always been like that. You haven't spoken to him about it yet. You have developed an unspoken rule in your relationship that there are situations that you can tackle on your own because you are both adults.

"Why aren't you at work?" You tried to sound as considerate as possible, but it's his life at stake and your apartment. If he doesn't come to work on time or at all, they will deduct his pay and, in the worst scenario possible, fire him.

"I don't feel well." He simply answered.

"You haven't been feeling well for a month. Wanna go to the hospital?" you suggested.

"It's not really that serious for a hospital, bub," he reasoned out.

"But it's serious enough for you to miss work for a month?" You said without looking at him, not being able to contain it anymore.

You heard him sigh before he headed to the bathroom, and you shook your head. Jeno, on the other hand, thought it would be best not to say anything.

You took your last sip of the coffee before heading to the sink, and you saw the overwhelming tower of unwashed dishes. It's 11 p.m., and your work is 20 minutes away from home if you are lucky enough to hail a cab the instant you come out of the building. Washing these plates will take a lot of your time, but if Jeno doesn't have the energy to wash them today because he is not feeling well, then that leaves you no choice. Good thing you already took a bath and wore your work clothes; you wouldn't have to rush later on.

It's times like these when you realize that you two are no longer the teenagers you once thought you'd remain forever. Those teenagers have now grown, with bigger responsibilities and greater disappointments to confront.

You finished the dishes and gathered your belongings before preparing to leave. However, as you reached for the doorknob, you noticed Jeno standing in the hallway, simply gazing at you.

"I will make it up to you," he said, and all you could do was smile at him before heading out.

All day at work, your thoughts were consumed by him—wondering if he had enough food at home and if he was resting well. This wasn't the first time you'd encountered issues between the two. Despite the absence of major fights and screaming matches, deep down, you knew that things were not okay between you.

After long, tiring hours at work, you received a text message from Jeno that said, 'I'll pick you up from work, bub. I love you.'

You smiled at the notification. He really was making it up to you, and you couldn't even be mad at him anymore.

And he's really there. As you closed the shop, not very far from where you stood, you saw him immediately. Suddenly, you are ready to face everything again because he is there.

You walked up to him with a huge smile, as if you hadn't worked for hours without a break. It was worth it when you're coming home with him.

The drive home was eerily quiet, with only the sound of your breathing audible amidst the corny jokes from the radio DJ. Despite the windows being open and the air conditioning turned off, the chill of the night air seeping in was enough to send shivers down your spine.

As the red light halted the car, you turned to gaze at him, only to find that he was already looking at you with the same love and contentment that had been evident in his eyes since your first year of high school. Now, after eight years together, you were both getting older yet still together, sharing each moment with him by your side.

You had hoped the problems were behind you, believing that your love and understanding would be enough to overcome any challenges that came your way. However, a week after your minor argument, Jeno attempted to return to work, only to find that his employer no longer wanted him back after a month of slacking. This turn of events took a significant toll on both of you, adding to the weight of your existing concerns.

"I'm sorry, bub. I'll look for another job next week, I promise."

The rent was due on Monday, and luckily you saved up enough money for three months after working extra hours since the start of the year.

"I told you to tell me if you have problems, didn't I? For a month, I didn't hear anything from you, and look where it got us? Jeno, it's our finals! We also have expenses for school, not just here at home! If you were too exhausted to work, then you could have just told me." All your pent-up frustrations spilled in an instant.

"I didn't want to burden you, love."

"Jeno, since when have you ever been a burden to me?"

He walked over to you and enveloped you in a hug, and that was when your tears began to flow. Both of you were graduating students, each with your own set of responsibilities and numerous financial challenges to navigate. In the face of it all, you couldn't help but wonder: Is love enough?

"Jeno, it's like I don't know you anymore." You began

"Bub, don't say that."

"I just want you to talk to me. Tell me your problems. I know there are things you can handle by yourself, but at least include me. You have me. I am here for a reason."

Both of you became even busier after that, balancing the demands of studying for final exams with juggling part-time jobs. Jeno faced the added challenge of finding work amidst his other commitments.

Your schedules became so hectic that you no longer went home together, and there were nights when Jeno arrived home so late that you would already be asleep, only to wake up to his departure in the morning.

Your entangled nights became two parallel lines. Quiet and comforting evenings grew even quieter without the presence of others. Every night, you realized that you and Jeno were both growing older and, simultaneously, growing apart. It's something inevitable, something you never wished for, yet something you are currently witnessing with your own eyes.

But growing apart is not contextually synonymous with loving each other less. The love is still there, and the care is still present. That is the reason why both of you are working so hard—because you love each other.

Both of you became so busy to the point where your only connection was coming home to the same house. Suddenly, home felt like nothing more than four walls and a mini fridge, lacking the warmth of four limbs and lips to kiss.

But surprisingly enough, after many weeks, he offered to pick you up from work.

"Keep your eyes on the road," you told him when you noticed him stealing glances at you.

"I love you, bub," he said, prompting you to look at him.

You smiled and replied, "I love you more."

"When is your oath-taking ceremony?" he asked, trying to make conversation amidst the silent drive home.

"I don't know yet. Maybe a few months after graduation."

And then it died down again. But does the silence matter to you when, after so many weeks, he is here beside you again?

He is here.

And that's all that matters right now.

"Should we take the long way home?"

But even a single beautiful night couldn't alter the looming storm heading your way. It's a heart-wrenching inevitability—the painful reality of growing apart.

With each "sorry, I can't pick you up" message and every missed call accompanied by a new excuse, the weight of disappointment settles deeper into your heart. Gradually, you find yourself numb to the ache, accepting it as the new normal.

"Bub, please respond," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion, as you left yet another voicemail after he missed your calls for the nth time. It's Saturday, and the rain outside matches the heaviness in your heart. You figured he must have finished work earlier than you, so you were counting on him to pick you up. But his cell phone remains unattended, and it's been 20 agonizing minutes of waiting in the pouring rain.

You hated the rain, and he knew that all too well. After a few more minutes of waiting in vain, you were left with no choice but to reluctantly take the train home alone since there are no cabs at this hour. The frustration and disappointment welled up inside you, reaching a breaking point.

"I'll sleep at my mom's house just for tonight. To cool off," you murmured to yourself.

At the train station, your phone buzzed incessantly, and when you finally answered, it was Jeno calling you countless times.

"I'm here; where are you?" his voice came through, accompanied by the sound of the rain.

"I took the train," you replied simply.

"You could've waited," he said, frustration evident in his tone. "I drove all the way here from work; it's almost an hour drive."

"I did wait, Jeno. What are you trying to imply?" you countered, feeling a mix of irritation and hurt.

You heard him sigh heavily on the other end of the line, and you pursed your lips in frustration.

"I'm tired, Jeno," you said wearily.

"So am I."

"Is that so? Okay, I'm sorry for making you drive in the rain. It won't happen again. And just so you know, I won't be coming home tonight."

Through days, weeks, and months of hardly seeing or talking to each other, you both somehow made it through college. Despite everything that happened, there's this overwhelming sense of pride you feel for each other. Maybe, just maybe, it was all worth it in the end.

The high school love you both shared has now transformed into something more significant. The youthful days you once had together are now just memories as you step into this new chapter of your lives.

It feels right with Jeno, but amidst the familiarity, there's a subtle shift, a tinge of bittersweet realization that things have changed.

Both of you have accomplished your dreams, reaching the destinations you once only dreamed of. You've arrived at where you wanted to be.

"Hey!" Jeno called for your attention. You turned and saw him adorned in his gown and cap, and a profound sense of pride washed over you.

You embraced him, exchanging whispers of 'I'm so proud of you' and 'You did well'. Yet it wasn't the same; it was different.

Both of you have grown, realizing that your teenage dreams have come true, and here you are, all grown up.

The love you once held so dearly in your youth has gracefully reached its final chapter. Staring into each other's eyes, there's an overwhelming sense of emotion, an unspoken acknowledgment that what once was no longer is—it's over.

"Thank you for loving me," he said. "Your love brought me here, bub."

[cityofmeliora]

as an addendum to my last post about 'If You Have Ghosts' and Terzo's experience with loneliness,

i was originally inspired to write that other post because i was thinking about how sad it makes me that, despite thinking Nihil is a bad person, Terzo still speaks of Nihil somewhat fondly and seems to value their relationship as father and son. this is often the nature of relationships between children and absent / neglectful / otherwise bad parents. humans are hard-wired for that connection, so people feel compelled to forgive their parents.

this quote from my last post feels relevant.

PAPA EMERITUS III: There are so many things that I want in my life. I’m sure there are a few things that you think you are missing, too. I can’t have everything. I can have some things– some people. Denver, Colorado, USA (October 17, 2015)

Terzo talks about how he wants so much more in his life, but he tries to accept and appreciate what little he thinks he has. at least he has some things –some people– in his life that matter to him.

i've posted before about how Terzo mentioned his family a lot. Terzo mentioned his mother, his child, his brother Secondo, and his father Nihil. and i think the way he speaks about them indicates that he really values his relationships with them. he cares.

and i think Terzo's love for his family is strongly linked to his experience with loneliness.

the quotes i used in my last post indicated to me that Terzo struggled with mental illness. and i also interpret Terzo as autistic. for these reasons, it makes sense to me that Terzo would have experienced deep feelings of alienation from other people. despite his natural charm and charisma, he had had a lot of difficulty forming and maintaining close / meaningful connections with others. there's a quote in my last post where he implies that he has, or at one point had, no friends. we know from other quotes that Terzo was reclusive and spent as little time interacting with other people as possible. Terzo seeks comfort in solitude, but he doesn't want to feel alone. so it also makes sense to me that he might find comfort in, and cling to, the bonds of family; the bonds that are literally a part of us– bonds that he believes cannot be broken. indeed, his brothers are the only people we ever saw him spending time with outside of work.

someone who feels like he has no friends... may feel like family is all he has left.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Would you mind talking more about Ghost? I dig your interpretation on him so i'm curious if you'd share your thoughts; since i know how COD in general writes these characters and we know romance isn't on the table for them, ESP for someone like Ghost (even confimred by his voice actor too!)

So all that aside, in your opinion, what would it take to win Ghost's heart (or well, Simon's)? :)

It's great to hear you like my interpretation of Ghost! I'll gladly share my thoughts on this, the supposed love life of Simon Riley is one of my favorite subjects 🧐

Thoughts on what would it take to win Simon's heart under the cut ->

To be honest I see it highly unlikely that Ghost would date. I think Samuel Roukin's opinion on this matter was spot on. Simon's traumatic background, trust issues, the need to stay anonymous and his profession as a special ops soldier is just too heavy a combo. His family's murder and multiple betrayals have pushed him on a path of extreme independence and made him evade any kind of attachment.

That being said... I'm a hopeless romantic and love to imagine scenarios just like every other little simp here 🩷💋, and I've pictured (and occasionally written) him to be drawn to someone who is principally the opposite of himself, but who also has a dash of angst in their heart and firsthand experience or at least some basic understanding of complex trauma.

A positive vibes only/sunshine type of person would not resonate well with his darkness, and a carefree joker would only annoy him. Then again, there's Soap – but the thing with John MacTavish is that he shares the same profession and in that way, is not a stranger to the Underworld. Their banter is also evidence enough that Soap is not afraid of Ghost's madness and even looks up to him – actually a perfect way to make someone like Ghost enjoy your company. This man has a terrible praise kink but he can't stand spineless bootlickers. So the adoration should happen in a "I trust you and would follow you to hell & back" kind of way.

However, due to the shit he's been through, I'd say (contrary to popular headcanon, I dunno?) that Simon would likely fall for someone outside the military world. First of all, he's very uncomfortable with the fact that his partner has to fear for his safety. But the fear of losing his partner to the dangers of this profession would be a little too much. It would only trigger a shitload of PTSD stuff. The fear of losing a loved one again would override the mutual experience and bonding through warfare, all the elements which otherwise might be pull factors in a military love interest. On the other hand, people with traumatic backgrounds tend to repeat the pattern, no matter how horrific or unsafe, simply because it's familiar. Still, I'd say someone from the base personnel would be a more alluring option for him. The shared hell, so to say, could make the foundations of this relationship quite dark. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing!

Deep down, Simon would be attracted to softness. Not innocence, per se, just something different from the realm in which he operates. This is why I think he could definitely fall for "a normie". He would appreciate dark humor and a certain kind of fearlessness, however. What ultimately would win his heart is someone who can stand, even cherish, his melancholy and cynicism and life choices and who is not on a quest to change or "fix" him.

I think Simon's ultimate wish is to find a home because he has lost it (or hasn't really had one in the first place). He's a leader and has to provide safety and support on a daily basis to the people under his command. But who offers support and safety to him? He knows how to protect people but doesn't know how to create a safe space, so he would appreciate someone who makes him feel he's finally found his way home. I think he yearns for a small measure of peace and a slice of normal life to wash away the adrenaline and blood and filth, he wants a small corner free from the demons that haunt him, even if he would reluctantly (if ever) admit that he does.

[guzhufuren]

Taiwan 🇹🇼 A Guide to Some of the Best Queer Asian Shows

Full list here.

1. History3: Trapped mafia boss/policeman

The story of a police officer who becomes trapped in the underworld, as he develops feelings for a gang leader.

YouTube or Viki

2. Kiseki: Dear to Me mafia; age gap

Bai Zongyi, an exemplary high school student with dreams of becoming a doctor, is one day unexpectedly drawn into the world of a charismatic and mischievous gangster Fan Zerui, who blackmails him into taking him in and treating his wounds. Just as their love story begins to unfold, Fan Ze Rui's criminal life catches up with him. On the other hand, Chen Yi and Ai Di are two orphans who grew up in the gang together. Ai Di has always loved Chen Yi, but Chen Yi only notices their boss.

Viki or GagaOOLala or YouTube

3. My Tooth Your Love dentist/chef; trauma healing

Bai Lang is a successful bistro owner with an severe fear of visiting the dentist... until a toothache forces him to come face to face with the handsome yet cold dentist Jin Xunan.

Viki

4. Anti Reset android/human

When Chu Yi Ping, an emotionless man, dislocates his hand in an accident at school, his uncle gives him Ever 9 as a caretaker, an experimental intelligent robot that his company is secretly testing.

Viki or iQIYI or GagaOOLala

5. History2: Crossing the Line sports; high school setting

When an injury sidelines a high school senior from the volleyball team, he develops feelings for a recruit.

YouTube or Viki

6. Be Loved in House: I Do workplace romance; roommates

When the new boss arrives at the company, he immediately clashes with a headstrong, hot-blooded employee over a controversial workplace policy. Although their relationship starts off combatively, the two of them develop a bond as they work and live together.

Viki

7. We Best Love: No. 1 For You, We Best Love: Fighting Mr. 2nd enemies to lovers; secret crush; university setting

Zhou Shu Yi has spent his entire life as second best thanks to Gao Shi De, whether it be academics, arts or sports, Gao Shi De always managed to beat Shu Yi. Many years later, Shu Yi can finally breathe a sigh of relief when he and his nemesis part ways for university. However, as fate would have it, Shu Yi finds himself defeated once again when Shi De transfers to Shu Yi’s college for his final year. Could the reason that Shi De is seemingly following Shu Yi be something other than to torment him?

WeTV (S1) & WeTV (S2)

8. About Youth high school setting; popular boy/musician

Ye Guang is an elite high school student and a popular campus idol, while Xu Qizhang is an exemplary guitarist who normally has a weak sense of existence but completely transforms himself when on stage.  Smitten by the kindness that Ye Guang showed him on one of the saddest nights of his life, Xu Qizhang is more than happy to repay that kindness when Ye Guang starts having a hard time with his parents. But will this newfound friendship develop into something more?

Viki or GagaOOLala

9. Stay by My Side roommates; enemies to lovers; university setting; ghosts

Bu Xia finds himself with an unwelcome new roommate, a student by the name of Jiang Chi, whose cold and studious temperament could not be more different from Bu Xia's. Bu Xia has an inherited ability to hear ghosts, but while trying to get rid of Jiang Chi, Bu Xia makes a discovery: that the ghosts are silenced when he is physically close to Jiang Chi.

Viki or GagaOOLala

10. Plus & Minus best friends to lovers; lawyers; secret crush

Zheng Ze Shou and Fu Li Gong have been best friends for over twenty years. Now, they work as divorce attorneys in the same law firm. Despite their close brotherly bond, this friendship never escalated affectionately until now.

Viki or GagaOOLala

---

You can watch some shows for free on YouTube, and watch others on the streaming websites by setting VPN to Taiwan. In other cases I recommend paying for subscriptions to show appreciation and support of content in order to get more of it in the future, but if you can’t, watch on KissKH (better quality), Dramacool or get files from MkvDrama. Enjoy!  🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

[zombislut]

Hi, Could you write or try to write something like wildflower (Billie elish) with a reader who sees jj or maeve in the back of her mind? Sorry English is not my first language

(not the best but I tried)

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, blurring the world outside the BAU's large windows. You sat at your desk, papers scattered around you, but your mind was far from the case file in front of you. Instead, it was caught in a web of memories and lingering ghosts.

Spencer Reid sat across from you, his eyes focused on his work. You knew he was aware of your distraction, but he was giving you the space to process. That was one of the many things you loved about him – his understanding, his patience. But it was also the very thing that tore at your heart.

Every time you looked at Spencer, you saw her. Maeve. The woman who had captured his heart before you, whose memory still lingered like a shadow between you. You couldn't escape the feeling that you were standing in her place, a wildflower trying to grow in the shade of a grand oak tree.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Spencer's voice broke through your thoughts, gentle and concerned.

You looked up, meeting his warm, hazel eyes. "Yeah, just... a lot on my mind."

He nodded, but the worry in his gaze didn't fade. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

You forced a smile, appreciating his kindness but knowing that words couldn't bridge the gap created by your insecurities. "I know, Spence. Thank you."

The rest of the day passed in a haze, the case details slipping through your fingers like sand. That night, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You could see Maeve's face in your mind, her eyes filled with love and sorrow, a testament to the deep bond she shared with Spencer. You wondered if you could ever measure up, if you could ever be enough.

As you crawled into bed beside Spencer, you felt the weight of your doubts pressing down on you. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close, but even his warmth couldn't chase away the chill in your heart.

"Spence," you whispered into the darkness, "do you ever think about her?"

His body tensed for a moment before he sighed, his breath ruffling your hair. "Maeve will always be a part of me, Y/N. But that doesn't mean I don't love you. You are my present, my future."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you turned to face him, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. "I just... I feel like I'm living in her shadow. Like I'll never be enough."

Spencer's hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "You are more than enough. You're my wildflower, growing strong and beautiful despite everything. I love you for who you are, not for who you're not."

His words were a balm to your aching heart, and you let yourself believe them, if only for a moment. You snuggled closer, finding solace in his embrace.

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, you started to see the truth in Spencer's words. You began to find your own place, your own strength. You were no longer just a shadow; you were a wildflower, vibrant and resilient.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of gold and pink, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Spencer held your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"I love you, Y/N," he said softly, his voice filled with conviction.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his love envelop you. "I love you too, Spencer. Always."

In that moment, you knew that the ghosts of the past could no longer haunt you. You were not Maeve, and you didn't need to be. You were yourself, and that was more than enough. Together, you and Spencer would face the future, hand in hand, hearts entwined, blooming like wildflowers in the sunlight.

[nicromancytarot]

RECONCILIATION WITH MY TWIN FLAME 😔😔

Rip for the girlies who know what this bullshit is like, good god, someone save me.

Hello and welcome to Nicromancy’s talk on the magnetising grab, and trapped sensation of having a twin flame. So if you guys remember, back in April I had a situationship, well this was my ex situationship from literally three years ago. Personally, knowing who my future spouse is - that’s the one I want (big sigh) however, this stupid man has a hold on me that I will never be able to deny.

How I know he’s my twin flame (some small examples cus I’m not getting all into that lmao)

- First time we met I had that “lost in his eyes” moment, I WISH I WAS KIDDING. And I don’t even do eye contact, he’s like the only one I can do it with without wanting to die.

- I swore I was over him two years ago, but consistently dreamt about him for the next three years.

- Insatiable connection, I cannot describe how this shit feels, besides the fact I hate it.

Now I know it’s up to personal opinions and preference, but I do not want to end up with a twin flame, if you asked 2023 me, then maybe. But this version of me is improved and slaying. Well that’s what I thought.

The guy and I spoke for a month, he embarrassed himself countless times, tried to impress me with knowledge he stole from ChatGPT, was incredibly speedy to asking me to date him, all that jazz. I rejected each and every one of these advances, and unintentionally ghosted him at the end of the month. Which brings me to four days ago.

I’d ghosted him for three months, occasionally checking his reposts and dreaming about him consistently for two and a half of those months. I posted something on TikTok, and he immediately popped up. The next day he then said he wanted to reunite our spark (“build a bond” in his words)

So, tips on how to get over a twin flame and separate our connection would be great 🤭

I take 5-20 hours to get back to his messages on a good day, and I am incredibly blunt and boring. Rejection scares me since this man is depressed as hell and I don’t wanna cause any setbacks or anything.

Advice is appreciated 🫶🏻🫶🏻 kiss kiss, mwah mwah

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature. 

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours.  “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles.  He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.  

“Well, apology accepted.” 

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around. 

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.” 

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway? 

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer." 

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite. 

"I'll be there." 

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day. 

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.  

It is still completely the same.

=== 

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up. 

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?" 

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy." 

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle. 

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm. 

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him- 

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch. 

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further. 

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.  

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration. 

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake… 

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.” 

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.” 

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

 “And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-” 

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled. 

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said? 

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it. 

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind.  “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation. 

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh. 

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him. 

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety. 

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason. 

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.  

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.  

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing. 

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball. 

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension. 

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest. 

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface. 

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point. 

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything! 

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.”  You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him. 

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange. 

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute. 

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.” 

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair. 

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him. 

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.” 

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.  

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride. 

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp,  “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.” 

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets.  “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.” 

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over. 

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.” 

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

 Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection. 

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right? 

Oh my God, it is. 

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with.  “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.” 

“Is there?” 

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good. 

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.  

“I’m waiting, darling.”  You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin. 

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time. 

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows. 

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well  albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.  

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room. 

Though he has no rush to join you. 

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him. 

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that. 

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.”  And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.” 

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax. 

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better. 

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance. 

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him. 

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do. 

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big. 

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent. 

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too.  “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.” 

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-” 

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.” 

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily? 

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already. 

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on. 

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan. 

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light. 

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides  into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant. 

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self. 

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks. 

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.” 

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out. 

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind. 

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.” 

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail. 

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?” 

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏𝟓

Where the descendant of a legendary quirk longs to rewrite history by becoming a hero. But in order to fulfill her dream, she must first face off against ghosts from her past and a growing attraction for the insufferable Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!oc

Warnings: mature language, angst

LOTS of angst this chapter. Touya Todoroki is mentioned in this chapter, and for the sake of this fanfic, he will be aged down to 3-4 years older than Shoto and Sana. Enjoy!

series masterlist + my masterlist

The second round of battles were even more intense than the first. Bakugou was pitted against Kirishima, who'd won an arm wrestling match against his Class B doppelgänger in a tiebreaker. Sana herself would be engaging in a battle against Ole Greased Lightnin' himself.

And to top it off, the big rivalry of the day would come to a head in the last match of the round: Midoriya vs. Todoroki.

Why do you keep getting in my way, Izuku Midoriya? Her jewel-like burned holes in the back of Midoriya's bushy head. She hissed out a breath in irritation. Mina nudged her to get her attention.

"So... who is it?" She giggled.

"What are we talking about?"

"You can drop the act." The pinkette leaned in close with a devious smirk. "Denki already spilled the beans. So," she poked her arm with a perfectly manicured nail. "Who's the lucky guy?" Jirou, who was sitting with Momo in the row in front of them, subtly pointed her earjack in their direction.

"Right," she nodded slowly with a deep sigh. "That." Sana glanced down at the arena, where two of their friends were stretching. She turned away just as the ash blonde raised his head. "I don't think it's going to work out."

"What?" Mina gasped, a distressed expression on her face. "No! Why?"

Jirou dropped her act, now fully turned in her seat to join the conversation.

Sana bit her lip. It's not that she didn't trust the two girls, but her feelings for Bakugou were complicated, especially on days like today where his abrasive personality successfully pushed her away. She didn't think Bakugou would appreciate her airing their problems in front of the entire class. This chaotic, beautiful bond they share was theirs alone. She cherishes their relationship; this unspoken, undefined thing. Whatever it is that they have is delicate, and Sana didn't want to be the one to break it.

But the way he'd ripped his hand out of her's still stung. Just moments before, he'd been laughing and joking with her... only to shut her out afterwards. It was always one step forward, two steps back with him. Sometimes, it felt like she was the only trying to work at their relationship.

The same could be said for her friendship with Shoto. While she was actively trying to mend the rift, the dual-haired boy was blatantly ignoring her efforts, instead choosing to distance himself further.

Sana shrugged helplessly. "Because it feels like it will only end with my heart broken." She replied quietly.

She didn't just mean Bakugou, but Shoto as well.

Mina opened her mouth to add to their conversation, but was cut off by Midnight telling the competitors to begin their fight. Sana was grateful for the Pro's interference. The solar girl needed to focus on her upcoming match, and thinking about Bakugou would only serve as a distraction.

Explosions and smoke filled the air. Down below, a battle of stamina was taking place, and by the looks of it, the hotheaded blonde was winning. "Bakugou seems... different, doesn't he?" Sero commented aloud from a few seats down.

Tsuyu touched her chin thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, he did seem pretty calm after fighting Ochaco."

Sana scoffed under her breath, sliding further down in her seat. The constant back and forth of does he or does he not, and the push and pull of her heartstrings was getting to be too much. It feels like the only one playing games, Katsuki, is you.

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Sana didn't think anyone was surprised by Bakugou's victory. Nothing against Kirishima, of course, but the ash blonde's tenacity and relentless attacks from the very beginning painted a pretty clear picture of who the winner would be. The redhead's quirk didn't make him invincible, and Bakugou had used that to his advantage.

Sana noticed Iida stand and leave the seating area. He was probably getting warmed up since their match was coming up.

The two boys joined them a few minutes later, Bakugou silently stewing in anger despite being the first to earn a spot in the semi-finals. Eijiro's smile was bittersweet. He was happy for his friend, but upset that his own time in the Sports Festival had come to an end.

Sana gave him a few head pats once he sat down, making him grin.

Tokoyami and a vine-haired girl were up next. His technique was similar to the one he'd used in the first round against Momo. While that match lasted roughly thirty seconds, this match was more prolonged. The girl's quirk, like Dark Shadow, was perfectly suited for long range combat. As soon as she wrapped vines around the large shadowy creature, he would slip back into Tokoyami's body, only to reappear moments later. Eventually, Tokoyami and Dark Shadow were able to overpower the girl and win the match.

Sana left her classmates with a chorus of good luck's following her out. A few had even expressed concern about her choosing not to warm up beforehand. Her laughing in response only served to increase their worry.

Sana made her way down to the entrance, spotting her opponent across the way. She saluted him with two fingers and a wink. The bespectacled boy bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Mrs. Midnight announced who was next, waving for them to step out into the arena. Present Mic gave his own comedic commentary while his partner, Mr. Aizawa, watched them apathetically.

Midnight snapped her whip. "Begin!"

The blue-haired boy dashed forward, trying to catch her off guard. Sana had overheard Midoriya  rattling on about a new power move he'd shown off during the calvary battle. Some kind of turbo boost that made the speedster even faster, but, according to those who'd witnessed it, the impressive move had serious drawbacks.

Sana wasn't sure how often he was able to use it, or for how long, or if he would even chance using it so soon after the second event, but she didn't plan on giving him the opportunity.

Her logic was simple, really.

"Catch me if you can," she smirked before disappearing into thin air. Iida couldn't beat her if he couldn't see her.

Present Mic, as well as the rest of those watching (on campus and at home) were stunned by the display of power. "HUUUUUUH?" The voice hero shrieked. "ERASER, WHAT'S THIS?"

Mr. Aizawa sighed into the microphone. "Sakano's quirk allows her to take in and manipulate light. By bending the light around her, Sakano can make herself appear invisible."

"SO COOL!"

Iida also looked quite stunned, skidding to a halt a few feet away from where she'd vanished.

Like most of their class, the boy had assumed the strawberry blonde would use her quirk to enhance her speed... which is exactly why she chose not to. It would be a complete waste of time and energy. She could easily outrun the boy using her quirk. She'd proven that their first day of class during Aizawa's apprehension test. No, this was a chance to conserve power while also showcasing her range of abilities to the world.

The class president was already at a disadvantage coming in, knowing what she could do... except no one knew what all Sana was capable of.

Not even her.

"Don't you remember what Sensei said at the USJ?" Sana's voice floated through the air. Iida spun around to try and determine her location, but it was useless. Her voice seemed to come from every direction. Warm fingers curled into the fabric of his uniform jacket, yanking him backwards forcefully. Surprised by the sudden, aggressive assault, Iida lost balance, only aiding his opponent in hurling him across the boundary line. "No good hero is a one trick pony."

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Sana returned to her seat with a bounce in her step. Her friends congratulated her for making it into the semi-finals along with Bakugou and Tokoyami. There was only one more match left. The moment they'd all been waiting for since the war declaration this morning.

Sana shifted in her seat, her long hair sticking to the damp skin of her neck, making her uncomfortable. She fanned her face with her left hand as Midoriya and Shoto stepped onto the field. Soon, she tried to appease the sweltering heat consuming her from the inside, demanding to be released. Not yet.

Shoto was the first to attack, sending a wave of ice towards the greenette, only to be pushed away by a powerful blast. The crowd went crazy once they realized what had happened; Midoriya had stopped the ice by breaking his finger.

Shoto didn't hesitate, attacking relentlessly over and over, only for Midoriya to thwart him once again. The greenette was only playing defense, which Sana found strange. Why wasn't he trying to counterattack? The boy was just standing there and mutilating himself. It didn't seem like a good strategy to follow. After all, he only had so many fingers to sacrifice.

Midoriya didn't seem to know or care about that, though. Instead of changing his course of action, the freckled boy continued to further damage his body by using his already broken fingers to protect himself against Shoto.

Sana threw her head back in exasperation. Idiot.

A particularly strong blow from Midoriya sent Todoroki flying back, the dual haired boy creating a blockade of ice to keep him from going out of bounds. Frost was blooming across the right side of his body, climbing rapidly. He wouldn't last much longer like this. Sana knew what was coming. Tremors would soon overtake his body, his muscles stiffening to conserve heat and impairing his movements.

Shoto was reaching his limit.

The two came to blows, the greenette landing a solid hit to his opponent's stomach while Shoto froze his arm in retaliation. All the while, the boys seemed to be having a heated discussion, but between the shattering of ice, gusts of wind, and chatter of the crowd, it was difficult to hear what they were saying.

"IT'S YOUR QUIRK!" Midoriya screamed at the red and white haired boy. "NOT HIS!"

For a moment, her world stopped spinning.

Eyes wide and unblinking, Sana leaned forward in her seat to catch the reaction of the youngest Todoroki, who appeared as stunned as she felt. What came next was an even bigger shock. She wasn't sure if he consciously activated his quirk or if the flood of emotions he was obviously experiencing triggered it... but Shoto's left side burst into flames.

Beautiful scarlett and gold embers streamed off his body and grew into a wildfire. She gasped, covering her mouth in awe as tears pricked her eyes. He... did it.

"SHOTO!" The flaming pile of garbage known as Endeavor shouted from the stands. "You finally accepted your purpose. Very good. This is the dawn of a new era for us." Sana glowered down at the despicable man. Even Present Mic seemed uncomfortable with the Pro's announcement, quickly drawing their attention back to the two teenagers. The battle ramped up now that Shoto was using his full power.

Midnight tried to intervene, voicing her concern, but it was too late. With a mighty explosion, the entire stadium was thrown into chaos. Thick steam blinded them as they tried to check on the two boys. After minutes of stumbling through the fog, Midnight announced that Todoroki would be the one moving on. The greenette's body was found embedded in the stone wall behind him. Med robots carted the unconscious boy away from public view, much to their classmates' concern.

Sana felt torn between wanting to curl into a ball and cry or scream at the top of her lungs until her vocal chords were raw. All this time, she'd been trying to show Shoto that he was his own person and not an extension of his father as the man would have him believe. But once again, Midoriya was somehow able to achieve the impossible.

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While the Sakano heir was having an emotional breakdown, a family reunion was happening in a hall on the other side of the stadium. Shoto ignored the approaching figure of his father.

"What's the matter?" The Pro crossed his arms smugly. "Not gonna tell me to get lost?" He looked down at his son's exposed body, half of his shirt burned away. "You need to learn to control your left side. It's dangerous to release so much energy like that." His smirk widened further. "But I'm glad you're finally seeing reason. Now that you've abandoned your childish rebellion, we can get back to what's important. After you graduate, you'll work by my side-"

"Out there," Shoto suddenly spoke, voice soft as a whisper. "For that one moment, I forgot all about you. Whether it's good or bad... whether it's the right thing to do, I don't know." He shouldered past the stunned man. "Maybe I don't need you."

The hero's clenched fists shook in anger.

"What he needs," Sana had snapped at him. "Is help... and we both know you're the last person he'd go to for that."

"That girl," he seethed, catching Shoto 's attention. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. "She's ruined you. You wouldn't be acting this way if she hadn't planted her own rebellious thoughts in your head."

Shoto faced his father once again, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were so cold and empty that it made the Flame Hero pause. "That girl," the dual quirk user drew the words out slowly. "Was the only family I had left."

Endeavor took a step back in shock, his bright eyes blown wide. "Shoto-"

"You've taken everyone from me. My mother, my siblings," the teenager met his father's gaze head-on, further surprising the pro. "My friendship with Sana was the one thing in my life that was mine..."

There was a small hitch in Shoto's breath and a look of devastation in his eyes. "And you ruined that, too."

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Bakugou and Tokoyami were the first match up of the semi-finals. The announcement made Sana chuckle to herself, though she was far from amused.

She would be fighting Shoto. Again. In front of an audience. Again. Only this time, it would be broadcast on national television for everyone to see, including their fathers. If a bolt of lightning struck me down right now, the universe would be doing me a favor.

Her childhood rival sat stoic in the furthest row, a clear divide between himself and the rest of the class. Sana sighed, shaking her head and facing forward. He's really taking this no friends thing to another level.

The solar girl excused herself to head to the waiting room. She needed to prepare herself to face Shoto. Sana slumped down in the metal chair, burying her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook with the force of the sobs she so desperately fought to contain.

She was genuinely happy for Shoto. She wanted nothing more than to run to her old friend and smother him with hugs and kisses and praise for the giant step he'd just taken... but that wasn't her place anymore. She wasn't sure where her place in the world was if not by his side. She'd never had to think about it before.

Now it was all she could think about.

And losing that spot to someone they'd just met not too long ago hurt more than any pain she'd ever experienced. Was she as expendable as her mother? Was she forever to be belittled and used and discarded by those closest to her? There's only so much rejection a person can handle in a lifetime, and she had a terrible feeling that she was about to hit her max today. The fact that millions of people would bear witness to her humiliation gave her very little comfort.

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"They've given us impressive performances so far." Present Mic started the introductions as Midnight coaxed Sana and her opponent out from the shadows of the tunnel entrances. "And they're totally famous! YEAH! It's the battle of the elite: Shoto Todoroki vs. Sana Sakano."

The response from the crowd was deafening.

Sana wasn't sure if the moisture in her palms was from nerves or simply her quirk begging to come out. Both, probably. She was almost looking forward to Shoto's ice to help her cool off.

No, not Shoto.

The boy standing across from her was Todoroki. There was a difference between the two. Her Shoto was soft spoken, thoughtful, and thanks to his isolated upbringing, often clueless when it comes to things like social queues or pop culture references. Humor and sarcasm flew right over his head. It was one of her favorite things about him: his innocence. How he'd managed to hold onto it despite all of the trauma he and his family had endured, she'll never know. Todoroki was that scared, moody kid who used to glare at her from across the room as his father encouraged them to tear into each other.

But the heterochromatic boy currently staring through her was foreign. She didn't know this version of her best friend, not even when they were children and refused to get along. Back then, he'd just been angry, but this went beyond anger. This was hatred, loathing, despair. Things she never would've used to describe Sho. Her Sho.

"Are you ready to talk?" Sana activated her quirk as soon as the match began, her entire body beginning to glow.

"I have nothing to say to you." Shoto stomped on the ground, sending a mountain of ice in her direction that she bypassed easily. It was a familiar dance that they could perform with their eyes blindfolded, in the dark, after being spun in circles a dozen or so times. They knew each other too well. It was a double-edged sword, a blessing as well as a curse.

"Really?" She scoffed, arching a brow. "Because it sure feels like you're bottling up a lot of shit right now. So spit it out." She threw her arms out to her side in annoyance. "You can't ignore me forever, Sho. I'm not going anywhere."

The boy's gaze was as hard as stone, void of any emotion. "You made sure of that, didn't you?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

"You gave me hope. You made me think things could be different." A chill filled the air as a turbulent wind of snow flurries spun around him. "You made me believe that you cared." Turquoise and gray eyes burned into her like hellfire and frostbite, stealing the breath from her lungs. "You lied."

"Will you stop talking in riddles and just tell me what I did to make you hate me?!"

A blizzard tore through the battle arena, eclipsing the two teens. The onlookers gasped and cried out in shock as fierce winds tugged at their hair and clothing. The best friends-turned-rivals were obscured from view, the only thing visible was Sana's glowing silhouette moving swiftly within the white and gray haze.

"I t-thought after fighting Deku, Todoroki would ease up a bit." Uraraka hugged herself, her breath visible as she shivered. "But he seems even more fired up than before!"

"Kero," Tsu croaked sleepily.

"Yo, Bakubro. I dunno why," Kirishima scratched his chin. "But this matchup feels kinda personal, don't ya think?"

Bakugou scowled down at the stage with his arms crossed, his jaw set in stone. He knew exactly how personal this fight was. He'd overheard Todoroki reveal his family's dark origins to Deku in the corrider during break and had almost retreated back to the student section when he heard Sana's name.

"Since the dawn of quirks, many families have relied on quirk marriages to grow and harness their power. Look at Sakano: her family's legacy is built on a glowing baby. How else could they have stayed in power for centuries if not through selective breeding? How could she hold a fraction of the power she does if her ancestors hadn't practically monopolized light and heat-based quirks?"

It suddenly occurred to Bakugou that this was probably the most emotion he'd heard the dual-haired boy express in the months they'd known each other. Anger and annoyance were easy to recognize, but there was something else buried underneath as he spoke of the class beauty. It made the ash blonde's chest tighten.

"My mother's family was well-known for their strong ice quirks, which is why my father seeked her out. It's his wish to build a legacy of his own and cement the Todoroki name in history."

This is fuckin' boring, Bakugou kicked off the wall he was leaning on to leave. "She didn't know it at the time, but Sana was engaged to my brother when we were kids."

The ash blonde froze midstep.

"Our parents arranged the whole thing. But..." For the first time since he'd begun telling Midoriya—and unknowingly, Bakugou—his life story, the dual-haired teen seemed reluctant to continue. The youngest Todoroki cleared his throat uncomfortably. "... something happened when we were younger and the engagement was called off. My father only told me all of this because he wants me to marry Sana in my brother's place."

Midoriya gasped, and Bakugou nearly did as well. He inhaled sharply, his vermilion eyes blown wide as his fists clenched at his sides.

"Her father refused the offer at first... but I have reason to believe he's reconsidering."

Bakugou forced himself to walk away, unable to stomach another word without rounding the corner and demanding the peppermint bastard tell him everything he knows. Was Sana in on this? Did she even know? Why her? He wanted to ask. Why did it have to be her?

The sucker punched feeling he'd become oh so familiar with since enrolling in U.A was back. The pressure temporarily vanished when Sana joined him in the stands, flashing him that cheeky grin with those jewel-like eyes that, even when she was laughing and goofing off with the rest of the Derp Squad, always seemed to hold a touch of sadness. Bakugou felt like he was finally beginning to understand the enigma that is Sana Sakano, just as she'd been trying to figure him out since that first day of class.

He'd always felt that the strawberry blonde was putting on an act, pretending to be someone she wasn't for others' sake. He'd even called her out on it during their heated argument outside her house just days before. But slowly, he was starting to see glimpses of her, the real her, behind the facade. But he couldn't help but feel as though he was only just now seeing the truth hidden behind layers of charming smiles and smartass comments because the half-and-half told him exactly where to look.

"You don't know her like I do."

The pain in his chest flared, the fear of being second to anyone causing him to lash out at the solar girl. I know, dammit. Bakugou dragged a calloused hand down his face in frustration as she turned her back on him, then kicking the seat in front of him with his boot.

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She was in the eye of the storm. Sana was sure the only reason she could see her own hands in front of her face was because they were glowing faintly. She knew that Shoto would be able to spot her easier this way, but she also knew the second she deactivated her quirk, she'd be a goner. Her body would quickly succumb to the freezing temperatures around her and Shoto would be named the victor.

"I know you're using his quirk," his voice called out to her in disgust. He'd felt the heat coming off of her from across the arena. Only one person was capable of producing fire that intense. Flames straight from Hell itself, wielded by a devil in disguise.

"I needed to get your attention somehow." Sana called into the dense fog surrounding them. Everything was white and hazy and cold, though she hardly noticed the chill in her current state. Enji's fire flowed like lava through her veins. "This seemed the most effective way."

He chuckled dryly. "You're shameless."

"...what?"

The air in front of her stirred and shifted, a sign that her opponent was close. "Taking bribes from my father? Asking him for favors?" The dual-haired boy's voice grew in volume and intensity with every word. "You sold yourself to him, Sakano."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sana frowned.

"How are you here at U.A? We were both there when my father said the only way you'd be recommended to this school was if you agreed to marry me after graduation."

"And I said no-"

"-yet here you are!" He shouted. "Recommended to the top hero school in Japan. So, who was it then? What Pro would vouch for you... the daughter of the man that has done nothing but curse their profession since he gained office? Who else would've recommended you but my old man?"

Sana thought back to that white envelope she'd received in the mail months ago containing the date and time of her entrance exam. The solar girl was completely blindsided by her status as a recommendation student. The letter included a note from Principal Nezu stating that the pro had asked to remain anonymous.

"I don't know!"

"Liar." His voice was getting closer, she noted. Right now, Shoto has the advantage, but Sana isn't going to go down without a fight. "You said things would be different this time around, that we'd have a choice. You promised we wouldn't become our parents. You swore to honor Touya."

Sana whirled around, coming nose to nose with her former friend.

There was a surprising fury in his eyes that she hadn't seen in years. Never with Shoto, no, but a beautiful, snow-haired boy with eyes that rivaled the sky. Touya was a name she longed to forget... only because the memories it brought to mind were too painful to put into words.

"What do you think Touya would say if he could see you now? Scheming with my old man?" It sounded as though the words had been ripped from his body involuntarily. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths coming out in pants. "I didn't have a chance to know him like you, but I think he would be ashamed of what you've become."

Shoto knew every weakness she'd ever had—had helped her discover most of them—but he'd never hit so below the belt. Over the years, they'd both demonstrated that their weaknesses extended beyond physical blows. Verbal and emotional attacks worked just as well, and clearly neither of them were above using such underhanded tactics. But this-

Sana stumbled back, as if the accusation was a physical blow. She would've preferred that to hearing those words. "Wha-? No!" She gasped, her eyes burning with tears. "I would never-"

"Don't you ever get tired of lying to everyone all of the time?"

"Can he fucking see you? See past the bullshit act you put on?" Before this year, Sana's answer would've been a resounding yes... but everything was different now.

He can't see me, she realized. Not anymore. All he sees now is that man. She steeled her shoulder and flexed her hands, mentally armoring herself, but it was too late. Shoto had taken her shattered heart—the same one he'd helped mend all those years—and stabbed her with the shard she'd given him to protect. He'd used her love against her and twisted it.

The battle wasn't over, but she'd already lost.

[misty--nights]

I had to pause the rewatch to work on my fics for the appreciation week, but now that that's done with, I'm back. And so, onto episode 4, my beloved. This is my absolute favorite episode of the season so I'm ridiculously excited to watch it again.

Niko's rent envelope has cat and flower stickers, and little dollar signs and hearts drawn on it. I love this girl so much

Jenny's nails are painted like metallic purple. I don't know why, but this brings me a lot of joy. I like the idea of her and Niko eventually doing their nails together, since they both keep pretty nails. It would be a bonding activity

I always thought Dagfinn was wearing suspenders, but it looks like he's wearing coveralls over his sweater

Even if there are no bodies to be found, does no one realize the people who jumped into the sea are missing?

Dagfinn says the magic eight ball tells you exactly when you're going to die, but that is not true. Like, yest, it says outlook not so good before Niko dies, but by her reaction after the explosion we know that the ball isn't exact. It predicts that she might not make it out alive from that whole thing, but it isn't exact. Basically what I'm saying is that I don't think that magic eight ball is as special as he makes it sound

Also, Dagfinn specifically says that the ghosts are jumping towards the sound, so does that mean he can hear Angie too? Of the kids, only Crystal hears it, and the others only notice something in the water because they see Angie's light

Honestly, with the way the police acted towards the girls reporting the leaper and the doctor that "treated" Niko after her collapse in episode 2, I'm starting to think there is something more going on with the people of Port Townsend. Dagfinn says the police won't do anything because there are no bodies, but are you seriously telling me that no one noticed the leapers going missing? Is it part of Angie's powers or something? I feel like a conspiracy theorist here, but you can't tell me there's nothing weird with the way the people in this town act about odd occurrences (and I know I'm skipping ahead, but with Brad and Hunter, are you seriously telling me there was no autopsy or anything after they died? The police just found these kids dead after a party, looked at them and said "yep, must have drank too much, no need to investigate further"? I don't know, there's just something weird about the way the town acts sometimes)

After the Cat King put the spell on him, Edwin physically tries to keep the words from coming out You can see him swallow them before he is forced to say them. I'm a sucker for this kind of trope tbh, so I'm living for it

I wish we got to find out more about Asha. Like, she can't just be a regular human right? Her portrait of Lilith is perfect, and she had the way to contact the Washer Woman written in one of her drawings. I know she said she was on drugs when she did those, but there has to be more to her, right?

Crystal's boots have flowers painted on them???? That's so cute! I love her. Do they come like that or do you think she painted them herself? Cause that would be amazing

Love the fact that the characters can ask the Washer Woman all they want, but the moment they ask for a non-riddle answer they are sent back. Like, Crystal gets to say "I don't know what that means" and "I don't understand" after hearing her riddle, but the second she starts asking for a direct answer she is thrown out of that realm thingy. Hilarious. I love the Washer Woman so much and the idea of her pettily sending people away because they won't accept the riddle is so funny to me

Edwin is still holding the red sea glass after they return from the Washer Woman, so theoretically they could have given Tragic Mick that very same sea glass. It might no have worked, but still, point is that they still had it

Jenny has a tattoo of a meat cleaver on her hand. That is the most Jenny thing that I have ever seen. I can't really see what the rest of that tattoo is, though, but regardless. Love her dedication to her brand

Have to love Edwin leaving Crystal to rummage through the garbage with Charles when ghosts wouldn't get dirty like she does. Monty is one hell of a distraction. On that same note, why is Niko the one putting the meat on the music box when either boy could have done it without getting their hands dirty?

Niko just puts on gloves after handling the meat huh? She dusts her hands a little and then puts on gloves, like her hands weren't fully red from the blood a second before

Niko's pants have a white flower embroidered (?) on the side. A little detail, but I always thought her whole outfit was plain color with no added things besides the mushrooms on her hat

The Night Nurse has like a reading light clipped to her book that she uses to dramatically light her face when she's telling Charles that the world sucks and he should move onto his afterlife

Love that after Charles' flashback is done the Night Nurse asks Edwin what trauma he'd like to relieve. What do you think his worse trauma is? His time in hell maybe? Why the fuck would he want to leave the world? I get why she would ask Charles and why she would show him his trauma from his time alive, but Edwin? It would have made no sense for her to try to convince him to go with her by showing him his trauma

I mentioned on the episode 3 details that Edwin doesn't flinch much in the Devlin house, but he's the first to flinch when Charles hits the Night Nurse, and actually gasps and calls Charles' name after the second hit. It must be a terrible shock for him, seeing good, smiley Charles like this, so angry and vicious against someone. Even if Charles calls himself the brawn, this is different, worse. He's probably never seen his friend like that, which only lends more credibility to what Crystal has been telling him. Maybe he doesn't know Charles as well as he's always thought

After Charles falls down crying, the other three share a look in the background, like they're trying to decide who should go comfort him