#also ravage sweetie i love you but i do NOT appreciate that because of you i now have to learn how to draw cats😭��

[xpurplepiex]

wave with his critters

[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.

[ichorizaki]

cosy up, cuddle down | o.t.

#PAIRING.  oikawa tōru x f!reader #GENRE.  fluff #WORDCOUNT.  2.5k #SYNOPSIS.  your very bored boyfriend drags you out into the snow to build snowmen. unfortunately, a snowball fight broke out and now you’re shivering and in need of warmth.

✎  author's note is at the bottom of the piece.

Snow danced in the golden beams of sunlight, stunningly choreographed by the rhythm of the gentle winter breeze. The sky was but a grey sea of fluffy clouds overhead. Rays of the sun broke through the clouds like angels’ pathways down from the heavens above. Miyagi has been pelted with a thin white layer of snow, like the city was a cushion so warm and soft. Even through the windows of Aoba Johsai High school, the entirety of Miyagi Prefecture looked like a winter wonderland. Snow was by no means a rarity but it never fails to fill you with wonder and unbridled, child-like excitement.

However, it was a pity that you were so sensitive to the cold. You watched the snow from afar, in the confines of the living room with a mug of hot cocoa made by your ever so talented boyfriend. He was laying down on the couch with his head on your laps, hugging your leg like you’re his personal bolster. There was some movie playing on the television screen that you weren’t paying attention to and he was somehow so engrossed in it. Mattsun and Makki were always recommending him stupid movies to watch and more often than not, you and Iwaizumi were dragged into it too.

“Baaabe.”

“Hm?”

“I’m bored.” You brought the mug to your lips, sipping on the warm drink whilst also trying to get one of the tiny, slightly melted marshmallows to chew on. Upon succession, you placed the mug down on the coffee table before you while he shuffled his position so he could sit up straight. His deep honeyed gaze was fixated on you, lips twisting to the side and pouting cutely. “You’ve got some hot cocoa on your lips, silly.”

Before you could pick up a tissue to clean it or even swipe the remnants of the drink with your tongue, your boyfriend had leaned forward to capture your lips in a kiss. You felt warmth rush up your neck and to the apples of your cheeks, painting them a rosy hue; a telltale sign of how flustered you were by his action.

“Tōru!” Your hand flew over your mouth, brows furrowing in faux anger at him. He all but gave you a cheeky grin in return.

“What?” Oh, that shit-eating grin you wanted to wipe off of his face so badly. “Anyway, Y/N sweetie, I’m boooored. Let’s do something!” Like a child he bounced in his spot where he sat on the couch, legs folded underneath him.

“What could we possibly do, Tōru?” You asked. He hums, eyes fluttering shut while his index finger and thumb cradled his chin. He seemed an awful lot serious for someone who’s bored. Just what goes on in his mind, you didn’t know. Not that you minded. Sometimes his ideas can be rather genius. Other times, however . . . they’re purely idiotic and it’s during those times he’d end up in some shit with Makki and Mattsun that you and Iwaizumi have to end up cleaning. One time they tried to race on shopping carts in the parking lot of a neighbourhood mall. Long story short, Tōru ended up bruising his wrist while Makki had a sprained ankle. How Mattsun managed to escape unscathed remains a mystery to all of you.

“Let’s make a snowman.” You would’ve choked on your drink if it wasn’t placed far from your reach. Your face had distorted into one of abject horror at his suggestion, while his was akin to that of a child on Christmas morning. “What? It’ll be fun! I’ll wrap you up in many many many layers, I promise.”

“Tōru, that’s the least of my concerns right now,” you sighed. “There’s barely enough snow on the front yard to make a snowman.”

“Then we’ll make a mini one!” He responded as-a-matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing to do; the perfect compromise for the snow, or lack thereof. “A cute little snowman. Maybe even more than one. We could make a whole family of mini snowmen!” You all but stared at him, not quite sure on what to make out of this idea of his. On one hand, you got to see his nose and the tip of his ears turn that adorable rosy hue of spring blooms in the beginning of winter. On the other hand, you were terribly sensitive to the cold. There was a reason why your parents were so against you leaving your house during this time of the year.

Tōru had slithered from his position across you and onto his belly, arms snaking around your waist. He dragged himself up into what resembled the cobra position, resting his chin on your stomach with that handsome grin of his on his stupid handsome– okay, Y/N. You gotta resist. Do not fall for his trap. Whatever you do, absolutely do not fall for his stupidly handsome grin, the one that never fails to make your heart flutter and race like you’re a girl in middle school all over again.

“Okay, we can make snowmen.” Well, you tried. That’s an A for effort. Maybe you could stall him . . .

“Yay! Y/N baby, you’re the best girlfriend ever, I love you so much!” His palms were now flat on either side of you as he pushed his entire body weight up to press another kiss to your lips. This kiss, you savoured all that you could of it. Your fingers trailed up to cup his jawline, tilting your head just the slightest so you could deepen the kiss. A soft hum of appreciation fell past his lips, swallowed by your own before his tongue had found its way swiping at your bottom lip. His rough, calloused fingers had now found purchase on your waist, hiding underneath the fabric of your sweatshirt. He massaged mindless and shapeless blobs into your sides while his tongue ravaged your mouth like a beast, making sure no corner was left untouched before he pulled away to catch his breath. “As much as I’d love to make out with you, I really wanna make snowmen, baby girl.”

It was your turn to pout, chest rising and falling as you chased for your breath. So your plan to make him stay inside a little longer was foiled. Could you refuse his cute face? Absolutely not. You were putty in his hands. He knew it, you knew it, and he knew that you knew it. Tōru leans back with that handsome grin of his so omnipresent on his face, resting his haunches on the heels of his feet. You missed the warmth of his touch but you knew one way or another, you’ll be back and cuddling up to each other.

As promised, your boyfriend had wrapped you up in a ridiculous amount of layers. He on the other hand, simply had a winter coat, a scarf, and a pair of gloves which had his name embroidered in an elegant golden. Your heart swelled with pride upon seeing that: it was an expensive gift that you’d gotten for him last Christmas. He was always complaining that his hands were cold, so you decided to get him a pair of gloves. Turns out, he was just making excuses to hold your hand during wintertime.

“Do you think we should make one by your gate so it can be seen by others?” Tōru takes your mitten-clad hands in his own, his warm breath billowing onto your joined hands. You looked up at him with a frown on your face. “What? No good?”

“If we’re gonna put it on the floor, why make snowmen at all, babe?” He nodded slowly in agreement. “How about on top of my mailbox? I’m pretty sure we can somehow try and balance it. The surface’s not curved.”

“Sounds good!” He cheered, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your lips. How could he be so warm in this cold weather? It was probably one of the perks of being an athlete, you guessed. ‘Athletes run hot’, you remember one of the boys said. You couldn’t quite remember who, but you distinctly remember your boyfriend agreeing because of his ‘attractive face and hot charms’.

The two of you walked over to the square-shaped mailbox embedded into the cobblestone fence that guarded your little house. Your task to build an army of tiny snowmen was quickly forgotten when your boyfriend had decided to smother your cheeks with snow. Yelping out from the sudden biting chill of the snow, you quickly bent down to scoop however much snow you could in your tiny hands before shoving it onto his chest.

“Y/N, that’s no fair!” He cried out at how cold the snow was as the temperature penetrated through his winter coat. However, peals of laughter quickly resounded in the air. “I’m so gonna get you for that, pretty girl.”

Your eyes watched him carefully as he scooped up a generous amount of snow in his palms. The second he began charging towards you, you were screaming while he chased you around the tiny yard. Your heart was rapidly beating against your chest as you tried to catch your breath. He was way too fast for you and quickly gained on you before dumping the snow on your head.

“Tōru!” You shrieked. “You’re so mean!” The chills of the wintry breeze caressed your rosy cheeks, tangling with the locks of your hair until you could feel it freeze among your strands. A sneeze ricocheted through your system. It was so strong that you jumped in your spot.

“Eh? Baby girl, are you okay?” Perhaps he had finally remembered that you were sensitive to temperature, especially in freezing negative digits. A loud gasp of realisation and shock was due when you suddenly sneezed once again.

Then another sneeze. And then another. And then another.

“Okay, okay! Immune system, quit being mean to my poor girlfriend!” He sulked, pulling you into his arms. Immediately you were embraced in warmth, but it wasn’t enough even through the five layers (yes, he made you put on five layers) of winter apparel. You were still sneezing and it was beginning to make your eyes water. Now, you were beginning to be afraid that your eyes were going to freeze up in the cold. Bursts of apologies were profusely coming from his lips like a desperate prayer to gain back the gods’ favour to somehow miraculously cure you that instant. Tōru swayed your body side to side, peppering warm kisses that felt like delicate butterfly wings made by the sun against your face. “Aw, my poor baby. Let’s go in, shall we? I’m so sorry for making you play with me, I genuinely forgot.”

“‘S okay, T-Tōr– achoo!” He finally guided you back inside where the snow could be observed from afar and heaters warmed up the space. No matter how slobbery your running nose was, your boyfriend was ever so kind to give you encouraging kisses on your cheeks and forehead while stripping you out of your winter clothes in your room. He ran around the vacuity of your house, already so familiar with the space having spent an ungodly amount of hours there to the point where your parents could recognise his shoes in the entryway, along with Iwaizumi’s.

He had always been so gently with you, and this moment was no different than the rest. He grabbed all of the comforters that you had, all of the blankets that were in the house (except for your parents’, of course) and tossed them onto the couch next to you. You would have complained if it wasn’t for the fact that Tōru was so frenzied by the idea of being the reason you were catching a cold.

“My poor, poor baby,” he cooed softly. His big hands were quick to wrap you in a layer, and then another, and then another, and one final one. Satisfied, he placed his hands on his hips and stared at you, bundled up in four different layers that wrapped around your body. All you needed left was him to cuddle you. “Anything I can get for you, baby girl?”

“Some hot cocoa, and lots of kisses and cuddles, please.”

“Okay, I’ll be a second. Don’t miss me too much, yeah?” Though his words were teasing, you knew he meant well. Before your boyfriend disappeared into the kitchen, his index finger and thumb cradled your chin to bring your gaze to meet his. He places a kiss on your forehead, the tip of your nose, and then finally one last kiss fully on your lips. “I love you.”

Ah, he just knew how to make your knees weak, didn’t he? The telltale heat of a blush creeped up your snow-cold cheeks and he grinned triumphantly. You could all but muster a weak response that mirrored his words exactly and then he was off into the kitchen. Right as he promised he was back before you knew it. Or was it because the cold was making your brain freeze too?

“C’mere.” Tōru gently peels the layers from your fingers so you could hold the mug with your two hands. As soon as your fingers came into contact with your mug, you swore you could have melted right then and there. Your nose was clogged no longer thanks to the steam from the mug and the heat that radiated had sent goosebumps rippling in waves from your hands and all the way to your spine.

He had settled himself right behind you on your bed, adjusting the pillows with one hand and being careful so he wouldn’t accidentally cause another accident. Tōru manoeuvred his way around like you were a glass doll until he could confidently settle his arms around your frame. Melting into his embrace, you’d nearly forgotten about the hot cocoa in your hands. You took small sips as he sung quiet hymns of praises and apologies right next to your ear. His chin rested on your shoulder while his left hand moved to caress your hair and tuck locks of it behind your ear. Given it was a little difficult, but he prized your comfort over everything else.

“Feeling comfy, my pretty princess?” He prompted when you handed him the half-finished hot cocoa. He reached over to place the mug on your nightstand. Your fingers were no longer freezing and you could finally feel your hands.

“Very.” You got onto your knees, turning around and resting on your haunches and opening up your arms with the layers of blanket acting as wings for you. To him, you looked like a cute little snow angel. “Now get your ass under the covers so we can cuddle.”

Tōru all but laughed. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your frame before carefully laying the both of you down on your bed with you on him. His hand reached up to push the mountain of blankets and comforters away from your head so you could properly rest on his chest. Fingers carded through your locks, gentle and tender whilst he hummed a nameless tune. Warmth finally spread throughout your body and it felt like you were sinking into a warm, toasty marshmallow. Yeah, you were right: one way or another, you both ended cuddling up to each other.

꒰💌꒱ A LETTER FROM SOL!

hi @mindfulvenus​! i’m your secret santa. i hope you love your gift and it was up to standards♡ oikawa tōru is a goofy, needy boyfriend and i will die on this hill i’ve created.

[artificialqueens]

Overpowered Part 5 (Branjie)- athena2

Really sorry about that cliffhanger! This chapter was SO hard to write, and I actually made myself tear up a few times. I hope it’s not too long! The support and feedback has been absolutely amazing, and I would really appreciate it if you let me know what you think of this one! I really hope you like it! *This does have injury, mentioned blood, mentioned abuse, and mild implied depression*

Vanjie’s “I love you” swirls in Frost’s head as she blasts ice at Quake, Scarlet’s screams ineffective against his earplugs.

“We gotta get those things out of his ears,” Scarlet pants, wiping blood off her mouth. “Then I can finish him.”

Frost nods, her own face sticky with blood. The ground beneath them is torn to shreds, dirt, rocks, and branches scattered among the snow.

“Ow, fuck,” Yvie crackles in her ear comm. “I knocked out Shockwave, but he fucked me up pretty good. Vanjie? Vanj- oh, shit,” Yvie’s last words are hushed, and Frost knows. Something’s wrong.

“Y-Yvie?” Her voice quivers. She ducks behind a tree while Scarlet continues the fight. Her heart is pounding painfully fast, straining her ribs. “Did s–did something happen?”

It’s so quiet she wonders if the comm died. “You need to get over here.”

“Go! I got this!” Scarlet insists, and Frost runs.

The trees fade as she sprints, desperate to reach Vanjie but also not wanting to know what awaits. The clock tower guides her, a crack in the clock face slicing through her vision, and the time…she almost chokes on her heart. Did that mean…no, no, please.

She feels like she’s walking through quicksand as she reaches Yvie, standing next to someone on the ground. A giant hand is squeezing her chest, cutting off air, but Frost isn’t even seeking any.

She can’t look.

No, no, please, no–

“Brooke, I’m so sorry,” Yvie says softly. “I tried CPR, but she…I’m sorry.”

But Yvie doesn’t need to be sorry, because this isn’t happening. Because Vanessa’s not dead. Vanessa’s not dead, and she’s going to open the red silk robe Brooke got her because she loved robes but other fabrics made her too hot. She’s going to open the two presents Brooke’s been nervous about, and her grin will tell Brooke she was jittery for nothing. She’s going to stuff herself with cake and say it was worth it despite her stomachache. Vanessa is going to laugh and smile and look at Brooke with that gleam in her eyes and sneak food to the pets and make a mess while they cook dinner and she’s going to kiss her and curl up with Brooke in bed, because she’s not dead.

Yvie steps back, and she forces herself to look down.

Vanjie–Vanessa–lies on the hard snow, scorch marks on the chest and arm of her red suit, the red like blood against the bright white. Only there isn’t any blood. She isn’t moving, and Vanessa is never still.

Frost drops, and by the time her knees sink into the snow, Frost has shattered and a shell of Brooke is all that remains.

“Vanessa?” Her voice cracks like thin ice.

She doesn’t answer.

“Ness?”

Silence.

“Please,” Brooke whimpers.

Tears stream down her cheeks as a chill ravages her, heart plummeting below zero.

She should have done more. She shouldn’t have left Vanessa, should have wiped the blood off her face as soon as the rock struck her, shouldn’t have let herself believe they could simply avoid this.

Shouldn’t have let herself believe she could have such happiness without it being ripped away from her.

Vanessa’s eyes are closed, and Brooke gently peels away her mask. It reminds her of when Vanessa removed it for the first time, when Brooke looked into those eyes and was ready to tell her everything, to give Vanessa her entire heart, when Vanessa’s arms taught her what safety meant, and now her body convulses with sobs, world blurred by tears, as she selfishly realizes that those arms will never hold her again.

That her very definition of safety is being erased.

She pulls Vanessa into her arms, registering somewhere in her mind that this is the final piece of Yvie’s vision. She looks at Vanessa, usually full of color and sound and life, now dull and silent and–she can’t say it.

I love you. I love you more than anything. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. She can’t speak but her tears carry the message as they drip onto Vanessa’s face. She wipes them off her as even more fall. Somehow Vanessa’s cheeks are still warm, their heat beneath Brooke’s fingertips the only sign she can still feel at all.

Warm?

Brooke’s heart speeds up, and she forces down the hope longing to thaw her frozen heart. She’s probably just imagining it. She doesn’t know science but she’s pretty sure Vanessa should not be warm. She’s not breathing, and Brooke can’t feel a pulse. But Vanessa is warm. She lowers her ear to Vanessa’s chest. Is it her imagination, or does she hear electricity humming in her body?

An idea pops into her head. It probably won’t work. It probably shouldn’t work; it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense, but the truth is nothing in her life has made sense since she woke up in that damn bed with a dozen tubes in her arm, and the only person that has ever brought clarity isn’t breathing, and Brooke will try anything.

She eases Vanessa onto the snow and places both hands over her heart. She does the chest compressions A’Keria taught her, but she lets ice flow from her hands, watching as it travels through the hole in Vanessa’s suit and over the shiny burn on her chest, seeping into her body.

She’s never used her powers like this and she can feel herself weakening, her eyelids getting heavy as she lowers her lips to Vanessa’s and pushes air into her body, as she wills the ice to soothe the charred areas of Vanessa’s heart, to let her scorched arteries pulse anew, but she keeps going.

She keeps going until she feels a faint thrum under her hands.

She keeps going until Vanessa’s gasping breath soars through the winter air, and it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.

Vanessa coughs harshly and falls unconscious, but she continues to breathe. Her heart continues to beat.

She’s alive.

Brooke cradles Vanessa just to feel her heartbeat against her own chest. She lets herself be selfish again and soak in the fact that she won’t be left without Vanessa. That she won’t have to sleep in an empty bed, or make pancakes for one instead of two, or get a shot at the doctor’s without her warm hand to hold, or watch a movie without her cackling loudly.

Because of all the things Brooke has come to know, how to live without Vanessa is not one of them. —

She’s not sure how they end up at the base, her eyes seeing nothing but Vanessa’s chest as it rises and falls, her ears hearing nothing but Vanessa’s breaths.

The night passes in snapshots as Brooke’s chest tightens with worries about how frail Vanessa felt: Ra’jah tearing Vanessa out of her arms; Yvie trying to calm her; the snow and ice stuck to Brooke’s suit melting into a puddle at her feet; Brooke’s shivers fading to numbness as she paced the hallway, breath coming in fearful wheezes; Scarlet arriving; and Ra’jah finally bringing her to Vanessa.

Vanessa is pale, almost as pale as the bandages on her arm and chest, but she’s alive. Her breaths are shallow and her heart is slow but she’s alive and Brooke finally unclenches her shoulders.

She looks so tiny in the bed, like a child, and Brooke just wants to hold her. She wishes Vanessa was home in their bed, safe. She forces herself to remember that this isn’t the lab, that the wires and tubes are helping her even if they look scary. She wonders if this is how Vanessa felt when she got shot: completely helpless, unable to do anything but watch as monitors and medicine make sure Vanessa is okay. She wishes she could take Vanessa’s place, let the nest of wires run over her, transfer those burns to her skin so Vanessa didn’t have to feel any pain.

Now that she knows Vanessa’s alright, it’s like every ache and ounce of exhaustion Brooke ignored hits her at once. Her head droops, too heavy to hold up as the room turns in circles. Her heart slows dangerously. Her knees turn to rubber, and Scarlet seats her in a chair by Vanessa’s bed.

“You’re freezing,” Scarlet hisses, shooting a concerned glance at Yvie.

“Always run cold,” she slurs.

Yvie shakes her head. “Your lips are blue. The way you used your powers, and you’re still in that suit…you need a doctor.”

“Look at her hands,” Scarlet whispers.

Brooke sees tiny ice fragments cresting up her skin, her fingertips tinged blue. She realizes that she can’t feel the ice or her fingers–can’t feel anything below her elbows or knees, actually–but she’s too sleepy and her head is too foggy to care.

Even though she’d refused medical attention all night, she doesn’t have the energy to argue when Ra’jah enters, flanked by A’Keria and Silk, and she fights to keep her eyes open as a thermometer is slipped under her tongue.

“Brooke, sweetie, we really need you to stay awake for us,” A’Keria’s voice is miles away.

Ra’jah frowns as she removes the thermometer, and her face morphs into the doctor’s.

A rough wail shreds Brooke’s throat. She wants to scream, tell him not to touch her, but the words are slippery in her mouth and all she manages are shuddering gasps, and she thinks she’s crying again.

Is she going crazy?

A’Keria’s trying to soothe her but her eyes are cold and gray like the General’s and suddenly he’s there, and Brooke doesn’t know where she is anymore, and she wants to push them both away but her arms won’t move, and she gratefully lets sleep take her. —

Faint throbbing in her left hand sinks beneath the surface and tugs her from unconsciousness. She cracks an eye open and glimpses a tube. An IV.

Her breath halts in her throat. She’s in so much trouble; they only gave her an IV when she was really bad. Did she ask for her name again?

The wires stuck to her skin must be telling them her heart rate and temperature and other information she didn’t even know about, all laid bare on display for them to record and review to make sure the drugs worked properly.

How did she get here? Her mind is moving like molasses, she can’t think–they must have given her a lot already. She works her right hand over to the IV. She has to take it out but her fingers are too stiff, too clumsy–

“Hey, Brooke? The IV needs to stay in, it’s okay.” The voice seems worried.

She senses the person getting closer. Did they have a needle? Brooke curls inward on pure instinct, a whimper escaping before she can stop it. No crying or she’ll get punished. She hopes whatever they want from her won’t hurt.

“Um, A’Keria said to tell you you’re safe.” The voice continues.

A’Keria. Brooke’s thoughts lag like an outdated computer. A’Keria wouldn’t be at the lab, would she? But if A’Keria’s here, where’s–

“Vanessa!” Her eyes snap open. She tries to get out of bed but the room tilts and she slumps back against the pillows. Vanessa, find Vanessa. “Wh-where is she?”

“She’s right next to you.”

Brooke’s head whirs around. The rail of her bed brushes another bed containing…Vanessa.

She’s sleeping, face still pale but utterly beautiful, and she looks peaceful, her warmth reaching Brooke through the layers of blankets someone heaped over her, making her almost comfortable in the firm bed. She wonders if it was the same someone that dressed her in the sweatshirt and sweatpants she’s wearing.

Vanessa’s safe. Brooke sighs. It comes rushing back: the church, the fight, her ice on Vanessa’s chest.

Her stomach knots at how quickly her mind followed their rules, how quickly her muscles expected the prick of a needle. The scars might fade but they’ll always be there.

I am more than what they did to me, she reminds herself, something else Nina taught her.

Brooke drags herself closer, slipping her hand through the rail to circle around Vanessa’s, needing to know that she’s really here, trying not to worry about how limp Vanessa’s hand is.

Yvie and Scarlet hover around the bed, both covered in bruises, medical tape, and bandages.

“What happened?” Brooke asks.

Her mind is still a little stuffy and she processes their information in chunks. Yvie knocked out Shockwave and Scarlet took down Quake, Scarlet waiting for backup while Yvie drove Brooke and Vanessa to base. Silk and A’Keria took Quake and Shockwave into custody after dropping Scarlet off, and Silk confirmed they really had them this time.

They were gone. They were really gone. Not one person from the lab can touch her again. Brooke is breathless with relief, struggling to comprehend the sudden safety, sudden freedom, of knowing they wouldn’t hurt her or Vanessa again.

“Then we saw Vanessa and you passed out,” Yvie finishes. “Ra’jah said using your powers that intensely made your temperature drop and gave you hypothermia. She thinks you were delirious, that’s why you got upset.”

That’s why she saw them. She wasn’t going crazy. Brooke relaxes further into the blankets.

“She couldn’t believe you lasted as long as you did with a temperature that low,” Scarlet adds. “She had you in your own room at first even though A’Keria said it was a bad idea. Then your temperature kept falling and your pulse was barely there and Vanessa’s heart rate was slowing, and A’Keria let her have it.”

“A’Keria went off on Ra’jah,” Yvie announces gleefully. “She basically told her if she separated you, she’d regret it more than when she got bangs. Ra’jah had your bed brought in real quick. And A’Keria was right. You warmed up faster next to Vanessa, and her heartbeat got stronger when you were there.”

“That hair was a national tragedy,” A’Keria declares as she slips inside, handing Scarlet and Yvie coffees from a tray and stroking Brooke’s arm.

“You feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I thought we were gonna lose both of you in one night,” A’Keria says softly, dark circles ringing her eyes.

“Ra’jah said to give you hot drinks when you woke up, so if you’re up for it…” She pulls another cup off the tray, placing it gently in Brooke’s hands.

The scent of rich chocolate hits her nose, loosening her tense muscles.

“Thank you,” Brooke whispers, and she can tell from A’Keria’s eyes that she knows Brooke means it for everything. —

Ra’jah makes her stay in bed for the day, changing the small bandage on the cut on her head, which thankfully didn’t need stitches, and constantly checking her temperature. Even though being stuck here makes her skin itch, it’s bearable with Vanessa.

Her whole body is warm as she watches Vanessa sleep, trying not to think of what could have been, grateful when Yvie, Scarlet, Silk, and A’Keria spend the afternoon with her and take her mind off Vanessa lying lifeless in the snow.

Brooke’s heart leaps when Vanessa’s eyelashes flutter that night. Her brown eyes are dull and confused, but Brooke truly relaxes once she sees them.

Vanessa’s awake.

She’s awake and she’s going to be okay.

“The fuck…B-Brooke?”

“I’m right here. You’re okay.” They’re words Vanessa’s said to her countless times, and it feels good to day them back, to be the one comforting her.

“Brooke, what happened? There was lightning, and then I…I can’t remember. Did I…” Her voice shakes through rushed breathing, eyes wide with fear, and Brooke knows the word she can’t bring herself to say.

Brooke stretches her hand over and Vanessa grips back weakly, breaths calming. Ra’jah and Nina had visited today, and they decided that telling Vanessa the truth was the best thing to do. So Brooke does, explaining that the lightning overpowered her heart but her CPR and ice repaired the damage and restarted it.

Thick tears fall from Vanessa’s eyes as she finishes. Brooke’s not sure if they’re from happiness over being alive, or from thinking about how she almost wasn’t, which Brooke has been pushing out of her own mind.

Brooke longs to do more than rub her thumb over Vanessa’s hand and whisper that it’s okay, but Vanessa is asleep again before she can try to get up and kiss her. —

They get home and collapse into bed.

Vanessa is weak and exhausted, pain meds easing her discomfort, and she lets Brooke tuck her under the covers without a word of protest. Some of her color has returned, making the non-stick bandages covering her burns even more ghostly in comparison.

“Do you need anything?” Brooke asks.

“Just stay with me.”

Brooke slips under the blanket and rubs Vanessa’s back soothingly. She hates seeing Vanessa suffer like this but it’s nice to relieve some of her pain, to take care of her and let her hands caress her lovingly.

“Thank you for saving me.” Vanessa’s voice is thick with sleep.

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to. I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m so happy I’m still here to love you.” Vanessa pauses. “I might call Nina,” she says, somewhat randomly, and Brooke wonders if all this is weighing on her more heavily than she thought, if the drowsiness is making her extra vulnerable.

“That’s good. I think she can help you.”

“Yeah.”

Vanessa is asleep seconds later. —

“Do you want to talk about what happened in the church? It’s completely up to you,” Nina offers.

Brooke stares at her lap. She holds the squeeze ball but is too tired to play with it. She hadn’t even wanted to come to therapy today, but Vanessa had asked her to.

Brooke shakes her head. “I just can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright. I think it’ll benefit you to talk about it though, once you feel ready.” Nina pauses, and Brooke glances up to see overwhelmingly kind eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

Brooke nods.

“Have you thought about dancing again?”

She shifts around, clutching the ball tighter, spinning words from her thoughts. “Kind of. I- it’s like I picture myself dancing, but I haven’t thought about actually doing it, if that makes sense?”

Nina nods. “Would you consider it? Because from what you’ve learned and what you remember, it seems like something that was important to you, that was a big part of you.”

“I…I remember feeling happy, and free. I think I loved it. But what if I…never mind, it’s stupid.”

“Your thoughts aren’t stupid, Brooke. What if you what?”

“What if I forgot how? What if I try but I can’t do it?” Sometimes her muscles ache with the longing to twirl and spin and leap, to float like nothing can touch her, like the scars from the lab don’t exist, but part of her is afraid she won’t even be able to balance right, and dancing will be just another piece of her gone forever, another reminder of what she lost.

“That’s not stupid at all. I understand why you’re concerned. But even if you’re not perfect, I think this could help you get more in tune with yourself and your body and relax a little. And it’s possible that your body might remember how to dance once you start moving. But only if you want to. You won’t know unless you try.” —

Vanessa spends days on the couch with Riley nestled into her chest, not even changing her pajamas or showering, refusing any company. Brooke makes chicken soup that Vanessa only eats a few spoonfuls of. And she’s quiet. Almost scarily quiet, and she stares at the TV but Brooke doesn’t think she’s actually watching it.

Brooke tries not to worry. Vanessa has been through a lot. Brooke knows she can get through this, but it might take her a while to feel okay again, to feel like herself again, and Brooke understands. Vanessa is there for all her bad days, and Brooke will be there for Vanessa too, and for every one of her bad days. She makes sure Vanessa drinks enough water and applies her burn cream, but gives her the space she knows she needs.

Vanessa goes to Nina a week later and when she comes back her eyes are a little brighter and her shoulders aren’t so stooped, like a weight was lifted off them. She eats a few more bites than she had all week, and says she made another appointment.

Brooke kisses the top of her head. “I’m proud of you, Ness.” —

Brooke continues to take her medication, and she thinks she feels better. It’s like the buzzing that had always been in her head is fading, and she never knew how loud and distracting it was until it wasn’t there. The colors and noises outside aren’t as sharp, no longer fraying her nerves and assaulting her senses.

They spend the days leading up to Christmas in the kitchen, Vanessa leaving the couch for a bit as Brooke goes through every pot and pan and bowl they own and nudges Vanessa away from doing the dishes because she’s supposed to take it easy, body still sore even though she no longer winces every time she moves.

She looks at the tree twinkling, Vanessa petting the animals. She’s been eating more and is slowly starting to come back to herself. Brooke wipes tears from her eyes.

She can’t believe this life is hers. —

Before they know it, Christmas Eve is here. Vanessa said Christmas Eve was the wild night in her family and Christmas Day was just for relaxing and eating leftovers, and they’re both pulsing with energy.

Brooke finishes the red velvet cake and emerges from the shower to see Vanessa has washed the dishes and made French toast.

“Ness, you didn’t have to do this…” She insists as Vanessa plants her in a chair.

“I wanted to. It’s our first Christmas together and your first one after the lab, and I want it to be special.”

Brooke’s body tingles as Vanessa sits in her lap and kisses her forehead.

She knows it will be special just because Vanessa’s there. —

Yvie brings noisemakers and the crackers that pull apart and get sparkles everywhere because she saw them in a movie once, and Scarlet almost breaks her ankle tripping on one when she tries to dance.

They make enough noise for a hundred people through dinner, and Brooke sees how much they all needed this after the past few weeks. Her lips seem permanently stretched into a smile, a far cry from when her mouth twitching the wrong way could get her slapped.

There were days during her time at the lab when she woke up in her apartment and the loneliness almost crushed her, and she knew deep down that if anything happened to her, no one would even care.

Tonight, she looks around at everyone laughing and smiling, bright eyes shining like Christmas lights, stuffing themselves with food she made, and Brooke feels safe and whole and–loved.

For the first time she can remember, she knows what it’s like to have a family. —

Vanessa loves her robe so much she has to model it up and down the living room, paired with the thigh-high black boots and gold hoop earrings Brooke got her. She howls as she opens a box stuffed with chip bags, Vanessa’s favorites and crazy kinds Brooke found online just to see Vanessa smile over grilled cheese and coffee flavors.

Brooke is warm from head to toe like she’s wrapped in a giant blanket, running her fingers over the soft sweaters Vanessa got her and thinking of all the decorating she can do with her new baking supplies.

The tears start when Vanessa opens the photo album. She told Brooke once that she had given A’Keria her mom’s old family photos for safekeeping. She always wanted to put them in an album but never did, and Brooke enlisted A’Keria’s help to do just that.

Vanessa smoothes her hand over the glossy pictures, breaths short through her wide mouth. She takes Brooke’s hand, and Brooke understands.

Vanessa’s crying only increases as she rips the chili-pepper wrapping paper on the small box Brooke hands her, revealing a tiny snowflake necklace, the first of the two Brooke’s been fidgety over.

Vanessa is quiet as it rests on her palm.

She hates it. What the hell was she thinking, getting her a snowflake necklace?

“Is it okay?” Brooke asks.

“Brooke, I love it. I love it so much. It’s like you’re always with me.” She puts it right on, and it glitters in the light like real snow.

Vanessa passes her a box papered in snowmen, expression hopeful and a little nervous. Everyone stops opening their presents to watch expectantly. She pulls the lid off the box and her heart nearly bursts.

Tucked inside the tissue paper is a pair of soft pink pointe shoes.

Brooke’s mouth falls open as she strokes the silky texture, suddenly hit with the memory of leaping through the air, weightless, with lights on her and music strong in her ears, in shoes just like these. “How-how did you…”

Vanessa grins. “I called Plastique to see if she knew what ones you wore. I had a whole page of notes on sizing and shit, I felt like I was looking at the damn DaVinci code. But I’m 99 percent sure they’re right.”

“They’re perfect.” She kisses Vanessa’s cheek as her legs burn from being on pointe and her ears ring with distant applause, all she can do to thank Vanessa for the freedom and memories she’s given her.

Ribbons and bows and wrapping paper fly around the room like missiles as everyone unwraps the rest of their presents. Yvie screeches over her tarot cards, Scarlet’s excited yell over makeup almost breaks a mirror, A’Keria says she will be taking her spa trip soon to get away from Silk’s nonsense, thank you very much, and Silk fawns over her new tech equipment, a bow that no one’s told her about still stuck in her hair, hushed bets placed over how long before she notices.

“I have one more for you,” Vanessa winks mischievously.

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “So do I.”

“We going in our room for this. Don’t want all you nosy hoes in the way.”

They head down the hall to a chorus of “ooohhhs”, and Brooke tries to ignore the pang in her chest at Vanessa’s weary, restrained movements.

Vanessa closes the door and immediately rambles to herself, a sign of rare nervousness. “Do I have to kneel a certain way? I used to get smacked for going on the wrong leg in church. You know what, screw it.”

Vanessa lowers herself onto both knees. She pulls a tiny box from behind her back and opens it, a ring nestled inside the velvet, glimmering in the light.

Brooke’s jaw drops as her stomach leaps, tears immediately welling up.

“I didn’t rehearse this or anything, but Brooke…what can I even say? You gave me a life I didn’t know I was missing. You make me happier than anything, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you. I love how kind you are and how you always take care of me. I love when you put your head in my lap and let me play with your hair. I love that you love me for me and don’t try to make me change who I am. I love how you always get frosting on your nose when you eat cupcakes. I love falling asleep next to you at night and waking up next to you in the morning, and getting to see you everyday. I love you, Brooke, and…will you marry me?”

Brooke can barely speak, love overflowing from her and filling every inch of the room. “Yes, yes, I’d give you a thousand yeses if I could.”

The love in Vanessa’s eyes is overpowering. Brooke crouches down and lets Vanessa slide the ring on her finger, and it’s a perfect fit, just like their bodies intertwined in bed. She pulls Vanessa in for a kiss, and everything vanishes. Vanessa’s lips are the only oxygen Brooke needs, and the two of them are all that matters.

“You said you had one more?” Vanessa prompts.

“See, the thing is…” And Brooke reaches into her pocket and pulls out a box.

She knows that what’s inside will be more than just a ring to Vanessa, but it’s more to Brooke as well. Even when she was free from the lab, it’s something she never thought she’d have the courage to do. But Vanessa helped her not only escape her chains, but want to shatter them too, and with this ring, she feels she’s destroyed the last link encircling her wrist.

“Brooke,” Vanessa is giggling through her tears as Brooke unveils the ring.

“Um, so I practiced this with Nina, and she’s also an ordained minister and offered to do the wedding, but anyway, here goes.”

She takes a breath, reminding herself that there’s no need for the jumpiness in her stomach. “Vanessa, you…you saved me in more ways than you know. Even when I didn’t know who I was, I knew who you were, and it’s because of you that I am who I am now. I’m not scared to wake up in the middle of the night anymore, because you’re there. You’re so kind, and gentle, and you’re by my side for everything. And I want to be by your side, for the good and the bad and even just the normal stuff. I want to hug and kiss you and make you breakfast and take care of you. I want to be there for you singing in the shower and taking forever to pick a movie and burning your mouth on cookies right out of the oven. I love your laugh and your smile and how strong and funny and brave you are and how you always smell like potato chips. Ness…I look at you, and I know everything’s going to be okay. You’re my best friend. I love you so much. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Vanessa squeals between sobs before burying her tear-stained face in Brooke’s chest.

This might be the only Christmas Brooke remembers, but it is undoubtedly the best. —

Everyone acts too natural when they return, Yvie almost falling off the couch in an effort to look casually sprawled across it.

“Well?” Silk demands. “Did you do what we think you did?”

She and Vanessa both display their rings, bursting into laughter.

“Y’all really are useless lesbians,” A’Keria mumbles. “Silk, I want my money, hoe! I told you Brooke was too much of a softie to let Christmas go without a proposal!”

“You two make me want to throw up,” Yvie declares.

“That’s one of the best compliments Yvie has,” Scarlet promises.

Silk leaps off the couch, red bow still hanging tough in her hair. “Enough with the tears, Momma’s got a bingo game to win!” —

They fall into bed later that night, exhausted but lightheaded with bliss, ready for Christmas Day with everyone all over again.

“We’re gonna get married,” Brooke whispers incredulously.

“I know,” Vanessa grins back.

They fall asleep with their ringed hands locked together in a promise of love.

[thesecondcircleofkel]

Something New

Shinsou x Reader x Kaminari (female reader) 

2.5K

Summary: Pure filth with not a lot of plot. 

Warnings: NSFW, threesome, anal fingering, pegging, oral sex, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, creampie

Notes: Reposting for various reasons. Requests are open! Also, make sure you check out my masterlist, because some of my fics haven’t been showing up in the tumblr tag search.

Never in your wildest dreams would you have pictured yourself in this situation. Dating not only one, but two of your old classmates? It was hard to believe sometimes, but as you watched Shinsou and Kaminari locked in a passionate frenzy of kisses, it was an undeniable truth. Kaminari had wanted to try something new in the bedroom, and knowing how much his lover enjoyed you having control over him, Shinsou had suggested pegging. You were nervous about the idea at first, but once Kaminari had happily agreed to it, you decided that it wouldn’t hurt to try.

It wasn’t like the three of you were unfamiliar with doing things like this, but it would be the first time that you had been put into this particular position. They were both extremely encouraging, though, with Shinsou offering to prep Kaminari as you lubed up the strap-on that you had bought earlier that day. Both men were already hard, their cocks throbbing as Shinsou worked his lubed fingers inside of Kaminari, and you were overflowing with arousal just at the sight of them. Once he was sure that the blonde had been stretched enough, Shinsou motioned for you to come over.

“Are you ready, hun?”

Kaminari chuckled at your question, spinning around slightly so he could pull you in for a quick kiss. He winked at you as he pulled away, turning his back to you as he adjusted into a more comfortable kneeling position.

“I’m ready whenever you are, Y/N.”

“Just…stop me if I fuck up, alright?”

“Everything will be fine, Y/N. Trust me.”

With that last reassurance from Shinsou, you finally pressed into Kaminari, gently easing the tip of the silicone toy into him before stilling. When he showed no signs of pain or discomfort, and he gave you a nod saying that it was okay to continue, you slowly pushed forward until your hips were as flush with Kaminari’s as they could be with the harness that you were wearing.

You stilled for another moment, making sure that he had time to fully adjust before you continued. Shinsou moved to where he was kneeling right in front of Kaminari, helping the blonde to stay balanced on his knees as he pulled his upper body up. Shinsou gently cupped the blonde’s face before pulling him into another searing kiss. As their lips moved in tandem, Shinsou’s hands slowly trailed down Kaminari’s neck, and they continued their way down his chest and stomach until they reached his pulsating length. The purple-haired hero placed one hand on Kaminari’s hip to help keep him steady, while he wrapped the other around the base of his cock, causing a breathless moan to slip from the electricity user’s lips.

You took that as your cue to move, and you slowly pulled your hips back before pushing them forward again, angling yourself to try to hit that sweet spot that would make Kaminari practically sing with pleasure. It took you a few tries to angle your thrusts just the right way, but soon enough you found exactly what you were looking for. Kaminari’s mouth fell open in silent rapture before a small gasp choked from his lips. That obviously wasn’t enough for Shinsou, though, and he finally started to stroke Kaminari’s length, stopping once he reached the tip in order to gather the precum there with his thumb. He then circled his thumb around the engorged head of Kaminari’s cock, causing Kaminari to buck forward into his hand.

“You’re doing so good, Denki. You always do so good for us.”

“How does he look, Hitoshi?”

“Fucking gorgeous. Is this what you get to see every time I take him, Y/N? Because we might have to do this more often if that’s the case.”

And he really did look gorgeous. Pupils blown wide with pleasure, mouth hanging open as keening moans continuously tumbled out of his lips, face flushed with carnal heat, chest heaving with breathlessness, body writhing in euphoria- he truly painted the picture of being thoroughly fucked. Shinsou was loving every second of it, and his cock twitching with the proof of that. He couldn’t wait to have his turn with either one of you, but far be it from him to rush away from such a beautiful, erotic sight.

“Are you going to cum for us, Denki?”

Kaminari couldn’t even find the voice to answer your question as he leaned forward to rest his head against Shinsou’s shoulder, and he could only nod as white-hot ecstasy burned through his body. He was so happy that he had agreed to this; he always loved it when you took charge, but seeing you have this much dominance over him was a whole new kind of thrill.

His body started to tremble as his pleasure began to peak into a crescendo, and with a final thrust from you and one last stroke from Shinsou, he came with a cry of sheer bliss, holding onto Shinsou for dear life. His milky load gushed all over Shinsou’s stomach, but the lavenderette hardly seemed to mind. You were both unmoving as you waited for Kaminari to come down from his high, with Shinsou running his hand through the blonde’s hair to help him calm down.

“Are you alright, sweetie?”

“I’m so much more than alright, Y/N.”

You gradually eased the dildo out of Kaminari, quickly taking the strap-on off and placing it on the towel that you had laid out in the floor. Shinsou gave Kaminari one last kiss before he helped him lay down on his side of the bed, and then he was on you like lightning, shoving his mouth against yours in a fervent kiss that left you disoriented. You barely had time to respond to his kiss before his tongue had fought its way into your mouth, allowing him to finally have the taste of you that he had been craving all night.

“I made such a mess on Hitoshi , Y/N. Think you could help him out?”

Even after having all conscious thought fucked right out of him, he was still so mischievous. He did have a good idea, though.

You spread your legs far apart as you leaned down to run your tongue against the plains of Shinsou’s abs, making sure that your rear was turned towards Kaminari so he could have a show as you cleaned your other lover up. You heard the blonde let out a groan of appreciation, and the sight of you licking the cum off his stomach must have been doing wonders for Shinsou, as well, because you heard another low groan come from above you. You kept your tongue working as you looked up at Shinsou’s face, only to see him staring down at you, mouth opened slightly and eyes heavy with lust.

You made quick work of the load on Shinsou’s stomach, and as you finished up, you noticed that a small drop of Kaminari’s cum had landed on Shinsou’s own engorged cock, right on the middle of his shaft. With a sly grin, you moved to where you could run your tongue along the enflamed organ, relishing in the groan you earned. You ran your tongue all the way to the end of Shinsou’s cock, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip before you went to take his length into your mouth. Two sturdy hands held you back, though.

“Not yet, princess. You’ve had your fun, now it’s my turn.”

With that, Shinsou flipped you over onto your back, where he grabbed both of your legs by the knee and bent them up towards your chest.

“Be a good girl and hold your legs up for me, Y/N.”

His tone was dark and husky, laden with his pent-up desire, and you could never resist him when he talked to you like that. When his hands were free, Shinsou slunk down to his belly until he was at level with your soaked pussy.

He gave a hum of satisfaction when he saw how wet you were, your labia and upper thighs glistening with your arousal, and then he leaned in to lick a stripe up your slit. You shivered at his action, but you jolted and nearly screamed at his sudden assault on your clit. He ravaged the swollen bud, as if he was racing to get you to cum, but as soon as the pleasure started to spark its way through your pelvis and your moans started to reach a fever pitch, he pulled away from you, staying away for a few seconds until he leaned back in to leave a few more slow, methodical licks at your entrance.

“Hitoshi …”

Your voice was a high-pitched whine as you called out to him, and he chuckled as he raised back up in order to move between your legs and hover over you. As he adjusted his position, Shinsou tilted his head down to bring his lips to yours. His kiss was much slower this time, though it held just as much passion as his earlier one. He made sure to keep his pace leisurely, forcing you to taste yourself as he also found a ghost of Kaminari’s taste in your mouth.

“Hitoshi, please, I need you.”

Normally he would hold out a little longer just to tease you, but he couldn’t tonight, not after the performance you and Kaminari had given him earlier. He balanced both of your legs over his shoulders, and he entered you with a long, drawn out groan that sent shivers down your spine. You were caught in a state of silent bliss as he bottomed out in you, his position letting him hit a spot deep inside you that had ecstasy searing up your spine.

Shinsou gave you a moment to adjust, but after that he started to fuck you in earnest, knowing that neither of you were very far from orgasm. The intensity of his stare as he hammered into you was too much to bear, and you had to look away before it overwhelmed you completely. You turned your head away from him and looked to your side, where you were greeted by the sight of Kaminari slowly stroking himself as he watched Shinsou have his way with you. Your action had been fruitless, because looking into Kaminari’s eyes at that moment was enough to send you spiraling into bliss, your walls fluttering around Shinsou’s cock as he continued to drive himself into you until he reached his own orgasm.

The mind-controlling hero came with a loud groan, pumping his hips a few more times before he pushed all the way into you and stilled there. Both of you were breathing heavily as you came down from your highs, but it wasn’t long until you felt shuffling beside you.

“Mind if I take over, Hitoshi ?”

The grin that Shinsou gave Kaminari was purely wicked, and he gladly moved away from you as Kaminari took his place, making sure that you maintained your position the entire time. Kaminari wasted no time, easing into you before any of Shinsou’s cum could leak out of you. You gasped as he suddenly rolled over as soon as he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“Sorry, baby, but I’m still a little tired from you did to me. How about you help me out now?”

Every nerve in your body was on fire as you rolled your hips against Kaminari’s, grinding down as you choked out a gasp. You were beyond overstimulated at that point, but Kaminari had been so good earlier, and you didn’t have the heart to deny him another orgasm, especially when he asked for it so nicely. Shaky moans tore from your throat as you continued to ride him, your voice getting rawer by the second. A tear fell from the corner of your as all of the sensations going through your body were becoming too much to bear, and just as you thought you were going to be forced to stop and take a moment to calm down, a warm body pressed itself against your back as two strong arms wrapped around you.

“It’s alright, Y/N, I’ve got you. Let me help both of you.”

Shinsou steadied you with his arms, supporting your hips as he slowed your pace down to a near crawl. It allowed you to relax while at the same time you were still being stimulated enough to climb towards another orgasm. Kaminari groaned at your new pace. His cock was still sensitive from his own touch just minutes before, and he was savoring the view that he had of you. He was hypnotized by the sensual movements of your hips, and the small gasp that you let out when Shinsou started to knead your breasts was music to his ears.

“I’m so, so close.”

Your voice was barely a raspy whisper as you called out to them, and Shinsou buried his face in your neck as one of his hands trailed down to your stomach. He bit into the supple flesh at the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he started to rub slow, gentle circles around your clit, causing you to cry out and buck your hips hard onto Kaminari. With Shinsou’s ministrations, you gave a few more hard drives onto Kaminari’s cock before your orgasm hit you with a force that had you seeing stars and Kaminari letting out the loudest moan of the night as he joined you in your near explosive ecstasy.

You hardly had time to catch your breath before Kaminari rolled you over again, pulling out of you and keeping his gaze glued to your cunt as his essence and the remnants of Shinsou’s cum started to trickle out of you.

“Pervert.”

Shinsou’s snicker was quickly followed by a yelp as Kaminari poked his hip with a static covered finger, with the electric hero giving his lover a very cross look in the process.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, you like seeing this just as much as I do.”

“At least I’m not so shameless about it.”

“I think we’re past shameless at this point, Hitoshi.”

They both looked to you silently for a moment, contemplating your words before nodding in acquiescence.

“Fair enough.”

Shinsou got up and went to get some warm washcloths for all of you, and once you were all cleaned up, he laid down on his back beside you and pulled you to where you were laying your head on his chest. Kaminari followed suit, moving down the bed until he could he lay his head against your belly. You took the opportunity to comb your hand through his hair, causing a satisfied hum to leave him.

“So, did everyone have fun?”

“Oh yeah. This was a great idea.”

“I’m definitely glad that you liked it, Denki. Hitoshi ? This was your idea, so did it play out like you imagined it would?”

“It did, and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it. We should do it again sometime.”

“Maybe we can switch up next time, eh, Hitoshi ?”

“Sounds good to me.”

[mygiantesslove]

Mother & Son: Underfoot by Azra

Chapter 8

Cailie appeared with a digital camcorder, giggling uproariously as her mother firmly stomped on her little brother to attach him firmly to the sole of her foot.

"Oh hi!" Debra smiled at the camera. "You've caught us just as we're getting ready for our morning jog! I'm Debra, and this is my little son, Phil!" She sat back on her bed and raised her plump, pink foot from the floor displaying her little son trapped on the bottom of it.He's been spending most of the past few months living up my buttcrack, which by the way I think is a perfect way for a growing boy to spend his time especially if his mom's butt is as big and heavy as mine," she said as both she and Cailie giggled at the ridiculousness of Phil's situation, "but Phil's also been spending a lot of time in my shoes as I walk on him, and that's what we're getting ready for now."

The camera swooped down to the ground and focused on a pair of white tennis running shoes at Debra's feet. They looked well-worn and slightly dirty but still very serviceable. Cailie heard a slight mumbling from the underside of her mom's left foot and zoomed in to see her tiny brother try to pick his tired face off his gargantuan mother's overpowering sole. "Oh, that's just Phil. Say hi to the camera sweetie!" His mom smiled politely as she reached toward her softly struggling son and gently pressed his face into her foot-flesh, preventing him from talking. "It's his birthday next week and he's only woken up. He's probably expecting to go through a normal week gently getting sat and stood on by me, or maybe he's even hoping we'll release him and he'll be able to do what he wants for a change, but we've got something different planned!"

Debra then took one of her white tennis socks and slipped it on over her left foot, and then did the same to her right. Stuffing her feet into her slightly-too-small old running shoes she spent a few minutes tying them as tightly as she could while the camera focused on her runners. The pressure on Phil's body increased slightly as she finished tying her laces, binding her foot and Phil tightly together. After she finished with the other one, she tapped both feet lightly to the ground before standing firmly on them and smiling to the camera. "We're going to make Phil appreciate his birthday by putting him through one tough week! This was my lovely daughter's idea, Cailie! Take a bow Cailie!" Cailie blushed and waved as she quickly turned the camera to her and then back to her mom. "Cailie's had her share of arguments with her little brother before but I think she's really hit on to an idea that'll help him in the long run for a change and I really hope he comes to appreciate it." She smiled. "Today, and every day this week, I am going to go on a ten-mile jog before breakfast and Phil is going to accompany me in my favorite old pair of running shoes! I've positioned him in my sock under my left foot with his body under my sole and his face wedged into the soft flesh at the ball of my foot. This is important because it will have the triple effect of squashing him, smothering him and covering him in my salty foot-sweat, which hopefully he'll end up drinking a lot of!"

Debra jumped up and started jogging on the spot. "Alright, I'm off! The next time you see me I'll have run over my little son for ten miles and he'll probably be very eager to get out from under my smelly feet, but wait till he see's what we have planned for him next!" She waved as she trotted down the stairs and out the door, heavy, son-crushing footfalls receding into the distance as Cailie zoomed the camera in ominously on her mom's butt.

*

Later that morning the camera found Phil getting peeled off his mom's now very smelly and sweaty foot and plopped into a tight pair of leather panties. "Now this is a place my son is only too familiar with." Debra panted, still catching her breath after her enormous morning run. "The crack of my ass!" She spun around and spread her enormous cheeks, showing off her awesome ass-crack to the camera. "My son will be imprisoned in the back of these panties and transported to his rightful home here, between my butt-cheeks!" Cailie helpfully held Phil up against their mom's buttock; for comparison's sake, he looked like a GI-Joe up beside an enormous pumpkin. "My huge butt will massage, grind, squash and smother Phil as he's trapped up his mom's ass! He's been spending the past few months here," she pointed at the direct center of her ass, "and he knows there's no escape! He'll have to smell my gas and drink my butt sweat all day because we're not going to feed Phil anything but this so he enjoys his birthday cake all the more!" Mother and daughter both laughed.

"You might've noticed we're doing a lot to make Phil swallow my body's sweat. There are two reasons for this: a, It's always been a bit of a fetish of mine and I think it's good for Phil to drink his mommy's body-sweat, and b, starting on his birthday we'll only be giving Phil drinks that contain sweat from either my or his big sister's body, but shhh! He doesn't know that yet!" Debra giggled.

*

The following day opened with Cailie getting a close-up Debra struggling to stuff her copious cleavage into an obviously too-small brassiere. "Why don't you tell us what you're doing mom?" She prodded.

"I am quite busty, and, well" she blushed, "Cailie made the pretty good point that Phil is never going to be able to touch the boobs of a girl his own age, so we thought we'd work a little treat into this particular kind of torment by stuffing him in my bra for a time every day." The camera suddenly swiveled around momentarily to face Cailie. "We actually did this one for the first time yesterday when mom made Phil suck her nipples as he was in there, but-" "Oh I did not honey," Debra interrupted irritably, "I simply ... stuffed my big nipple into his face. The fact that his mouth was open when it happened was a complete coincidence and frankly," she blustered "I fed him from my breasts when he was a little baby so I don't see what the problem is anyway!" She pouted.

Cailie tried not to laugh as she turned the camera back to herself. "So yeah, Phil's in mom's tits today. She's decided to spread his legs and have her nip crush his groin today while she works, so, uh, there's that." She turned the camera back. "What's next mom?"

*

The week passed in camera-shots. Debra chewing something while watching TV, only to stick her tongue out teasingly at the camera to reveal Phil wrapped up in it. Cailie sneaking into her mother's bedroom one moonlit night to spread her heavy cheeks and film her little battered brother nestled unconscious between them. Debra typing at her computer desk only to lift up her armpit to reveal her son gagging on the acrid stench and sweat therein. Zooming into her mom's old pumps to find Phil still unconscious in them with giant red toe-marks imprinted on his face. Debra sitting in a wooden chair, happily reading her book as the back leg crushed her son writhed and moaned under the back leg, the oak foot and his mom's weight resting on his head as she smiled serenely at his cries for help. And Christine's favorite, catching her mom wiping her enormous ass with her tiny son late one night after she heard a toilet flush. It went on and on.

*

The morning of Phil's birthday. Cailie opened filming on Phil as he lay, free for the first time in a week, on the floor of his mom's bedroom. Slowly he turned and regained consciousness, only for -BOOM!!- the giant sole of his mother's foot to land on his face. Stunned momentarily by the impact, Phil could barely gape in astonishment as the foot retreated and seconds later landed on him again. -BOOM!!- Cailie backed up to reveal her mother panting loudly and happily as she hurriedly mounted a chair positioned just in front of Phil's tiny body. Laughing happily she jumped into the air and came crashing down on top of her little son.

-BOOM!!-

"The morning of Phil's birthday!" She panted to the camera as she stepped off her son, mounted the chair one more time before positively leaping into the air and crashing heel-first onto her little boy. As she got off him this time she sat back in her fine chair and brushed her son gently, seductively with both her feet. Giggling as she heard her son toss and turn, she massaged him gently with her feet. After a few minutes, Phil had composed himself and looked straight up only to find his mom's foot resting softly above his face. He managed to murmur one thing. "M-mom ... why?"

Cailie grinned as she cut between her brother and her big, dominating mother. "Well you see sweetie, Cailie had this wonderful idea that you'd enjoy your birthday a lot more if you had to put up with a lot of stuff you didn't like before-hand. You've just been wonderful throughout this sweetie, I'm so proud of you!" Phil wasn't sure he agreed, but wanting to show how grateful he was to his mother for taking him out of her shoe he skillfully, but gently as he was so ravaged, began kissing the bottom of her foot in abject submission. Debra cooed appreciatively and allowed him to continue for several minutes as she pleasantly massaged him with her sole, causing his loins to stir. After a few minutes, she decided enough was enough and happily raised her foot above her little boy.

"Sweet dreams Phil! When you wake up you'll be cheek-to-cheek with my big bum, kissing it in front of all your friends at your birthday party!" And with that Debra brought her immense heel down on her helpless little son's head, and Phil instantly blacked out.

[littlelovelymemes]

✰ * º ❛ even more popular text posts ask meme. ❜

‘  my kink is getting some fuckin sleep.  ’ ‘  omg here goes your lil crybaby ass.  ’ ‘  the beatles wouldn’t even fucking exist if big time rush hadn’t paved the path for them so shut the fuck up.  ’ ‘  don’t start buddy. don’t you dare.  ’ ‘  gay rights? true, as a gay, i am always right.  ’ ‘  not to vent, but: fuck.  ’ ‘  the worst pain is to make small talk with someone you once told everything to.  ’ ‘  i think i accidentally break my own heart a lot.  ’ ‘  sometimes ‘brb’ stands for ‘be ready bitch’ so you have to be careful.  ’ ‘  i want to kiss you in a way that makes you not want to kiss anyone else ever again.  ’ ‘  shout out to the people who are still friends with me even though i’m a fucking idiot.  ’ ‘  it’s safe to assume that at any given moment i want to go back to bed.  ’ ‘  i’m a big fan of anything that will help me chill the fuck out.  ’ ‘  i don’t go through people’s pictures on their phone cause i wasn’t raised in the jungle.  ’ ‘  i think we, as a people, just need to have a glass of water.  ’ ‘  i don’t have enough black clothes.  ’ ‘  sweetie, i could sleep for ten years and i’d still be tired.  ’ ‘  i would sleep so much better with your arms wrapped around me.  ’ ‘  me??? tired??? sleepy??? yes, constantly.  ’ ‘  i’m pb&j -- petty, bitter, and jealous.  ’ ‘  the fact that sloths aren’t extinct somehow proves that if you go at your own pace and mind your own fucking business you too can succeed.  ’ ‘  i wish i could be the person i want to be, but i’m too tired.  ’ ‘  i always look sleep deprived. is that hot?  ’ ‘  just because there’s always room for improvement doesn’t mean you’ll never be good enough.  ’ ‘  my heart is a soft and sensitive mess.  ’ ‘  all i want is a big garden and no responsibilities.  ’ ‘  honestly someone not liking beyonce is a deal breaker and not for any political reasons, but just like you’re probably, definitely really boring.  ’ ‘  hey guys, i’m a huge fan of genuine love and affection.  ’ ‘  now i’m falling asleep and she’s calling a crab and he’s having a smoke and she’s kissing the crab.  ’ ‘  i’ve been ever since i heard ‘lonely’ by akon at 9 years-old.  ’ ‘  my new years resolution is to stop.  ’ ‘  i’m irritated cause i’m not lovable in a romantic soulmate way.  ’ ‘  i hate knowing that people that ruined parts of me still live and function like nothing ever happened.  ’ ‘  i know i’m cute, but you can remind me.  ’ ‘  hey, just wondering, but are you fucking kidding me???? 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only straight thing i know about is the edge of my beloved sword.  ’ ‘  i highly recommend never having feelings.  ’ ‘  self care is going into a cornfield at night to get abducted by aliens.  ’ ‘  staying up late with another human is such a weird thing like you get this special bond and a what-is-this feeling  ’ ‘  do u ever feel like ur not even friends with ur friends?  ’ ‘  um no offense but whom’st’ve going to loveth me?  ’ ‘  date a girl who fucks everything up.  ’ ‘  not all who mcfreakin wander are mcfreakin lost.  ’ ‘  i may legally be an adult but don’t be fooled. i have no idea what i’m doing.  ’ ‘  a fun and interesting fact about me is that i’m a fucking idiot.  ’ ‘  you can start again anytime!  ’ ‘  all you can do is learn your lesson. there’s no point in wishing you had did differently. the past is the past.  ’ ‘  i can’t believe an angel like me has to suffer so much.  ’ ‘  you’re all so obsessed with love and being loved. what about just going to sleep?  ’ ‘  i’m smart, but i do dumb shit anyway.  ’ ‘  tbh i never deal with my emotions. i just let them ravage my body and then go to bed and then i wake up and do it all over again.  ’ ‘  first of all: i don’t know shit, so jot that down.  ’ ‘  i’ll just ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯ my way through life.  ’ ‘  i’m tired of things costing money.  ’ ‘  don’t you hate it when you’re dead inside and run out of apps to refresh? 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 ’ ‘  you don’t understand how hard it is to take a selfie when you’re ugly.  ’ ‘  you son of a mumford!  ’ ‘  hi, i’m here to ruin everything.  ’ ‘  you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands. for example, if it’s a skeleton hand then they’re dead.  ’ ‘  the year is 2020 and i am found guilty of treason against the united states for vague blogging that i hate someone and donald trump thought it was about him.  ’ ‘  everybody calm down, we’re going to be fine! :))) we’ve weathered worse than this! :) :) :) :) really all this panic just seems like a huge overreaction imho   ’ ‘  no beta readers. we publish our crap writing like men.  ’ ‘  i need $$$$$ not feelings.  ’ ‘  ‘idk imma see’ = i ain’t coming, never was coming, never considered it, never gave it a single thought, only remembered cause you asked again.  ’ ‘  oops, i don’t care lol  ’ ‘  why girls always crop the halo out of their selfies? stop being so modest. we know the truth.  ’ ‘  maurice, you’re not gonna fucking believe this,  ’ ‘  i always get told i look like a bitch bc i’m always glaring while i walk, but i’m not glaring, i’m squinting. i have sensitive eyes. they’re watering.  ’ ‘  concept: it’s 3 am. candle lit room. a record is spinning. you’re kissing me. we have no worries in the world. we’re warm and content.  ’ ‘  i need to go into the forest and scream for an hour and a half.  ’ ‘  pls kill all men who yell at girls from cars.  ’ ‘  life really isn’t what i expected it to be. less quicksand. almost no quicksand to be honest. lots of metaphorical quicksand tho.  ’ ‘  i have a question for u: like are u done... like is it over?  ’ ‘  we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive.  ’ ‘  we all have that one person who ruins your day by being alive. for me, it’s myself.  ’ ‘  whenever i see police i always try not to act suspicious and fail internally even though i never did anything wrong.  ’ ‘  new years resolution: less bitter, more glitter.  ’

[literaphobe]

i don’t want you to go, but i want you so

basically, this is part two of Pain and part one is here let’s all suffer

"Why'd you kiss back?"

In the split second after Gina asks this, voice raw and ravaged as bloodshot eyes beg her to stay, hundreds of thoughts run through Rosa's mind.

But she acts on instinct, and that instinct is to flee, to leave, to place as much distance as possible between herself and Gina.

She's running away from her feelings again, and a sadistic voice at the back of her head mocks her for it.

Hands, her hands, shove Gina away- wringing herself quickly from rigid fingers that had wrapped around her arm so tightly. It's an almost aggressive move that Rosa regrets once she carries out, but earlier thoughts revolving how badly Rosa actually wanted to give in and stay scare her even more.

Gina's apartment door slams behind her and Rosa feels herself jolt in shock; an unusual feeling because as a cop with over a decade of experience under her belt, slamming doors and much louder, jarring noises are her stock and trade. But this entire situation has been so surreal and unexpected and Rosa feels like an empty hollow shell.

But when she thinks about it- is it really so unexpected?

An endless stream of appreciative stares and constant flirting had followed Rosa when Gina first started working at the Nine-Nine, and time did little to diminish Gina's shamelessness. There had been winks and heated glances thrown at Rosa all those times Gina caught her doing yoga; “invites” to the gun range even though Gina didn't know how to shoot-

"You could teach me, sweetie. Teach me how to gun, hun." Gina chortled at her own little pun, and even back then Rosa had difficulty not grinning when Gina was being all... Gina. She had her charms, and those charms were admittedly very cute.

"I'm going to the gun range to blow off steam. It's going to be endless shooting for hours. I need this distraction, Gina."

Gina had only winked. "I can be your distraction for as long as you need."

As always, Rosa had rolled her eyes. And relented, letting Gina have her way, which she found over the years to be a common occurrence for herself. Gina would want to do something, Rosa would say no, and they'd end up doing what Gina wanted after some careful persuasion. But that wasn't always a bad thing, since it did end up being a fun afternoon... and half an evening.

What? They lost track of time, and ultimately Rosa achieved her goal of releasing her stress although she never taught Gina how to shoot a gun on her own; she kept insisting that Rosa put her hands around her as Gina aimed the gun. Still, they had a good time.

But Rosa had never thought that meant anything. It was just playful teasing and- oh god she sounds exactly like Jake, who she had scoffed at when he said the same thing about Amy in the past.

Amy, who Jake used to claim was close to him like a sister! and that their strangely intimate friendship meant nothing more.

Amy, who Jake used to make fun of and tease but never in a malicious way, ending up being so playful such that it was very clearly flirting.

Amy, who Jake had a crush on and fell in love with long before he'd admit it, taking great pains to lie to himself and others about his feelings.

Amy, who Jake wants to marry someday.

Amy, the love of Jake's life.

Rosa tries not to think about how with each excuse she gives regarding how her relationship with Gina is nothing but platonic, she sounds more and more like Jake.

Jake. Can you believe that?

The thud of Gina slumping against her front door shocks Rosa once more- she's still standing in front of said door, and berates herself for it. She barged out for a reason, yet something gnaws at her insides leaving her battered and bruised; some part of her wants to go back inside, and apologize.

But it's the wrong decision, Rosa knows, no matter how tempting it is. This isn't her fault- Adrian and her were fine before, before Gina started putting her lips on hers and making everything so messy. Blurring the lines of their relationship as she knows it.

There's also what Gina said earlier- Rosa doesn't hang out with Pimento much anymore- nor does she even talk about him.

But that's not Rosa's fault either. Adrian's busy with the whole Private Investigator thing, and since he's so busy nothing new has happened worth mentioning.

Pimento and her were fine.

Rosa was happy.

Right?

She tries to keep herself steady and steps away from Gina's apartment, shakily making her way towards the lift- it seems so far away, much much further than when Gina had made a mad dash for her door with her keys jingling, the two of them laughing and carefree, just minutes before.

Rosa had found Gina's rush and failures to quickly unlock her door very endearing, and- could it be? That Gina was being so hasty because she was planning to make a move?

Everything feels ruined now, but Rosa knows that if she just leaves, things will be fine; they'll sort themselves out, they'll pretend it never happened. They can be friends. Like they were. Like they are.

Choked sobs filled with sorrow permeate the hallway and Rosa stops short. The way Gina's sadness echoes ever so eerily strikes Rosa where it hurts most, and she knows in that moment that any recurring nightmares she has will pale in comparison and even be replaced by this sound. Just this endless, deadly sound.

Yeah, things won't be going back to normal, she sees it now.

Rosa feels her own tears finally roll down her face as the offending cry of Gina's heartbreak threatens to hurt her eardrums. She gulps down the bitter taste in her mouth and her throat closes up in agony; Rosa doesn't know which is worse- having to grieve and suffer rejection alone or having to listen to someone you deeply care for suffer.

And knowing you're the reason for it.

As Rosa's head starts to spin and the world around her becomes fragmented and scary, she realizes it doesn't matter which is worse, because she's hurting either way. They're both hurting either way.

An agonizing shriek from Gina is what sends Rosa into a panic, taking to her heels for the lift and mindlessly jabbing the down button. She's tempted to cover her ears to drown out the sound even though it won't work- those few seconds before the lift arrives are one of the most tense and terrifying moments of Rosa's life.

Rosa's heard abandoned babies cry, she's found a few of them over the years and had to help report them so they could be placed in the care of the city.

None of them have sounded nearly as destroyed as Gina.

Which makes Rosa a monster.

So she runs into the cold and dingy, strangely comforting metal walls of the lift, leaning against the railing as she lets herself completely fall apart. One last ride before she picks up the broken pieces and heads home- granted, this last ride is an elevator ride but Rosa will take what she's willing to let herself have.

She sinks down to the ground and screams her frustration out. She's hyperventilating and grabbing her hair in fists, then roughly tugging on it; her fingers are numb and she can't feel her face, everything feels hot yet cold at the same time and it's a horrible feeling. No, scratch that, it's so many horrible and conflicting feelings she has no idea how to deal with.

The lift reaches the ground level and Rosa thanks her lucky stars no one's there to see her sorry state in the lobby. She picks herself up and staggers her way back to her bike.

Her bike. She still has to fetch Gina to work tomorrow.

Sighing, Rosa whips her phone out and texts Charles to pick Gina up. She can't face Gina tomorrow, it's much too soon since she stomped on Gina's heart.

Rosa bites her lip hard and wills herself not to think of Gina suffering, starts her motorbike and doesn't think about how it feels empty when she's sitting on the bike by herself, Gina's presence previously warm and soft behind her now empty and cold.

As Rosa thunders down the streets of Brooklyn, she tries not to think about how in stomping on Gina's heart, she stomped on her own too.

She goes straight to Pimento's office- she has to be honest with him, because that's what happy, trusting couples do right?

They tell each other when they get kissed by someone else.

"Hey babe, you will not believe-"

Adrian starts rambling on about some annoying client the moment he opens the door but she's not in a state to catch anything he actually says. His words blur together and become white noise until she finally gets herself together and interrupts him.

"I cheated on you."

He's very taken aback, and Rosa feels like she's gotten punched in the gut when she sees the pain in his eyes. Instant regret. It's like everything Rosa's ever done tonight, or more accurately, a few hours back, has felt wrong or just simply not right.

"You-"

"Sorry, that came out wrong. Someone kissed me. A girl. A friend. It didn't mean anything."

That last part's clearly a lie and she knows it, but relief floods Adrian's face and he lets Rosa inside. So it’s a lie she’s willing to take to the grave.

"Why'd she kiss you?"

"Drunk. She was- drunk."

So much for trying to be honest.

"Did you... never mind. You said it didn't mean anything, so you didn't kiss her back. You didn't kiss her back, right? Rosa? Are you gonna leave me for your drunk friend?"

Adrian's rambling, and Rosa places her hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

"Hey. I'm here, right? I'm not leaving you. I... I love you."

"I love you too, babe."

As she pulls him into a hug which then escalates into messy and then violent kissing, Rosa can't help but feel guilty, even though she's said the words before and meant it, then.

But how strongly does she still feel it now? And how strongly will she feel those words in a month? In a year? For the rest of their lives?

Rosa doesn't sleep that night.

She never outright apologizes for any of it, but Adrian forgives her and things seem to go back to normal, or whatever normal is for Rosa and Adrian. Time passes and their relationship remains... as it is, and when Adrian runs out of money to pay the rent for his office he moves in with Rosa without question.

But nothing feels the same anymore, it's all weird and Rosa's world is fractured at the edges and everything seems to have gone terribly wrong, even though on the surface it looks like nothing has changed.

And though her fiance forgives her, Rosa can't forgive herself.

What's worse is how she feels herself pulling away every now and then from Pimento, deciding to go for a long night of drinking all by herself even when they're both available to spend a romantic night together or whatever.

He understands, plus he has his own issues regarding the failing business to work through in which he takes long walks all the way to- Rosa doesn't know where. It's stupid, but she wishes that Pimento were more selfish and inconsiderate to give her an excuse to hate him, an excuse to leave. But he's been a perfectly good boyfriend to her at best, and tolerable at worst. Mostly.

Rosa realizes the only one she can truly bring herself to hate is herself. Which she can only forget for a night or two after a bottle or three of whisky.

All of this doesn't stop Rosa from avoiding Gina like the plague, and they go days which bleed into weeks which become painful months of silence between the two of them.

Rosa notices how empty her days seem without Gina brightening every gloomy corner of her life and it's so difficult, gritting her teeth and pretending she doesn't care about Gina at all. She does, she cares so much. She misses Gina so much. But she's hurt Gina, and if Gina wants to give her the silent treatment for the rest of eternity, Rosa has to accept that, because it's what she deserves.

This all kind of changes one early morning in Babylon. 

Rosa was early for work, and seeing Gina's empty desk made her think the tardy woman hadn't even arrived yet. She decided to head to Babylon to freshen up- the ladies washroom looked and smelled disgusting, and Rosa just wanted the comfortable and delicate scents of Babylon to lull her into a sense of calm so she could be ready for a day's work.

Gina and Rosa had somehow worked in a whole new silent system for their joint use of Babylon. Basically how it worked was simple and stupidly obvious. When Rosa wanted to use Babylon, she'd make sure Gina was stuck at her desk, and Gina would never get up to use the bathroom until Rosa returned. It was the perfect system for avoiding each other whilst still sharing a literal bathroom.

Sure, Rosa yearned for their old system- private hours spent laughing and hanging out with Gina in Babylon, but she had made her choice. And maybe that choice hurt and when it was late at night and she was at her most fragile and vulnerable. She would hate said choice, plain resent said choice, but it was a choice she had made and she was willing to suffer the consequences.

Rosa slides open the heavy door to Babylon and is shocked to see Gina kneeling over the toilet and throwing up rather violently.

It scares and worries Rosa to no end.

"You okay?" She asks and Gina freezes, somehow not having realized Rosa had entered, and flushes the toilet.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sick? You should see the doctor." Rosa restrains herself from offering to take her.

Gina looks up at her completely unamused, and Rosa swallows thickly, never feeling this uneasy before. It's a jarring and nauseating feeling.

"I'm not sick, unless you call being pregnant sick."

Rosa's eyes widen and all sorts of emotions flash across her face. She struggles ineloquently with this information.

"You- you're- you're pregnant?"

"Yup. With child, carrying a fetus. Whatever ya' call it."

Rosa huffs in surprise.

"You know the dad? Anyone I need to beat up?"

Gina rolls her eyes, and Rosa wants to go back to just avoiding Gina altogether because this really hurts, Gina's coldness, and she just wants to hug Gina as tightly as you can hug a pregnant lady, and beg for their friendship back.

"You're not beating anyone up, Diaz. I actually like this guy- no, I love him."

That shouldn't make Rosa jealous, or affected in any way, but it does. Oh god, it hurts to no end and the pain doesn't seem to be going away any time soon.

"Oh. Congratulations I guess. Glad you found someone you like."

If Gina notices how Rosa sidesteps that declaration of love, she hides it, instead humming almost contentedly.

"Yeah, I like him a lot." She pauses to swallow, as if debating whether to say what she bitterly spits out next. "He doesn't push me away when I kiss him."

And with that, Gina walks past Rosa and out of Babylon, leaving Rosa alone in turmoil over everything that had just unfolded between them.

As the door slides shut proceeded by Gina's fading footsteps away from the bathroom, Rosa's eyes sting with tears that fill her eyes so quickly she can't stop them from spilling down her face, and her throat betrays her by making godawful wisps of a whimper. 

With that, the last pillars of Rosa’s world come crashing down, and that is truly when she knows she’s hit rock bottom.