#and she has bits close to her scalp that are tightly twisted

[dolla-dolla-yeah]

Rainbow High collectors is it normal to get a new doll and her hair is kinda frizzy at places or even have bits of hair twisted in a way that cant be undone?!?

[mybrainisrotted]

Gojo/gn!reader, established relationship. Post Shibuya incident spoilers. When our man returned.

Read on Ao3.

"I mean this respectfully Ijichi, please get the fuck out of my way."

The metal examining table under Gojo's thighs is cold and uncomfortable, but it's a different sort of cold and uncomfortable and for that he's grateful. But the voice that echoes in the hall outside the medical room sends a rush of warmth through him that makes it feel like his heart has been restarted when he didn't even know it had stopped. For a moment--a second stretched indefinitely--he forgets where he's been, what he's seen, what he's felt, who he's lost.

The door slams open, bouncing off the wall hard enough to make even Shoko wince a bit as she takes a drag from her nearly ever present cigarette. Smiling softly, she joins Ijichi in the hall, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait anymore."

Gojo's already on his feet when you come barreling into him, arms open and ready to catch you. Your body molds to his, arms wrapped tight around his middle, face pressed against his chest where he's sure you can hear how his heart has picked up pace, slamming against his ribcage. He folds himself around you as best he can, squeezing you a little too tightly because he knows that's how you like your hugs. You take a deep breath and let it out with a pleased hum, nuzzling your cheek against him.

"You smell like you. Like home."

The corner of Gojo's mouth ticks up, and he presses his own nose to the top of your head, letting the faint but familiar scent of your coconut shampoo take over his senses. It triggers memories that are uniquely coded to you; smoothing fingers over your shoulder as he ghosts his lips over the back of your neck in bed, and steam filled showers that you always begrudge him for taking with you even as you lovingly massage that shampoo into his hair (which he bought to keep at his place specifically for this purpose), humming softly under your breath as your nails gently rake over his scalp.

Gojo's favourite part was smelling you on his things. Rolling over in bed, alone, and burying his nose in his pillow and smelling you. Drying his hands on his towel, sitting on his couch, pulling on his clothes and having that faint scent of coconut suddenly tickle his nose. You're with him even when you aren't. And in the Prison Realm, with nothing to do to pass the infinite looping of time except dive inward into his own mind, he'd tucked his chin into the collar of his shirt and--smelled you. Lingering within the fabric and threads was the simple essence of you and suddenly he hadn't felt so alone.

"I'm sorry I've been gone," Gojo murmurs, mouth at your temple and fingers smoothing nonsensical patterns up and down your spine. Now that he's got you in his grasp again, when the likelihood of that had begun to seem like a fleeting possibility, he doesn't want to let you go. "It won't happen again. I promise."

You squirm in his hold, placing both hands on his chest to push him back slightly so you can look at him face to face. You don't think you've ever seen him on school grounds without his blindfold or sunglasses. The nineteen days without him makes you realize between the sky and the ocean there isn't a shade of blue that could possibly capture what you see swirling in his irises.

"You don't need to apologize for something out of your control, Satoru," you say with a slight frown. You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, committing him to memory all over again, warming when his expression softens under your touch. "You have no idea how happy I am that you're back. That's the only thing that matters."

Something in Gojo's eyes flickers, and though he smirks it doesn't carry his usual lightheartedness. The coil of tension in his stomach twists uncomfortably. "Missed the strongest sorcerer, huh?"

You shake your head again, smoothing the pad of your thumb over his lower lip. "I missed your corny jokes. I missed your surprise mochi deliveries. I missed our late night hot chocolate talks on your balcony." Your fingers trace a gentle path upward, over his sharp cheekbones and soft brows, smoothing a lock of silky white hair over his temple and then settling at his nape. "I missed your morning bed head. I missed your laugh. I missed your touch. I missed the way you said you loved me. I missed my sweet Satoru."

The love you give him, have always given him, is free of strings and expectations. Gojo doesn't know what his future is going to look like but he knows he wants one with you. By your side. His smile wobbles as he gently swipes away the tears at the corners of your eyes, that knot in his stomach loosening with your words. He kisses you on the forehead, on each damp cheek, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips, once, twice, three times, before he taps his head to yours.

"I missed you too, sweetheart."

[thearmyprof]

Endless Sea, but the water is warm here Ch. 1

Rating: E

Pairing: Yoongi/Original Character

Word count: 6021

Chapters: 1/?

Genre: Modern Fantasy!AU, Idol!AU, Canon Divergent,

Warnings: NSFW, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content

Overview post: https://at.tumblr.com/thearmyprof/endless-sea-but-the-water-is-warm-here/h8ruhjcuzs62

Summary:

Sometimes Eunha imagines herself living by the sea. She imagines herself sinking in sunbaked sand and Mina happily jumping in playful waves. She thinks there might have been a time in her own childhood when she visited the ocean. A time before her first visit to the realm of death. A time when she let the pull of the sun-warmed waters pull suggestively at her ankles. When she collected seashells. A time when she could take a big inhale and smell the salt water mixed with the smell of tide, the smell of life.

But daydreams and memories of oceans and sand always morph and twist eventually. The grey waters that ebb and flow with their own mystical tide, the river as vast as an ocean, are what Eunha knows. That river has no smell. She is well versed in the tugs and pulls of the water, urging her to continue her journey onward, out into that vast expanse of monotone darkness. There are some days where it almost feels easier to give in and let the river’s tide do what it wills.

Life is hard and dark until an accidental meeting on a train and an encounter her vampire landlord's ghoul throws Eunha's world colliding with Min Yoongi's. Does this become a fleeting career opportunity or the chance at a better life?

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45497923

Full Tags:

Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Vampires, Fae & Fairies, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Idols, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, World of Darkness, Necromancy, Blood and Violence, Death, None of the guys though, or our two original main characters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Magic, fae bts, Soft Min Yoongi | Suga, Protective Min Yoongi | Suga, Protective Bangtan Boys | BTS, Explicit Sexual Content, Sex Work, Single parent original female character, Softness

CHAPTER ONE.

She closes her laptop with a sharp click. Glancing at her phone, she knows she has a very small window to make it to the station and onto the train in order to not be late. Cursing, she scrambles to shut the lights down and unplug some of the equipment.

After closing the door and locking it she makes her way down the dingy hallway of the building’s basement towards the stairwell. The lights flicker for a moment, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. Probably just an issue with the electrical grid, she thinks to herself. It’s been a hot summer, it’s bound to happen.

Pulling open the fire door to the stairwell, she hoists the straps of her bag and haegeum case further up her shoulder. There is a slight buzzing at the back of her skull, like a vice is just ever so slowly pulling her scalp. She ignores it and runs up the stairs two at a time.

As soon as she hits the front doors of the building, she can see the rain is now coming down in buckets. Her panting from her stairway cardio turns into a groan. Even though she knows she had discarded her umbrella yesterday after it had received an untimely gash, she pulls open her bag in the hopes one had materialized anyway. It had not.

Clutching her bag and instrument case to her chest tightly to try to keep the contents from getting wet, she pushes open the door and makes a run for the subway station 4 blocks away. She had known Seoul was going to be hit with a monsoon, but she rather hoped it would wait until she had gotten safely back to her apartment. No such luck.

She glances down at the numbers that flash on the subway gate as she slides her train card over the reader. Just enough money remaining on the card to get home. Maybe she has a small bit of luck after all. Not that she actually believes in such things as luck. If she did, she’d spend all her waking time cursing her ill-fate and that felt like a pointless use of energy.

The station is packed with rain-drenched commuters. The air is humid as the water evaporates off clothes and bags. The train commute is both her favorite and most hated part of her day. This many people means too many potential things can go wrong; too many potential dangers lurk within each masked individual. However, in a crowd one can become slightly more anonymous. Anonymity is good.

She’s grateful she ran because the train pulls up almost as soon as she reaches a clump of people waiting to board the train car. The masses push and pull her as she makes her way into the car and she finds herself sandwiched in the middle of a group of businessmen.

She awkwardly reaches through two of the men in order to be able to reach a handhold and avoid falling down as the train lurches forward. She does her best to ignore the twin feelings of warmth from the damp suits and the familiar buzz of life as her arm is pressed into the bodies around her. All the men look the same. The same business haircut, navy suits with white button ups and ties, black briefcases or smart black backpacks, and old grungy tennis shoes. Each is holding a hand rail overhead with one hand and their smartphones in the other. Each is silent reading or watching media on their phone as the train makes its way through the neighborhoods of Seoul.

Squeezing her eyes shut doesn’t help. The tension in her scalp is back. It’s becoming harder to ignore, but she makes a valiant attempt anyway. She’s not going to pay it any mind and she’s definitely not going to be curious.

As the train continues further down the line, the car begins to empty. Soon the smart looking businessmen have filed their way out to go home or to a bar in the more prosperous neighborhoods. The relief is palpable as her muscles relax and she’s freed of the incessant buzzing, crawling feeling on her skin.

The train crawls its way out of the bowls of Seoul and into the light of day. The poorly lit tunnels make way for tracks above the streets of the city below. She looks over the cityscape, the rain creating a filter of gray. The monotones of sky blend with older buildings and blend with poorly maintained roads. Still, she thinks numbly, at least the city smells good.

After 30 minutes, she is finally able to sit down, albeit in between a tall young man focused on his phone and an older man reading a physical book. She knows she’s traded relief for her tired feet with a return to that buzzing feeling as her thighs press into those of her fellow passengers. Still, as the train goes further from the heart of the city and as the car becomes sparser in population, she’s grateful to know at least that her seatmates are alive.

She adjusts so that her haegeum case is nestled in between her legs, resting on the train car floor, and her bag is on her lap. She relaxes back into the seat knowing she has another good 20 minutes until her stop. She decides to focus on the buzzing feeling at the point of contact with the other passengers in her legs because the pulling, tense feeling in her skull is definitely getting worse. The life she can feel pulse in her thighs is certainly preferable to what the scalp-pulling sensation portends. 

Closing her eyes just allows all her senses to intensify, so she snaps her eyes open again looking for a distraction. Wandering the train, her eyes finally land on the young man next to her. He’s hunched forward comfortably with his elbows resting on his thighs, phone in hand. He’s wearing matching black sweats, a black hoodie, black beanie on his head despite the weather, white tennis shoes, and a white face mask. He’s definitely not the typical 20-something business suit wearing commuter that is typical for the train at this hour. Perhaps this is what intrigues her; wanting to find out more about this slightly-out-of-place train passenger. That and she feels like there’s something familiar about him, though she doesn’t know what.

If someone were to ask her if she was snooping, she would have trouble denying it, but his phone’s backlighting was bright and the man was making no effort to keep the screen hidden. That’s what she tells herself. He’s on some social media platform reading what looks like comments on J-Hope’s post. Her lip twitches in a brief smile. So, this guy is a BTS fan or maybe BTS curious—J-Hope being one of the members of the famous idol group. She watches as the passenger scrolls down to the end of the comment thread, where other members of the band had clearly been having a back and forth conversation. She laments briefly that the phone is too far away for her to read the words. She’ll have to go find the post when she gets home. She doesn’t dare allow a phone to distract her from her surroundings when she’s out in public. The man clicks reply and sends a message to the comment thread.

Her gasp is audible. She quickly pulls her eyes to look out the window in front of her when the man whips his own face in her direction. She knows she’s caught though when her cheeks light up with a red blush. She might have gotten away with it if she wasn’t her. Unfortunately, she is her, with skin as pale as the dead. The perfect canvas for portraying her embarrassed guilt, as the blood rushes to her face. She holds her body tense, waiting for retaliation.

A few uncomfortable moments pass and she realizes the man isn’t going to say anything. She flicks her eyes back in his direction and he’s already directed his attention back to his phone. She waits a moment more, incredulous that he’s not going to call out her snooping. But maybe he didn’t actually catch her. Maybe it was a coincidence? Or maybe he just didn’t want to make a big deal in a train car full of passengers. That was probably it.

She releases the breath she was holding. If she doesn’t make a big deal, he won’t make a big deal. Good. She allows herself one more glance at him. With the way he’s slouched over, she really can only see his hands. They are lovely hands—his fingers are long and the ends of them are almost square. Her own fingers flex instinctively with the longing of wanting to be intertwined with his. His skin is pale. Not as pale as hers, but it does make her wonder if he has a touch of fae in his blood. That wouldn’t be unusual for idols.

And he must be an idol. That is the only conclusion she can draw. Only members of BTS can reply to each other on their social media. She only knows this because some young thing was speaking extensively about this very topic in the cafeteria line only a few days ago.

She spends the next minute trying to decide if she should say something to him. They are in the same industry, so it would be perfectly okay to introduce herself. Right? But who wants to talk about work with a random nobody on the train? Right. 

She goes back and forth until the decision is made for her. The man leaps up at the next stop and rushes out of the car as if a horde of angry Redcaps are after him. It takes her a moment to realize he’s actually running, not from rampaging fae, but from her. Sighing, she slides herself over on the seat to take his spot and separate herself from the older man still reading his book on her right. At least the buzzing stops and the tension in her skull seems to be easing.

~

“Ah, Eunha-yah, you’re finally here,” says the old woman after opening the door of the rooftop apartment.

“Yes, halmoni, sorry for being late. Was Mina good for you today?” she asks, adjusting the bag and instrument case on her shoulder again. The rain had stopped by the time the train reached her station, but she is still damp and uncomfortable. Everything is sticking to her skin in the humidity.

“Yes, yes, you know our Mina,” the woman chuckles as she grabs her own worn bag from the hallway. Her shoes are already on, as if she’s been waiting to leave. “She just read her books today.”

“Thank you, halmoni,” Eunha says, reaching into her bag for her wallet. She takes the bills out and hands them to the older woman. The old woman just nods, pocketing the cash, and makes her way past Eunha towards the stairs along the side of the building.

Just as Eunha is about to step inside and close the door, the old woman stops at the stairs, turning back to the apartment. “Oh, I forgot to say, the landlord said he needs to speak to you. Tonight.”

She gets a chill, despite the hot humidity of the air, upon hearing the old woman’s words. Instead of giving into the feelings of fear, she bows her head in the direction of the woman. “Thank you, halmoni.”

“Don’t forget!” the old woman yells, waving a hand in warning, as she teeters down the stairwell.

“Well, fuck,” Eunha says once she’s sure the old woman is out of earshot. This is why she doesn’t think too hard about her luck.

She turns back into the apartment and jumps with a start, clutching her chest in fright. “Mina, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Mina is a slight child of 9, many mistake her for being much younger. She stands in the entryway wearing nothing but a simple lavender knit dress, chosen more for the softness of the fabric than for any kind of style. She’s barefoot, her skinny legs poking out from under the knee length skirt. Her dark brown hair hangs loose around her shoulders. She stares at the dramatics for a brief moment before slipping back across the small living space through a door on the opposite side that led to the small closet-turned-bedroom.

Eunha huffs before dropping her bags down near the shoes pushed to the side of the entryway. She looks down at her own still-damp clothing assessing whether she has time to change before visiting the landlord. She decides the dark blue torn jeans and brown tunic will suffice. Her pale hands shake slightly as they peek out of the long bell sleeves of her top. This should be warm enough, she decides. If it turns out she needs more layers, then she probably needs to come back to the apartment to do more preparation anyway.

She pulls her eyes back to the apartment and listens. It’s silent. Mina must be back to her books. She spends more time in the worlds of her books than in reality. Honestly, Eunha can’t blame her.

“I need to go downstairs, Mina-yah!” she shouts into the silent apartment. “Do not leave this apartment!”

Silence.

Sighing, Eunha turns back around to the front door. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her keys, wallet, and phone. After a moment she thinks better of it and puts her wallet back. She grabs the case of her haegeum and slings the strap across her chest, so the instrument is across her back. 

Taking a deep breath, she grabs the black beanie off the small table at the door meant for keys and mail. She snugs it over her hair despite the humidity. She locks the door behind her and smirks to herself thinking of the man on the train in a similar style. A brief feeling of regret flits through her chest that she didn’t get to introduce herself as she makes her way across the rooftop. Imagine producing a song for BTS. What a dream that would be.

The rain starts again, but it’s just a fine mist. More importantly, the pulling sensation along her hairline is back. Well, not back, since it had never left, but it’s intensifying. It’s not painful, per say, but the tautness of her scalp is now spreading to her shoulders making them shrug up uncomfortably.

She stands momentarily at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted back, face to the rain. She hadn’t known the landlord was a ghoul when she moved in. She knows not following up to be sure was her mistake. There had been too much going on at the time and she had been desperate. Still. Moving into an apartment building run by a ghoul is right up there on her list of mistakes that will come bite her in the ass sooner or later.

She knows having a ghoul as a landlord means most likely their vampire owns the building. That the vampire is, in actuality, her landlord. She can feel the fear crawl along her skin at the thought.

She doesn’t even know who the ghoul’s vampire is. She doesn’t want to know. Much like the now-alarming tugging at her scalp, she chooses to not be curious. Curious is how you end up dead in the Han or worse.

Another breath and she marches forward again towards the front of the dingy two story apartment building. She pushes the door and heads toward the first door on the right. Her finger hovers over the button for the bell, before she changes her mind and knocks on the door instead.

She shifts on her feet and waits for what she feels is an unnecessary amount of time. Finally, the door cracks open.

“Mr. Lee, you wanted to see me?” she bows her head slightly at the eye peering out from the crack in the door.

The door closes and she can hear the chain being removed before the door swings open wider. Before her is a middle aged man in a stained white tank top and dark gray sweatpants. A lit cigarette hangs precariously from between his fingers as he leans his forearm against the doorframe. He looks like he hasn’t showered in several days. His skin is sallow and pock-marked. She remembers now why she didn’t realize he was a ghoul. He’s the most disheveled and deteriorated ghoul she’s ever met. Not that she’s gone out of her way to meet that many ghouls, of course.

“Ah, Gwisheen Girl, yes, I’m glad you could stop by,” the landlord says with a lazy grin full of yellowing teeth. They both know she would not be standing here if she felt like she had a choice. He flicks the cigarette lazily, ash falling down in between them to land in the ancient stained carpeting.

She takes a moment to register her displeasure at the new nickname. Ghost Girl? It’s not even creative. She shifts on her feet again, this time rocking back a bit to give her a little more space between herself and the smelly ghoul in front of her. “Did you need me for a particular reason, Mr. Lee?”

“Ah, there are so many things,” he says as his eyes roam the woman’s figure in front of him with a lascivious glint. “However, that will have to wait. You know the crowd that runs down at the Old Prayer Hall?”

Eunha swallows around the lump in her throat. Whatever mess she’s being asked to clean up right now is going to be bigger than she originally thought.

“Well, anyway,” the man takes a long draw of his cigarette, “some of the boys there got into a spot of trouble. Guess some girl got hurt.”

Eunha feels her hands tensing into fists at her sides and she labors to control her breathing.

“And I guess this girl got hurt bad enough to die,” her landlord says with complete indifference to his words. “‘cept now, ‘course, she won’t stay dead.”

“Mr. Lee, I’m not sure why you’re telling me this,” she says, willing her voice to remain level.

“Here I thought you were smart,” the man leers. He flicks his cigarette again. It takes everything in Eunha’s willpower not to instinctively wipe the ash off her tunic. “I need you to just pop over and make sure this girl stays dead. Good and dead. Before she can cause problems. Good and dead.”

“There’s nothing good about death, Mr. Lee,” she says in a low tone. The tension in her skull—the tension now radiating down her shoulder blades—makes sense. Someone is trying to raise the dead and she can feel it. “You know this is not my line of work, Mr. Lee. Why don’t you go find a reaper for hire? I hear they take commissions now.”

“Fuck, why would I bother with payments and reapers when I have you right here, sweet thing?” the man leers. Eunha can feel the bile roiling in her gut. “You know, I’ve been really good about not telling Taro about you being here. Thought I could maybe keep you to myself. But if you go making my life more difficult, I’m gonna have to resort to threats.”

She watches as the man takes another long drag on his cigarette. Then he turns slightly to put the rest of it out in the door frame. 

He gives her a once over. He doesn’t seem pleased, as he asks, “You know Taro, right?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she says evenly, tone still low. She is honestly not sure how she’s pulling it off. If she makes it through this, she’ll be proud later.

The man laughs. It’s an ugly laugh. The smile splits his face in two, yellow crooked teeth clacking together. The visual and audio combined makes her want to collapse in on herself.

“Let’s just say, Taro is my friend. My close friend. And he’s very powerful ‘round this neighborhood. You don’t fuck with Taro. All I know is that you have that fae magic shit going on in the realm of the dead and if Taro knew. Well. I bet he’d be none too happy to know a Gwisheen Girl like you is in town. In his building, no less. I’d have to find a new rooftop tenant.”

So Taro is this ghoul’s vampire. No matter. She files away the information that this ghoul is keeping her a secret from his vampire. That’s unusual. He’s playing a dangerous game. Any vampire that gets wind of her in their territory will certainly want her dead. Or worse.

Eunha has to make a split second decision. She knows whatever she chooses, it’ll be wrong. There are no right choices here.

“Old Prayer Hall, you said?” she asks. She shifts again, as if making to leave, allowing herself another body’s worth of space between the two of them. “Do they know I’m coming?”

“Yeah, they know,” he says with a chuckle. “Just tell ‘em I sent you.”

Without another word, Eunha turns and heads back out of the building, nausea clawing through her stomach. She suddenly wishes her biggest problem of the day had been deciding whether to chat to the member of BTS on the train. That feels like a lifetime ago now, even though it’s only been maybe an hour. 

Never mind. Despite music production being the dream career, clearly life has other plans. She’s never going to make it out of the basement of the little indie label she’s currently working for. Which means she’s never going to be able to afford a better place to stay. Which means she’s going to continue to get pulled into the seedy world of vampires and ghouls and poor girls who apparently won’t stay dead.

She sighs and checks the strap on her haegeum case. The rain is picking up again, coming down in a steady stream. She doesn’t pay it any mind and she makes her way down the dark sidewalk of her little forgotten neighborhood in Seoul.

~

She stands in front of the Old Prayer Hall debating how much she’s going to regret not bringing more tools with her. The building in front of her is run down. The sign is hanging precariously from the building face and the paint on the walls is peeling horribly. The two windows, one on each side of the metal door, are papered over with yellowing newsprint at least a few decades old. A red glow lights the paper.

The building is used mainly by locals, mostly fae and kin, interested in the less respectable elements of what the city has to offer. In these sorts of neighborhoods, fae and vampires usually run together in the smaller gangs that ultimately control and enforce the neighborhoods for those who actually own them. Beyond that Eunha doesn’t know the details, doesn’t care to know the details.

Fidgeting with the strap of her instrument case and ignoring the invisible vice grip on her skull she steps forward and pushes open the door.

If the outside of the building was run down, the inside fares no better. It’s dark. Very dark. The deep red glow of lights running across the ceiling seem to be the only means of seeing anything at all. It’s almost hysterically clichéd. Whoever decorated this place was definitely trying too hard. Might as well have screamed, “I want my clientele to be childer vampires looking to live it up in stereotypical inanity.” 

Eunha sighs as she lets her eyes adjust to the lighting.

The floors vibrate to the bass of whatever music is playing obnoxiously loud. On the left is the bar and on the right, past a few tables is a DJ booth and small dance floor. While there is music playing, there doesn’t seem to be a DJ on duty at the moment. The place is pretty empty, just a few people populate their own tables, ignoring everyone else.

Not seeing anyone obviously trying to keep a corpse dead, she walks over to the bar. The man behind the bar is young. His skin glows and his eyes sparkle. Definitely has a good deal of fae blood running through his veins. Strange for him to waste it here in this seedy bar. Most likely his family owns the place and he’s just doing his part. He wipes down the bar top as he watches the woman approach.

“What can I do ya for?” he asks.

“Mr. Lee sent me,” is all she says.

“Ah,” the man nods. “Wait here a moment.”

He walks down the length of the bar and steps through a door at the end.

It’s not long before he’s poking his head back and out and waving Eunha to follow him. She allows herself to hesitate for only a moment before walking down to the other end of the bar and stepping through the door.

“Shit,” she breathes out at the sight that greets her on the other side.

The lighting in this room isn’t much better than in the bar-proper. The room looks to be some kind of storage room converted into what is probably normally a poker room. Well, poker and probably drug (and whatever else is for sale) deals. A single naked, yellow bulb hangs from a wire in the center of the room, providing the only light source.

Despite the low light, the scene before her is still far too visible. Two men in leather are leaning back against the poker table that has been pushed to the far side of the room. As they lean, they chat while smoking cigarettes, apparently unaffected by the mess that’s in front of them.

A woman—no, a girl—lay on the floor, body twisted a bit with one of her arms clearly dislocated at the shoulder. There are visible marks all over her with bruising and cuts. Her clothing, what looks like it used to be a satin black minidress, is ripped all to hell. One of her feet has a black high heel shoe hanging off of it. The other foot is bare. She clearly spent a good deal of time suffering before she died.

“Who’re you?” one of the smoking men, the slightly shorter one, asks.

“Mr. Lee sent me,” is all Eunha says. Her fingers fidget at the strap across her chest and her skin crawls. She can feel the vibrations in the air—different from the bass in the other room. 

“Ah, good,” the shorter man says. “This chick keeps fucking trying to come back to life. And for what? It’s not like her life was worth being alive for in the first place.”

Eunha swallows the bile threatening to surge into her mouth. Instead, she focuses on the girl, trying to feel any life left in her. There is none that’s perceptible from this distance. At least, not to Eunha, who has intentionally avoided honing the skill of detecting souls without physical touch.

“I’ll do what I can. I’m going to need to ask all of you to leave the room,” Eunha says. And after no one makes a move, she says firmly, “Please.”

When they finally vacate, she locks the bolt at the top of the door. It’s flimsy and won’t hold against anyone stronger than a human, but hopefully it’ll be enough of a deterrent. Despite the claims of the girl not staying dead, Eunha thinks this will be a simple job. Her soul might just be caught at the early part of the river and needs a little nudge to move on.

She looks at the girl’s body for one more moment, watching for any signs of magical contamination or foul play. Satisfied she and the girl are alone, she kneels down near the corpse. First, she unpacks her haegeum and bow. She takes her phone and keys and sets them on the floor just outside of arm’s reach. She straightens up and sets the instrument on her knee. After a few moments of slow inhale and exhale, she positions her hands on the neck of the instrument and sets the bow.

Before pulling the bow she imagines the symbols of protection, peace, and warmth. She draws the symbols in her mind. When she pulls the bow taut across the string, a low almost-human sounding note sings out into the room. A glow of light encircles Eunha on the floor creating a protective barrier around her body. She can feel the heat generated by the warmth symbol. It’s practically too hot right now, but she knows after this is over she’ll be thankful for it.

She sits for several minutes feeling the barrier she’s created. There can be no room for error here. Having a breach in the barrier while her body is alone and vulnerable is asking for all the trouble this world has to offer. 

Confident in her barrier, she sets her hands again on the haegeum. This time she visualizes the symbols for travel, doorways, and death. A dangerous combination that only those of her kin would dare to conjure. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before pulling the bow across the string again.

The note that emits is baleful. A mournful death knell that no living being, save Eunha, can hear. As the sound fills her ears and shimmers through her body, she feels the tug in her navel.

She opens her eyes again when she feels the icy water swirling around her ankles. The landscape is grey. The monotone of the river is only broken up by a black horizon. Here it is quiet. The river is unusually still here, she notices. The tug at her ankles is weak. There are a number of explanations for that though and she really doesn’t want to spend too much time investigating. 

The shallow waters of this part of the river, where the border between life and death is just a hair’s width apart, is naturally susceptible to influences from both sides. This is, after all, the mostly likely place to find a vampire’s soul lingering. Well, the childer vampires anyway—those still cutting their teeth. Older vampire souls have learned to hide better, in the nooks and bends of the river, but deeper where it’s harder to be caught by others also lingering here at the border.

However, she’s not looking for a vampire today. Her eyes are only searching for a human soul. She turns herself slowly as her eyes scan the water around her, trying to be careful not to slip on the rock under the water. The water is shallow here, yes, but there are always risks of falling, of being swept unwillingly deeper into the realm of death.

A faint glimmer catches her eye. There, caught under what almost looks like a rock is a shimmering mass. The soul is weak and broken. This girl had probably been broken by the cruel world of the living plane long before those men decided she was not worth having alive.

Saying a quick prayer, Eunha uses one foot to knock the rock off the soul where it is trapped. She files away contemplating how that rock got there in the first place for later, if ever. The soul immediately stops its faint wriggling as the weight is lifted. The soul then drifts pathetically. 

Eunha concentrates on her surroundings. She wants to help the soul move along, send her on her journey to her final rest, but she doesn’t want to alert everyone at the border that she’s here. She feels the various vibrations in the air, but nothing but the water, the poor girl’s soul, and Eunha’s own disruptive presence seem to be near.

She rests the haegeum against her hip and readies the bow. This time, instead of conjuring symbols, she simply begins a tune. The song is mournful, melancholy. It’s a final dirge to send off the girl who most likely never had a proper chance to live. 

Eunha watches as the soul floats down the river, letting the hastened tide pull her along. The girl’s soul doesn’t even fight it.

When the song is finished, Eunha stills to listen and feel for any more disturbances in the water. The girl’s soul is long gone, off to peaceful oblivion in the darkest depths of death. Everything else is quiet and still. 

She steps back across the border easily after conjuring the symbols for travel, doorways, and life. The yellow light of the room seems almost cheerfully bright after the dark grey monotone of the sea of death. She squints in the light and lets her body succumb to the shivers of cold. She’s grateful for the warming spell that is still in effect, fighting back the chill only a visit to death can cause—a soul-rending chill.

As soon as she thinks she’s warm enough to be able to move her limbs, she grabs her phone and keys to pocket them. She packs up her haegeum and carefully straps it onto her back again. Then she stands, testing her mobility as she goes. When she’s satisfied she’ll be able to walk out of the bar unaided, she makes her way to the door, breaking the warding spells as she walks through them. She doesn’t spare the body of the girl a second glance. The girl isn’t really there anymore, anyway.

The two men are waiting for her as she opens the door.

“She’s truly dead,” she says, keeping her voice neutral. “If the corpse reanimates, that’ll be your problem.”

The men tense and the taller one spits out, “Bitch. You’re here to solve the problem.”

“And that’s what I’ve done,” she says and is proud that she’s keeping her voice level.

The shorter man is grabbing the taller man’s bicep as he grunts, “If you’re sure she’s dead, you can get lost.”

She can hear the taller man still muttering “bitch” as she marches past them towards the exit.

“Wanna drink on the house?” the handsome bartender asks as she’s almost out the door.

She imagines for a moment how nice it would be to knock back a finger of whiskey to warm herself up and possibly soften the memories of this awful night, but knows the relief would only be temporary. Besides, Mina absolutely hates it when Eunha drinks. That’s enough to help her maintain sobriety.

As she takes the last few steps towards the door, the song vibrating through the bar changes. Eunha scoffs at the irony as the first notes of “Fake Love” by BTS ring out. The living plane is truly a cruel place. At least whoever is in charge of the music of this joint has good taste.

The rain has stopped completely now. It feels like she’s been gone for hours, when it’s maybe only been an hour. Only as she is observing the quiet of the street—too quiet for how early in the evening it is, even if it’s a weekday night—does she realize the pulling sensation in her scalp is gone. She’s hoping her actions tonight do not set things in motion that cannot be undone.

She allows herself to shed a few tears for the girl as she walks home. Too many innocent lives have been eaten by the cruelty in this world. Quickly enough though, her tears are dry. There isn’t much use worrying about the soul that is already passed far into nothingness. At least she has rest now, which is more than can be said for the living.

After she has showered and changed into her warmest, fuzziest pajamas, Eunha gets under the covers to snuggle with Mina. If Mina has any complaints about how cold Eunha’s hands and feet are, she doesn’t voice them.

[ronanceisintheair]

I just think Nancy being caught in a "do you love her" moment about robin, because it's so clear she does:

"Do you love her?" Jonathan asked, setting his jaw so his lower lip wouldn't tremble, unshed tears gleaming in his eyes.

Nancy let out a water scoffy, running her hand through her hair, scratching at her scalp before throwing her hands up, "what has gotten in to you?"

She's shaking her head, heart plummeting into her stomach, dropping like a grenade.

"Answer the question Nancy," he starts to pace, and she wants to reach out, to comfort him, but something in her has her stepping back instead.

It was like a chasm had formed between them. It had been growing for a while, they just couldn't see.

Realizing the distance that had formed between them wasn't something that could be fixed with comforting words and touches. Couldn't be fixed with a plane ride or a cross country trip.

It wasn't physical miles that forged the cracks in their relationship. Only sped up their growth exponentially.

Nancy gasped for words, lips parting and coming together, forming letters only to have them die on her tongue. She twisted the ring on her finger-Robin's ring-a bit too big on her own, this way and then that, "of course I ca-"

"No Nancy!" Jonathan stopped pacing, one foot forward, focusing all his attention on her. "You know what I mean."

His body transforming from an animal on the attack into an animal cornered, crossing his arms lamely, as if to protect himself from what he already knew, "do you love Robin... like you used to love me?"

His eyes studied her, tears finally springing from her eyes with a jagged breath that caught on her lips,

"I'm not mad Nance. I'm not, " he shook his head, swallowing down his own tears, "I'm not mad. You deserve her and I know she'll treat you like you deserve. Like I couldn't."

He took a step close, allowing her to back up, but she stayed where she was, tightly gripping at her sweater, twirling the fabric between her fingers, cheeks reddened and tear streaked.

"I'm not mad." He repeated, wrapping her in a tight hug.

[vanillasakura]

Cuddling w/ Abigail Headcannons!

Being in a relationship with Abigail means agreeing to be warm and cuddly whenever you two can

Whenever things're a bit slower, she'll give you that knowing look, sometimes patting the spot next to her, her lap, or just opening her arms up towards you

You end up doing this too, and she's always more than happy to oblige

Abigail doesn't have a consistent preference when it comes to being the big or little spoon. Whatever she's feeling more in the moment is usually what she'll go for. If she's not feeling anything in particular, it's up to you

Loves holding you in her lap, your head buried in her shoulder while she presses kisses into your hair and rubs your back

She also loves having either your head on her lap or her head in yours

If you're the one lying down, she'll stroke your hair, gently scratching at your scalp and massaging your head

If you do the same to her, it makes her very sleepy, and she'll usually end up dosing. The first time it happened she was incredibly embarrassed and needed lots or reassurance. Every now and then she still gets self-conscious over it

Modern AU is obsessed with cuddling and watching TV. If you've both had long and tiring days, sometimes throwing on an old episode of South Park and finding new ways to twist yourselves together into one is the most wonderful thing she could think of

She really struggles to sleep if she's not holding you. Your heartbeat and your soft breaths are the most comforting thing in the world to her. If you're really hot and simply can't bear to be pressed against her she'll still try and hold your hand to at least have some contact with you

Her favorite time of day is when you're both ready for bed, the lights out or dimmed and lying in each other's arms, talking mindlessly about whatever you think of. Nothing has the power to make her feel safe and loved like you do in those moments

Claims she can't be coerced into morning cuddles because she's busy and proper and a hard working woman, but it really doesn't take much to get her to change her mind. Grab her hand and pull her close to you and she'll relent immediately. (She'll still probably go and brush her teeth first because she cannot stand her own morning breath)

Abigail is very handsy while you two are cuddling. She's usually running her fingers or her hand up and down your sides or your back, tracing the shell of your ear or the outline of your lips with her fingers, leaning in to steal kisses or press them to the closest piece of skin whenever she can

She loves being hugged from behind, even if she sometimes feigns annoyance in front of others. She's very private with her affection, and only you really ever get to see her with all her walls truly down.

If you're alone she'll hold your hands encircling her stomach with her own, leaning back into your touch and slowly rocking back and forth

A telltale sign that she's feeling needy is that she'll hug you from behind, her face going straight into your shoulder and holding you tightly

Pick her up and she will be the happiest woman alive. Almost always giggles and softly squeals in excitement, and it's one of the most adorable sounds you've ever heard

Post-sex cuddles are are a must. Lying in each other's arms while your bodies are still warm and fizzy with pleasure, there's nothing like it. Abigail still won't be able to keep her hands off of you, caressing your thighs and running her fingers along your collarbone and showering you in dozens of short, soft kisses

She'll pull you into her so that your head is on her chest, or vice versa, still feeling your fast heartbeat and hearing your pants

Loves resting her head on your shoulder, or having you do it to her. Small moments like that really make her day and remind her just how much you love her, and how much she loves you

Being soft and cuddly is a huge part of your relationship, even if she doesn't show it publicly. Nothing makes Abigail feel warm and loved like physical contact, and if you love it, all the more reason to do it!

[taestefully-in-luv]

The Island | KTH (Ten)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension (?) mentions of sex, public fingering, slow sex in the form of a flashback, making out, dirty talk, oral (male rec.)

Notes: Here’s chapter 10:) Next chapter is the chapter most of you are really anticipating hahah sorry it isn’t this one! But I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope @lecavivien @fancycollectormoon @mawwnsterr @siredsong

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous---Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being really fucking nervous is actually the understatement of the century. You wish there was a better word to describe how you feel. Afraid, concerned, on edge, hesitant, jittery, jumpy, shy, tense, uneasy…you get the point. Meeting Taehyung’s parents is already a nerve wracking experience but in this situation it is even worse—you are the reason their son went into a major fucking depression for 6 months.

Taehyung has a big smile on his face though…he looks genuinely excited and not the least bit concerned. You on the other hand feel sick to your stomach, you feel like you have to gulp down literal puke every five minutes…or maybe every five seconds. Your hands are pooling with a gross amount of sweat and your stomach keeps twisting and turning.

“And my mom makes little sandwiches for us, like all the time.” Taehyung grins, he squeezes your hand in his as you two approach his parents’ house. “You ready?”

You feel the anxiety build, making you nauseas all over again.

“Sure.” You swallow down your nerves, looking up at Taehyung with worried eyes. His smile begins to fade as he observes you, he exhales a deep breath and lets go of your hand.

“Try to relax.” His hand goes to your hair, his fingers playing with it. “I wouldn’t bring you here if I thought it was going to go all wrong.” He says softly. “You have to trust me, remember?”

“Right…” you nod your head slowly. “You wouldn’t bring me to a place that people would hate me, right…” you wipe your hands on your jeans.

“y/n…” Taehyung reaches for your hand again, he intertwines his fingers with yours. “They don’t blame you.” He says under his breath. “I’m a grown ass man, I let myself go. Not you.”

“You can’t really be that naïve, Taehyung?” You breathe out, “At least one person blames me, that knows that I didn’t reach out to you—”

“I said to trust me, didn’t I?” Taehyung snaps, but he keeps his voice low. “I talked to my parents about bringing you over and they want to meet the girl from the photos. They rooted for us the entire time.” He tries to offer you a smile but you keep the frown that pulls down your lips.

“Why would they root for us…they don’t even know me.” You say quietly and Taehyung suddenly pulls you close, hugging you.

“Because they saw how happy we looked together. You saw the photos, right? You have to admit we make a cute couple.” He teases, holding you close.

“C-Couple…are we a couple?” you pull away from him slightly, you look into his dark eyes and give him a look that urges him to answer you.

“You’re asking if I’m like, your boyfriend?” he tilts his head, then he is pulling you back in, hugging you tightly. “I guess we really haven’t had that discussion yet.”

“Taehyung—”

“I want you to be my girlfriend. Will you?” He speaks lowly, his baritone voice vibrating his chest as your head is pushed up against it. “Can I introduce you as my girlfriend?” he sort of repeats and you feel your heart skip a beat—several in fact.

“You…you want me to be your girlfriend? But you won’t even kiss me?” you mumble into his chest.

Taehyung sighs out, he’s tired. Really tired of this same conversation. But he tries to be understanding of you and holds you even tighter.

“Remember we are taking it slow,” he reminds you. “But I’m yours. And you’re mine. So of course we are a couple. I’m your boyfriend…you’re my girlfriend.” He spells it out for you, “And that’s how we will introduce the other.”

You pull back from Taehyung and look into his eyes, his dark, beautiful eyes. You take a moment to let your eyes linger on his. They’re brown. But so much prettier than any other brown you’ve seen, they’re deeper. Like they hold so much mystery. You see the season of Autumn in his eyes. Like summer just ended, like the warmth of the sun still lingers. They’re the kind of eyes you can get lost in. Like you are doing right now.

“I’ll be your girlfriend.” You mumble shyly and Taehyung’s hands find your waist.

“You’re cute.” He states, “Too cute for me.” He squeezes your waist and you slowly close your eyes at how good it feels to have his hands on you.

“Don’t do that.” Taehyung warns. “I know that look.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You say with your eyes still closed, his hands now lowering themselves to your hips.

“I know what you look like when you want to get fucked y/n.” he starts to massage your hips and you can’t help but let a small, small moan leave your lips.

“Fuck…” Taehyung releases a shaky breath as he watches you get worked up. “Will this relax you?” he asks, his voice low. “If I get you off?”

“W-What do you mean?” your eyes shoot open, “We’re outside your parents’ house.”

“And?” he raises a brow, his hand going to the button of your jeans, he unbuttons it with one hand. “There’s hardly anyone around here.” He slides down the zipper and you begin to frantically shake your head, trying to stop him. But you fail miserably. Apparently shaking your head wasn’t enough.

“Tae…there’s people walking.”

“Barely.” He looks around his surroundings. “You’re going to come all over my fingers, okay?”

Your eyes dart all around you but he’s right, the people are kind of far and not paying attention to you.

“Okay…” you agree breathlessly. Taehyung slips his long fingers into your pants, sliding beneath your panties and going straight for where your needy ass self wants him most. With his free hand, Taehyung pushes you against the gate of his parents’ house and covers you with his body. His fingers find your clit and he starts to rub slowly, trying to get you wetter. This goes on a for a minute or two before you are soaking his fingers in your juices then he is rubbing a bit faster, making your knees buckle.

“Ah, Taehyung…” you moan out quietly. “Stay on my clit, I can come like this.” You let him know softly, your words coming out broken as you try to breathe normally.

“Okay babe.” He circles his fingers around your clit, rubbing over and over until you’re whimpering. Your eyes shoot open though when you remember you’re in public, your eyes scan the area and when you see you are alone you slam them shut and let out a longer moan.

“Be a little quieter.” Taehyung chuckles, “Don’t want my parents to come out wondering what’s going on, now do we?” he teases you, his fingers working on your bundle of nerves faster now, with added pressure making your orgasm announce its arrival.

“I’m going to—I’m going to come.” Your head falls onto his chest, and with his other hand he reaches up for the back of your head and begins massaging your scalp.

“Come for me baby. Want you nice and relaxed.”

You’re so, so close when you notice a couple of women walking past, you try so hard to keep your orgasm at bay until they leave but being in this situation somehow pushes you over the edge. You bite down on Taehyung’s shoulder as you try to stay quiet as you come all over his fingers.

“Good, good.” He rubs your back, “Relax, relax.”

You try to calm your unsteady breaths as you recover from your high, his sticky fingers leaving your heat as he pulls them out of your pants. He immediately pushes his fingers past your panting lips and orders you to lick him clean.

“Now.” He says, waiting to feel your tongue clean him up.

Then you are buttoning your jeans back up and smoothing down your clothes and your hair. You look up at Taehyung and he grins down at you.

“Feeling better?” he asks, “By the way, the answer better be yes.” His fingers tilt your head up by the jaw, urging you to look at him more properly.

“Yes.” You say truthfully. “I just need a moment to catch my breath then we can go inside.”

“Of course.”

~

Taehyung’s parent’s house is really, really nice. Well, as far as you can tell from the outside…you two are standing outside the front door waiting to get let in. You feel your nerves come back to haunt you, making you feel nauseas all over again. Before you can get too into your head, the front door is swinging open and a beautiful woman is widening her eyes at you, then she is yelling behind her in Korean and man is rushing to the door. Taehyung’s parents.

“Ummmm…” You start gathering your courage to speak to them. “Hello. My name is y/n. Nice to meet you.” You say in your broken Korean. Taehyung whips his head in your direction and looks pleasantly shocked. A wide smile makes its way on his face as he watches you trying to communicate with his parents.

“She even speaks Korean!” Taehyung’s mother claps her hands excitedly, but you literally have no idea what she said. You only know a few things, like asking where the bathroom is, random animals and colors and saying hello and goodbye. You awkwardly nod your head though and Taehyung begins explaining to them that you in fact, do not know Korean.

“Oh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Mrs. Kim brings her hand to her mouth as she tries to hide her growing smile. “We speak a little English…but we understand more than we speak…” she admits shyly and you can’t help but nod with a small smile.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say, holding out your hand but she walks closer and pulls you in for a hug instead. “Thank you.” Mrs. Kim mumbles in your shoulder. “Just…thank you. Thank you for coming here…”

“Mom…” Taehyung drags out in a whine.

You feel a pang in your chest once you realize what his mother means…she’s not mad at you? But rather grateful that you finally came? This makes the guilt you previously felt worsen.

“Come in, come in!” Mr. Kim chimes, “Dinner should be ready soon.”

“y/n can help me?” His mom pulls away from you, her hands still on your arms. “Right?” She asks with a sweet smile. You nod your head and follow her inside. Taehyung grins as he watches you two walk away towards the kitchen, his dad smiles knowingly towards him and pats him on the back.

“We’re making bulgogi.” She says happily, “Have you had before?” she takes the marinated meat and starts placing pieces of meat inside the pan.

“Yes, but probably not as good at yours.” You smile. Mrs. Kim nods her head like she agrees with you then hands you the tongs to place the meat in the pan yourself.

“I am really happy…” Mrs. Kim watches you cook the meat, “And very grateful. Taehyung missed you so much…it was hard seeing him so sad.”

You take a deep breath…you probably should have guessed this conversation was coming.

“But he had the courage to go find you!” She claps her hands, “We raised him nicely, didn’t we?”

“I’m sorry…” you gulp, “I—”

“No, no. Taehyung explained everything. You had the courage to come here in the end, didn’t you? Your parents must have raised you nicely as well.” She says, her hand gesturing you to flip the meat.

“I guess so…” you turn the meat over in the pan. “Taehyung is hard to say no to.”

“He is…how do you say? Charming?” She gathers the side dishes and starts placing them on the table.

“He is.” You feel a blush creep on your cheeks. “He really is.”

Suddenly, you feel her hand on your arm. You turn your head to face Mrs. Kim and she’s looking at you with pleading eyes.

“……….” She says slowly, but you have no idea what she said. You scrunch your brows and look at her with a puzzled expression.

“You’ll learn Korean, won’t you? When you do, you will remember what I said.” She then smiles for you, letting go of your arm.

“I’ll try my best.” You say honestly. “Thank you for having me here by the way.”

“Of course, we watched the two of you through photos for 8 months…you feel like family.”

~

“She’s very pretty.” Mr. Kim tells Taehyung, “But I’m worried….no….it’s fine. This will all be fine.”

“She’s beautiful.” Taehyung smiles, “And don’t be worried…everything is going to turn out the way it’s meant to.”

“The way it’s meant to, huh?” His dad grins at him, pulling him in for a side hug. “I know you will make sure of that.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” Taehyung admits between soft breaths, “She is the one for me, I know it.”

“I remember being that sure about your mom.” Mr. Kim begins to reminisce, “I still feel that way.”

“I know.” Taehyung finally hugs his father back, both of them letting go. “You will love her too, you will get to know her and realize I have every right to be in love.”

“Oh son…we already know you are in love. We saw it even through those photos.” Mr. Kim begins walking to the kitchen, “And she’s a woman in love if I’ve ever seen it.” He chuckles, “You two will be okay.”

“You think so?” Taehyung follows his dad towards the kitchen where you and his mom are.

They walk through and see the two of you setting up the table, you both look happy and Taehyung couldn’t be more pleased.

“Smells good.” Taehyung sniffs the air around him dramatically, “Did she help mom?” Taehyung winks at you and you roll your eyes playfully.

“She cooked all the meat! Next time I will get her to make the marinate.”

“I would love to learn.”

“She would love to learn! You hear that?” Taehyung comes up to you and hugs you tightly. “I will learn with you.” He whispers in your ear and places a quick kiss to your cheek. You immediately feel yourself heat up, feeling slightly embarrassed that he would show affection in front of his parents. But they don’t seem to mind, they instead smile at one another before taking a seat at the table.

“So, we want to know all about your time on the island! Happy memories.” Mrs. Kim requests sweetly. “The photos weren’t enough for storytelling.”

“Hmm.” Taehyung stuffs his face with meat, “I was so mean to her at first.” He laughs and you hit his shoulder.

“Yeah, he didn’t even want to talk to me!” you whine.

“We said happy memories!” Mr. Kim chuckles, patting his mouth with a napkin. “What was your first kiss like?”

“Oh yes! It was probably sweet and pure. I can just see it!” Mrs. Kim chirps making you blush hella hard. Your first kiss was anything but pure.

“I don’t want to stop, Tae.” You blurt out quickly. “I want to keep going.” You flutter your eyelashes at him, “Please.” His eyes widen.

Taehyung’s hands grip at your waist and leans in again, kissing you once more. His lips find yours in desperation this time, he moves his lips against yours messily yet perfectly. His hands slide down just a bit until they’re gripping your hips, he gives them a squeeze and you squeal. So he squeezes your hips again until you’re whimpering in his mouth. He takes advantage of your parted lips, taking this opportunity to lick past them and feel your tongue with his. He presses his mouth against yours harder as your hands run down his broad chest.

You begin exploring his front side, your hands gliding from his chest to his stomach. He groans when you slide your hands down with added pressure to his lower stomach, he feels himself tense as he continues to kiss you. His tongue swirls against yours as your kissing becomes more heated and more sloppy. He wants to explore your front too, god, he wants to feel your tits in his hands so bad. So he slides his hands up until he’s groping you, your breasts being squeezed passionately by his large hands. You groan when his thumb finds your nipple through the material of your shirt and thin bra, he’s rubbing it over and over and you roll your eyes back.

“It was very sweet. Very pure.” Taehyung comments nonchalantly, sticking another piece of meat in his mouth.

“Yes, very.” You repeat with a giggle. “The island holds some very precious memories for me.” You begin, “Taehyung really became someone special, someone precious. He felt like the first real friend I had in a long, long time.”

“What are you friends like at home?” Mr. Kim asks and you feel yourself grow a little smaller, but it isn’t as bad as it used to be, you can admit.

“I don’t really have many…most of my friends were from my old job but that place was…toxic. I’m glad it’s behind me.” You say honestly. “I work a new job now and everyone seems really nice, I look forward to making new friends.”

“We hear you have an older sister! That must be nice!” Mrs. Kim reaches for a side dish, piles some on her plate. “And your parents must be so happy to have you home.”

“Ah, Ellie. She’s great.” You take a sip of your water, “She really takes care of me. And my parents were a little sad I finally moved back out and back to the city. But they’re also happy I am moving forward with my life.”

“How do they feel about you coming to Korea?”

“My mom isn’t the most supportive…but dad and Ellie are.”

“Why isn’t your mom—”

“Anyway,” Taehyung cuts off his mother, “y/n is excited about her new job and making new friends.

“Well, she can always make new friends here.” Taehyung’s mother gives both of you a knowing look. “The boys will surely like her.”

“Well, yeah…” Taehyung gets out awkwardly. “But she’s only here for a few weeks.”

“But eventually she will—”

“Mom.” Taehyung warns. “Not now.”

“Fine, fine! Anyway I prepared your photos from the island, should we show you our favorites?” She says excitedly. “There is one in particular that really just…oh my, let me just show you!” She stands from her chair and walks towards one of the counters, picking up a pile of photos.

“This one. This one is my favorite.”

It’s of you and Taehyung on the couch, you’re both laughing, leaning into one another spaces. Taehyung has got his hand on your upper thigh and your head is leaning into his chest. It looks like you two are so happy. Like you two never want to leave the island. And at the point you’re sure you never did.

“I like it too.” You say quietly. “We look so happy.”

“Yeah.” You can hear the smile in Taehyung’s voice. “Show us more.”

~

“Okay, it was nice to meet you both.” You bow your head towards his parents and they smile at one another before they look over at Taehyung.

“Taehyung…”

Then his parents are pulling him to the side and speaking to him in Korean, so you have no idea what’s being said. But Taehyung looks flushed, then he is waving them off.

“Ready to go?” he asks with a blush.

~

“Did you have a nice time?” Taehyung asks you, his hand in your hand as you two walk to the bus stop. “My parents like you.”

“Yes.” You smile shyly, “But also why wouldn’t they? I’m amazing.” You tease, trying to act more confident than you are. Maybe to trick yourself to be nicer to yourself.

“That’s right baby.” Taehyung grins down at you, “You are.”

Although things went really well…you still can’t help but feel anxious over everything. Like you are undeserving of kindness. They were so nice to you even though you’re the reason Taehyung went through a sad phase. But you are trying to accept their love even if it’s really hard.

The bus ride to the stop near his apartment only takes around 20 minutes, you feel yourself nodding off on the bus. You had a long day and the jet lag is definitely starting to take a toll on you.

“Sleepy babe?” Taehyung takes your head in his hand and guides it on his shoulder. “Sleep a little.” He kisses the top of your head and you feel yourself grow more and more sleepy.

Eventually, Taehyung is gently shaking you awake letting you know you two made it to your stop near his apartment. You both walk to his place, the night time air making you feel nice. It’s easier to breathe out here, it’s easier to trick yourself into breathing freely and feeling like you aren’t being totally suffocated.

You walk into the apartment and Taehyung decides to put on a movie. You change into some fresh panties and one of his long t shirts before you’re settling on the couch. Taehyung makes some hot chocolate for the both of you before he is pressing play on the movie.

You aren’t sure what movie this is, what it’s about or anything because you are so god damn tired. You lay down in Taehyung’s lap and eventually fall asleep.

Taehyung looks down at you and feels himself falling more and more in love. Just watching you sleep, he feels himself growing with affection for you. But it’s on his mind. What his parents said to him before you two left.

“She isn’t ready Taehyung…” His mom states plainly, “She will need a lot of time.”

“She does seem like a very good girl.” His dad adds in, “But we can tell how overwhelmed she is.”

Taehyung feels his entire face flush as he tries to gather his words.

“We are going to take it slow.” Taehyung says, “Really slow.”

“Don’t push her too much. We know how badly you want to be with her but it seems like she has some things to figure out before she can commit to you. Just remember that.”

Taehyung huffs out as he recalls their words because they’re right and he knows they are right. You aren’t ready and that’s just the truth. But he can’t give up. But he also can’t pressure you. Where is the balance? What is the balance?

He knows you are probably feeling very pressured right now, even just being in Korea. Did he make a mistake? No, he can’t think that way. He knows everything will turn out the way it’s supposed to.

Taehyung watches you sleep more than he watches the movie. He just wants you to be happy, to be comfortable. He lifts you off his body so he can lay down too, spooning you on the sofa. He decides to sleep with you tonight.

~~~~~

It’s Tuesday. Taehyung takes you around Seoul, you visit popular sites, eat good food, even do some shopping. It’s the evening now and you two are at some nice restaurant, you even have your own little room.

“Is this not a date?” You playfully ask. “Because it sure feels like one.”

Taehyung takes a moment to think before he is pouting, his bottom lip jut out so far you want to kiss it.

“It is.” He finally says, “But it’s not the first official first date like how Friday will be.”

“Jeez,” You sigh out, a small laugh leaving your lips. “How many unofficial first dates will we have?”

“A million, if we have to.” He teases, reaching over the table for a side dish. “Do you kiss on the first date, y/n?” he suddenly asks, making you blush.

“With you? I just might.” You respond back. “Do you?”

“With you? I definitely will.” He says cooly, “Just an innocent kiss though.” He looks up at you and smirks.

“Oh? Sweet and pure? Like what your parents think—”

“It was sweet and pure!” Taehyung whines, “The sweetest, purest kiss of my life.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow at him. “What the hell other kind of kisses you been having?”

“Nothing like yours baby.” He winks at you.

You playfully scoff at him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You like kissing me?” Your eyes find his again, “Tell me.”

“I love kissing you. One of my favorite activities.”

“What are your other favorite activities?” you lick your lips, his eyes fall down to them.

“They all include you but I don’t think that’s appropriate dinner conversation.”

“At least tell me one. Or maybe I can guess?” You scoot to his side of the table, your body getting closer and closer to his.

“You can guess.” He gulps as your hand lands on his thigh. “Guess.”

“I think you like when…” your hand slide up and down his upper thigh. “When I touch you.”

“You guess right.” Taehyung stares straight ahead as your hand travels up his thigh higher and higher.

“My hand is one thing, but I bet you like my lips the most?” You lean up and kiss the side of his neck.

“Y/n…” Taehyung says breathlessly. “Not here.”

“Why not?” you continue to kiss his neck, making Taehyung grow weaker with every kiss.

“I don’t deserve to be touched by you.” Taehyung whispers.

“Baby…” You kiss his neck again, “I forgive you.” You say in his ear. Taehyung slowly closes his eyes and starts to shake his head.

“You don’t. You can be upset with me however long it takes.” He says quietly but you aren’t having it. You lean back and grip his arm, urging him to look at you.

“Tae…I said I forgive you. You…I thought a lot about it and yeah, it doesn’t make me happy but also we weren’t in a place that I can actually be upset over it. I’m trying my hardest to be understanding. And I think in the end, it’s no one’s fault that you did what you did. And you said it means nothing to you—”

“Nothing! It really didn’t mean anything…” Taehyung cuts you off, his expression is troubled. He looks at you with wide, panicked eyes. “y/n…I really wish I could take it back. I regretted it so much.” His eyes begin to bubble over. “That night especially…I wasn’t myself, I was in a dark place, I missed you so much, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Your hand reaches up to rub his shoulder. “I know, baby.” You continue to rub his shoulder as soothingly as possible, getting him to calm down.

“You really forgive me?” he asks, his voice small.

“Yes Tae.” You lean into him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I might still be a little bitter about it but I will try my best not to be. But overall, I forgive you. I know you regret it. I know the one you love is me…”

“Yes!” Taehyung basically shouts, “You’re the only one I love, I promise you.”

“I believe you.” You say, hugging him close. “This can be one thing we cross off our problems list.” You laugh. “I don’t want this to be a problem anymore.”

“Really baby?” He slips his arm over your shoulder, hugging you back.

“You deserve to be touched by me, Tae. Me and me only though.” You can’t help but chuckle.

“When we get home,” he breathes out, “I will let you touch me.”

“Okay.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “I can’t wait.”

~

“Fuck.” Taehyung groans. His hands go to your hair, he pulls at it making you moan all around his dick.

“You are art.” He grits out. Your tongue swirls over his tip before you take his cock further and further in your mouth. You have drool escaping the corner of your lips, your eyes are fogged up with lust and your cheeks are painted a lovely shade of pink. You truly do look like art.

“Take your time baby.” Taehyung moans, “We have all night.” You slowly lick up his length, getting it nice and wet. He moans for you, the low guttural sounds going straight to your pussy. You’ve missed this, missed him, missed his cock. Having him squirming beneath you feels so good as you make him feel amazing.

“I love your mouth…feels so good.” He watches as you bob your head up and down rather slowly. You suck his cock so well it makes him dizzy.

“You know how to make me feel good.” He finally closes his eyes as he just focuses on the feeling you give him. He focuses on your hands on his member, on his balls, he focuses on your tongue and how it licks him over and over. He focuses on your sounds, how you choke on his cock, how you moan for him.

Taehyung hates how close he is. But he hasn’t felt this amazing in months and months. He wishes he could have your lips wrapped around his cock for hours and hours, but he is losing control. He starts thrusting his hips upwards, desperate for more.

“Can I come down your throat? Will you swallow for me?” He pants.

You only moan around his length, the vibrations sending him over the edge. He feels himself go tense as he shoots his cum down your throat. You continue to fondle his balls, and suck on his tip as he finishes.

Taehyung whines out, throwing his head back as he comes down from his high. You swallow all his cum like you agreed to, the flavor lingering in your mouth. Tastes like him, tastes so good.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Taehyung moans, “How are you this good?”

“Let’s just say I was made for you.” You crawl up his body, Taehyung pulls you up by the arms and lays you down on his chest.

“You are, you definitely are.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head. “No one has ever made me feel like the way you do.”

“No one?”

“Just you my love.”

Explosions. Like, maybe something like fireworks go off in your chest. His new pet name for you makes you feel warm as fuck, and giddy too.

“I’m your love?” You try to pull your lips down, hiding this obvious smile.

“Of course, you are. Love of my life.” He states in a whisper. “I can’t see myself with anyone but you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” You respond sweetly. “The feeling is mutual.”

~~~~~

It’s Wednesday. You and Taehyung are just relaxing in his apartment today…you two plan on ordering take out for dinner and watching shows, playing games and just enjoying one another’s company.

“This feels a lot like one of our days on the island.” You say, leaning your head against Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it does.”

For the first time, things feel like they never changed. You feel at home with Taehyung, you feel like everything is right, everything is perfect.

“Even being here on this sofa reminds me…”

The slow drag of Taehyung’s cock is enough for your vision to become blurry, almost like you are drunk. The couch isn’t the most comfortable place to have sex but you both were so fucking needy for the other…you don’t even care about being watched. Not even for a moment as intimate as this.

Taehyung brings his hands to either side of you and starts rolling his hips into you deeper and deeper, your eyes roll so far back into your head that all you can see is the whites. His cock reaches places you didn’t even know about, you never knew cock alone would make you feel this fucking good.

Dreamy. That’s you would describe this moment. His length brushes against you in ways that make “seeing stars” like a child’s phrase. You’re beyond seeing stars, you are seeing whole galaxies. The universe is in your eyes with the way he makes you feel.

Taehyung’s chest falls to your chest, his lips on your lips as he continues to grind his hips into yours in the most slow, sensual fucking of your life. Can this even be called fucking? This might be called making love.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of your steamy thoughts. Your whole face is red as you push back that memory. Taehyung knows though. He sees right through you.

“You’re thinking about the slow fuck, aren’t you?” He winks down at you. “When I fuck you again, it’ll be like that. But even better.”

“When?”

“When I just can’t take it.” He admits, “I have very little control left though.”

“I know it will be amazing.” You sigh out, “I can’t wait to feel that close with you again.” You murmur shyly, “Whenever you’re ready.”

“The more I look at you, the more I feel ready.” He says softly, making your heart skip a few beats.

~~~~

Thursday. You had a few days to gather courage but today you are feeling anxious all over again. You have already thrown up twice.

“Baby we can cancel.”

Today you are meeting Taehyung’s friends. Tonight, technically. But it’s only an hour before your meeting time and you are so overly anxious that you are physically sick.

“No, no.” You wave him off, “I’m just being a baby.”

“They’re the ones who said I should bring you back to Korea. No one is going to be mean to you, no one is going to make you feel unwelcome…well…no, no it’ll be fine.” Taehyung rubs your back.

“I know, I know.”

You were once not like this. But after everything that happened with your ex, with your old job and so on, you have become a nervous person. You know this is something you have to work through…

“But if it’s too much, we can cancel.” Taehyung offers again, you just shake your head and smile. He’s so loving, so supportive. What did you do to deserve someone as amazing as him? “No, I need to finish getting ready though.” You rise from the couch, “Will you help me pick something to wear?”

“You packed that green, flowy dress right?” Taehyung grins, “I love that dress on you. Wear that.”

“I was going to wear that tomorrow…for our date…”

“What about that new dress you bought on Tuesday? The red one?”

“Oh that’ll be a better date dress. Hm, okay. Green one tonight then.”

You walk into Taehyung’s bedroom, and take out the green dress. You slip it on over your body and examine yourself in the mirror, you look nice, you will admit.

“Beautiful.” Taehyung comes up behind you, circling his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “So beautiful.” He then kisses the side of your neck, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “I can’t wait to show you off tonight.”

His hands begin massaging your hips, you slowly close your eyes from how good it feels. You grind yourself into Taehyung’s crotch and he immediately groans out.

“We have to leave soon.” Taehyung warns. “Don’t make me get you off.”

“Why can’t we both get off?” You whine, “Just fuck me already.” You continue throwing your ass back into his crotch.

“I think soon but not right now.” He smiles. His hands continue to massage you, he rolls your hips with the guidance of his hands. “Are you almost ready?”

“Hm. Yes.” You open your eyes and make contact with him in the mirror, “I’m really nervous, to be honest.”

“What can I do or say to make you feel comfortable?” Taehyung hugs you close.

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll try anyway.” He laughs, shoving his face in the crook of your neck. “You are amazing, you are funny, you’re fun to be around, you’re adorable, you’re sexy, my friends are going to love you! They are all so excited, I promise.”

“Okay, okay.” You giggle. “I’ll just have to believe you.”

“That’s all I ask.”

You both stare at one another in the mirror for a while, you feel like every moment that passes with his eyes on yours you are falling in love all over again. The time on the island counts but this is real life, this is reality. You have to learn to live with the fact that the island was just one part of your relationship. That this new phase is something worth working on.

“I love you Taehyung.”

Taehyung blinks at you in the reflection, he looks genuinely surprised by your words. He turns you around in his grasp, your face now facing him, just inches away.

“Tell me again.” He says softly. “Tell me you love me again.”

“I love you.” You repeat in a daze, your mind starting to fog up with affection for Taehyung.

“How much do you love me?”

“Enough that I will do anything if it means we will be happy together.”

“I love you too.” Taehyung whispers, pulling you closer to him. He tilts his head to the side as he leans into your space. His words hit your lips softly and you feel yourself melting, melting so much that Taehyung has to basically hold you up.

“How much do you love me?” You ask, a slight teasing tone. Your eyes half lidded as you stare up at him.

“Enough that I can’t wait until our first date.”

“Can’t wait for wh—”

Suddenly, Taehyung’s lips crash into your lips. He kisses you long and deep. His lips staying on yours for a life time, you feel your knees give out on you. Taehyung holds your body up as you finally start to kiss him back. Your lips move against his slowly, tenderly, with so much feeling, so much passion.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you push yourself closer to him, your chest coming flush against his. He starts to move his lips against yours a little harder now, a little more desperately, a little more with fire. Taehyung surprises you with the long, dragged out moan that leaves him as he kisses you. Like, this is the first time he has ever kissed you. Like, he has been waiting a life time to kiss you.

His lips part for you and you take the hint to slide your tongue between his lips, finding his tongue tangling with yours immediately. His hands explore your body frantically, they grip you in every place you could want him. Your lips, your tongue, everything tastes so sweet. He can die a happy man after finally kissing you.

You aren’t sure how much time has passed but Taehyung’s ringing phone indicates that maybe you two are late. Taehyung pulls away from you, his erratic breathing hard to calm. He reaches for his phone and answers it.

“Hello? Uh huh…okay….sorry, sorry. We will be there in a bit.’

You smooth down your hair in the mirror and fix your make up a little bit, then you turn around to face Taehyung again.

“Who was that?” you ask.

“It was Jimin, him and Namjoon are already there. We should get going.” He pulls you in and places a quick peck to your lips. “You ready?”

“Yes. How do I look?”

~~~~

“Gorgeous! You look so gorgeous!” Jimin gushes, he holds you at arm’s length and you look at Taehyung with confused eyes.

“Umm, thank you. You look…gorgeous too.” You admit shyly…well, he does. You didn’t think Jimin would be this beautiful!

“Oh my god, me? Thank you!” Jimin goes in to hug you again, “I thought you were so pretty but pictures do not do you justice girl.”

“Oh my god…thank you…” You laugh, “I knew I looked bad in some of those pics.” You joke.

“Wait that’s not what I meant!” Jimin can’t help but pout…”I meant—”

“Okay, okay,” Namjoon steps between you two, “I’m Namjoon, by the way. I’m not sure Jimin here was ever going to give me the opportunity to introduce myself.” He chuckles. You shake his hand and he grins at you.

“It’s so nice to meet y—”

“y/n!” You hear your name being called but you don’t recognize the voice, you glance over your shoulder to see two new bodies walking towards you.

“Hi—” But before you can continue talking you are being engulfed in a hug by one of the men.

“I’m Hobi!” he laughs into your shoulder, “I’m so happy to meet you!”

“Oooh.” You nod your head in understanding, you glance at the other man who just give you a small wave of the hand.

“I’m Yoongi.” He says with a smile. “We are uh, your new friends.” He looks down at the floor, his gummy smile not going unnoticed by you.

“Hi, nice to meet you both.” You feel yourself smiling, you feel your heart glowing. Everyone is being so nice, it’s refreshing.

“Okay, stop hugging her Hobi…” Taehyung deadpans. “Where’s Jin and Jungkook?”

“They were right behind us…” Yoongi comments, “They probably got caught up talking to someone on the way in.”

“Well, you know Jungkook. Probably a girl.” Jimin teases, “So should we grab a table?”

You all search for two tables and put them together, so you all have a place to sit. It’s around 9pm. So the bar is starting to get crowded, but it feels fun.

“What are you drinking baby?” Taehyung leans into you, “Want a mixed drink?”

“Yeah, surprise me.” You nod, “Something strong though.” You wink up at Taehyung and he grins down at you.

“Okay.” He leans in and finds your lips. You kiss him back quickly, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“You guys are so cute.” Jimin practically drools, “This is the first time we are seeing Taehyungie happy again.”

Guilt. But you’re trying, you are desperately trying to move past that feeling.

“It’s the first time since the island that I am this happy too.” You admit to Jimin. He leans into your space and smiles at you.

“You’re going to make Taehyung so happy, aren’t you?”

“I’ll try my best.” You giggle.

Taehyung comes back with two drinks, he hands one to you and you immediately gulp it back.

“Well, hello there friends.” A new voice. You look up to see who you assume is Jin and Jungkook.

“I am Jin, your new best friend.” He shakes your hand and you laugh. “This is Jungkook…” he gestures towards the other boy. Jin looks very happy to see you while….Jungkook does not, to put it simply.

“Hi Jungkook.” You wave at him and he only narrows his eyes at you, scoffs and looks away.

“Oh?” You raise a brow…finally, someone who is treating you the way you feel you deserve. Somehow this amuses you.

“Jungkook doesn’t want to be my new best friend?” You tease. You glance at Taehyung who looks tense but he immediately relaxes when he notices you taking this …rather well.

“Why?” Jungkook spits out, “So you can ghost me for 6 months?”

Ouch. But a well-deserved sting.

“Okay,” Taehyung stands to his feet and takes Jungkook by the arm and drags him off to the side so they can talk.

You watch, still amused. You don’t feel hurt by this…Jungkook is just being a good friend. Not that the others aren’t good friends but to be honest you expected this from at least one of them.

“If he doesn’t behave, just report to me and I’ll scold him.” Jin says playfully, “And if Taehyung does anything weird, you let me know and I will set him straight too.”

“I don’t like scolding Taehyungie…” Yoongi begins, “But I’ll do it.”

“Don’t count on me, everything Taehyung does is perfect in my eyes.” Jimin laughs, “I’m joking, I’m joking—”

“We aren’t so sure you are.” Namjoon cuts in. “But really y/n…this is the most we have seen Taehyung smile. It’s thanks to you.”

“It’s also my fault he….” Your eyes go to Taehyung who is still scolding Jungkook. “He—”

“It’s no ones fault!” Jimin claps his hands together. “Everything happened the way it did and now we can all move forward. Especially you y/n.” Jimin gives you a sweet smile, “Guilt is an ugly feeling. I would hate for you to be eaten alive by it when you don’t have to be.”

You feel your eyes sting with tears…you didn’t realize you needed an almost stranger tell you something like that…he’s a new friend right? You can call him a friend?

“Jimin…” You sniffle and he starts laughing loudly.

“Oh! Don’t get sad!” He leans in to hug you. “Let’s only make happy memories, okay?”

“The happiest.” Jin chimes in, “We’re all your friends now…and Jungkook will give in eventually.”

“Don’t worry too much about Jungkook…” Yoongi smiles, “He’s sort of the brat around here. You’ll get used to it.”

At this you laugh, you have heard stories. He is the youngest, after all.

“I’m not too concerned.” You admit under a few soft breaths, “It kind of feels good…getting what I deserve.”

“What are you? A Masochist?” Jimin frowns, “You deserve to be happy.”

“And I am…or, I will be. I’m getting there.”

“Okay, we are back!” Taehyung announces his and Jungkook’s presence. “And we are happy to be here, aren’t we Jungkook?” He says with his hand on the back of Jungkook’s neck.

“Totally.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Super happy to be here. Hi y/n.” he mutters underneath his breath. It’s cute actually.

“Hi Jungkook.” You giggle. “Want to take a shot with me?” you offer, standing up. Jungkook pinches his brows together then points to himself.

“With me?” he asks, clearly shocked.

“Yes, you.” You nod your head in the direction of the bar, “Coming?”

Taehyung looks over at you, also confused. But you just give him a smile that lets him know it’s okay.

“Sure…” Jungkook shrugs Taehyung off him, “If you’re buying.”

“What a brat.” Jimin laughs. “You should be buying her the drink, not the other way around.”

“No, no. I offered, I’ll buy.” You wink. You start walking towards the bar and Jungkook follows behind you.

You both walk up to the bar and you ask him to order for you, which he does. You both get handed two shots of some liquor and you raise your glass to clink it with his.

He eyes you curiously, wondering what your aim is here.

“Were you ever going to talk to him?” Jungkook finally says something.

“Taehyung believes I was going to…so yes. If he believes it then so do I.” you take your shot and Jungkook follows.

“I don’t like you.” Jungkook states plainly, “You made Taehyung really sad…”

“I know. I don’t think I like myself much either right now. But Jimin made me feel a little better…”

“Jimin will do that.” Jungkook sighs out. “But I still don’t like you.”

“You’re very cute Jungkook.” You reach up and ruffle his hair, you laugh out loud when you notice how red he has become. “You’re a good friend.”

“I-I-I…” He stutters out, feeling his blush hit him hard. “Whatever.” He looks off to the side. “Are you ready to go back or what?” he grumbles shyly.

You nod your head and you both walk back to your tables, Taehyung gives you a look of concern before you are smiling at him. A real life smile. And he relaxes.

“Hey baby.” He says, pulling out your chair for you to sit. “You didn’t grab another drink while you are up?” he asks, “I’ll go.” He stands, placing a kiss on your cheek and you nod gratefully.

“So what are we talking about?” You glance around the boys, “Anything interesting?”

“y/n! This is perfect, we can get a girls perspective.” Hobi smiles at you, “Yoongi has this girl he likes, right?” At this Yoongi groans, throwing his head back in annoyance. “But he won’t ask her out!”

“And how can I help?” You laugh.

“Well,” Jimin joins in, “We don’t know how this girl feels. So listen, listen.” Jimin puts a hand on your shoulder as he speaks, “She kissed him one time but hasn’t initiated anything since!”

“Oh…” you give Yoongi a look of pity and he starts laughing.

“I knew it.” Yoongi slaps his knee, “She isn’t into me guys.”

“Didn’t I say that?” Jin asks and Namjoon swats his arm. “What? It’s true. She is kissing on random guys all the time, I think you just happened to be one of them.”

“No!” Hobi cuts in, “Listen to this though! She asked for him last weekend, wondering where he was at…like, she missed his attention or whatever.”

“His attention or him?” you ask with a pointed look.

“Exactly.” Namjoon says, “We have to be sure if its him she wants and not his lips.” He starts making kissy faces and you all start laughing.

“Well, if she out tonight?” you ask, “Maybe I need to watch your interactions with her to be sure.”

“Wow, you can be a wing woman.” Hobi says with stars in his eyes.

“Oh my god yes a wing woman.” Jimin says with stars in his eyes as well.

“I’m not saying I will be much help!” You giggle, but the boys wave you off, still excited about having a wing woman.

“You’ll really help y/n?” Yoongi asks quietly. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I’ll help…well, to the best of my abilities.”

“What did I miss?” Taehyung comes to the table, setting your drinks down. He takes a seat next to you.

“y/n is apparently all of our wing woman now.” Jungkook says nonchalantly.

“Psshh, like you need a wing woman.” Jimin teases, “You get girls just by being in the same room as them.”

“Stop trying to make my girlfriend do work when she just got here.” Taehyung pouts, “Don’t overwhelm her.”

“No, it’s nice.” You admit with a blush. “Feels like I have friends.” You say as quietly as possible to where only Taehyung can catch what you are saying. “We are your friends.” You hear Jimin whisper to you as he leans into your space. “Don’t ever doubt that.” Oh. You guess with Jimin next to you he was bound to hear.

“Thanks Jimin…”

Hours and hours pass, drinks are going down like crazy. Everyone is having so much fun it is ridiculous. You haven’t laughed this much probably ever in your life!

You feel yourself growing closer and closer with the boys, especially now that you are all drunk.

“Oh my god, I fucking love you!” Jimin laughs with his whole body, he practically falls out of his chair. “You told him his painting of you looked like a frog!” he snorts.

“Someone had to be honest about his human portraits, I suppose.” Namjoon laughs as well. “But a frog? You’re savage.”

“I thought his painting of the 7 of us was really….special.” Yoongi adds, “But I wouldn’t say we looked like frogs.”

“Oh, he made me look like a god damn frog.” You giggle. “I told him to burn it.”

“And did he?” Hobi asks.

“No, we kept it for the memories…” Then your face lights up. “By the way Tae…”

“Hm?” Taehyung smiles for you, “What is it?”

“Do you have the painting? They left us with a box of stuff right? Things from the island but I didn’t have the painting,”

“Yeah, I have it.” He nibbles on his bottom lip, “Maybe one day when we live together we can put it up…and then one you did of me as well.” He slurs.

“One day.” You grin.

“Oh my god, y/n.” Jimin whines, “You have to move here!”

The rest of the boys start clapping and agreeing, nodding their heads along.

“Wouldn’t that be a culture shock?” Jungkook speaks up, “She doesn’t even speak Korean.”

“Yeah, it would be.” You admit shyly. “But there’s time to think about all of that.”

Taehyung reaches for your hand and squeezes it.

“Yeah.” He agrees.

Jimin slumps his shoulders but smiles for you both anyway. Hobi stands up and offers his hand to you, you look at him quizzically.

“Want to dance?” He asks, “All of us of course, but you’re the lady. So I asked formerly. I don’t know I’m drunk.”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“Yes, let’s all dance!”

You all head to the dance floor, the music is loud and drowning out any and all worries you had about tonight.

“Having fun?” Taehyung brings you in, your back against his chest as he whispers in your ear.

“Time of my life.” You slur out honestly. “I can’t thank you enough for…”

“For what baby?”

“For showing me your world.”

“It can be our world…” He places a kiss on your neck. “One day.”

“I want any world as long as you are in it.” You say breathlessly. “I like your friends a lot.” You tell him and he grins into your neck.

“They’re the best and they will treat you right.” He breathes you in, “I trust them with my life, they’re like brothers.”

“I can tell. They’re a good group of dudes.”

“I can tell they like you too.” He sighs into your hair, “But I like you the most.”

You grind your ass into his crotch in beat with the music, his hands travel all over the front of your body. You two dance like this for a while when a feminine voice cuts through the sound of the music. You and Taehyung both snap your heads in the direction of the voice when you see a girl standing here, her hands on her hips and a look of disappointment on her face.

“Taehyung?” She says, his name sounds wrong on her tongue. This can only be who you think it is.

“Oh hey.” Taehyung awkwardly smiles, “What’s up?”

“Who’s this?” she asks, looking in your direction but she doesn’t look at you directly.

You don’t want to feel intimidated but it’s her. It’s Hana. She is even prettier in person. She’s got two friends with her, but they are talking to the boys.

“This is—”

“I’m y/n.” you say as confidently as possible.

“My girlfriend.” Taehyung says, he reaches for your hand and squeezes it. “y/n this is Hana.”

“Oh, nice to meet you.” You smile, and she scoffs. Fucking scoffs.

“………..” she says in Taehyung’s direction but you have no idea what she said since it was in Korean.

You stand here awkwardly, swaying from side to side as Taehyung talks to her…you wish you knew what they were saying. But you’re almost too drunk to care.

“Excuse us!” you smile, with Taehyung’s hand in yours you drag him to the bar leaving Hana behind.

“y/n.” Taehyung sighs out, “She was just—”

“Huh? It’s fine, Tae. I just wanted a drink and to be spending less time with her and more time with you.”

Taehyung can’t help the smirk that his lips curve into. He grabs you by the hips, pulls you in for a hug then leans away to look at you.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He says before leaning in to kiss you. His tongue prodding its way into your mouth, you moan out loud and swirl your tongue with his. Your kisses are rushed, sloppy and messy. And drunken as fuck.

“You guys are so hot.” Jimin whines as he walk up to you two, ordering his own drink.

You pull away from Taehyung and start laughing.

“Get two more of what you just got.” Taehyung smiles, “On me.”

“Oh hell yeah.” Jimin cheers. Then he is ordering two more drinks as Taehyung slides his card over the bar top.

“I saw you guys talking to Hana…” Jimin whispers to you, “How was that?”

“Don’t care.” You shrug, “She didn’t look very happy to see me though.”

“She was hopeful…” Jimin admits, “That she could get Taehyung to fall in love with her. She had been trying for a long time…then he disappears for 8 months and is in love with someone else. She tried to be understanding but it was still hard on her.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Taehyung butts in with the drinks, “Because I told her you’re my girlfriend and the one I love so…”

“I know, Tae.” You smile, “I may not understand Korean but I got that much.” You laugh.

Jimin joins you in your giggles as he chugs the entire drink in one go.

“y/n!!” Yoongi stumbles over, “She’s here! She’s here! I need you my wing woman!”

Your eyes crinkle from how hard you are cheesing. You lean up to kiss Taehyung on the lips before walking towards Yoongi and following him to wherever he’s hanging out.

It’s a perfect night so far.

~

“Hold my hand.” Taehyung slurs with a pout on his lips. “Want to feel you, want to touch you, want to fu—”

“Want to what now?” You laugh into your palm, as you reach for Taehyung’s hand. He holds you close to him as you two walk back to his apartment, his body swaying into yours and yours into his.

“Fuck…I want to fuck you.” He whispers in your ear before he bursts out laughing for no drunken reason.

“I’d let you baby. But sober you would be mad at drunk you.” You slur out yourself, “I know how important waiting is for you.”

“You don’t get it…I don’t want to wait anymore.”

“You’re just drunk.”

“I am drunk but babe, I’m serious.” He tries to give you a straight face. “I feel overwhelmed with love for you.”

You feel your heart doing flips in your chest, you feel butterflies in your stomach and you feel your head going dizzy with affection.

“Really?”

“It went really well tonight.” Taehyung says, “So well that I have decided you are definitely my perfect match and that company did me the biggest favor because how else would I have met you?”

Usually the mention of the company would make you sad or anxious but somehow you feel grateful too.

“Tae…” you squeeze his hand, “My soulmate.” You bump your shoulder into his side.

“We are fucking soulmates.” He says, then he yells it out for the whole street to hear then he’s laughing deeply.

“Fucking soulmates.” He repeats just loud enough for only you to hear.

You two finally get to his apartment, you stumble in and plop yourselves down on the couch. Taehyung pulls you into his lap and starts kissing your neck, your collarbone, you shoulder. His lips devouring every free piece of skin he can find.

“Taehyung…” you moan, “Let’s wait until we are sober.” You breathe out roughly.

Taehyung continues kissing your skin and hums an ‘okay’. He lifts himself off you and gazes into your eyes.

“I will stay awake until I sober up. Until you sober up. Then I am going to make love to you. I am going to fuck you with so much fucking love you will be coming all around my cock time after time. You ready for that baby? You ready to have my cock coming inside you?”

You can’t help but gulp as you blink at him, then you are slowly nodding your head.

“Then let’s drink some water and make out until this room is no longer spinning. We aren’t sleeping tonight.” Taehyung warns in a deep, deep voice.

“We’re really staying awake until we sober up?” you laugh. “Aren’t you afraid we will fall asleep?”

“Baby, knowing that I get to fuck you in a few hours is all the motivation I need to stay awake. I believe you are the same. I know you are desperate for my cock. Desperate for me.”

And you are, you fucking are.

[no-droids]

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS, SMUUUUUUT, religion kink, virgin kink, authority kink, degradation kink, praise kink, age gap, ohhhhh the list goes on y’all been here long enough

A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time im sorry

***

Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to be sick.

Dinner in the grand hall was difficult enough, forking down mouthfuls of expensive food he’s sure was absolutely marvelous, if he could’ve tasted it.  The s’Ziscari clearly splurged on the celebrations—expensive food, expensive decor, expensive everything, down to the silk napkin he studied and fiddled with under the table as he awkwardly waited for you to finish your plate.

He felt uncomfortable, absolutely.  He’s felt uncomfortable ever since he shuffled into this blasted, Maker forsaken robe not long after he left your quarters earlier.

Not black, no.  Not like yours.  Not like what appears to be an overwhelmingly vast majority of the people he’s encountered so far this dreadful evening.

No, his robes are blue.

A strong, eye-catching royal blue, covering his body in waves of fabric—softer than anything he’s ever worn before and leaving him feeling incredibly exposed.  The far more practical robes he traded for these atrocious garments are made of a thick, scratchy wool, a testament to the Jedi’s philosophical rejection of fine or expensive materials.  And, against all logic—to somehow make matters even worse, the sash tying this uncomfortable piece of attire closed has no place to clip his saber, unlike the leather belt he usually wears.  As a consequence, he’s left simply carrying it around by his side.

Granted, for some unknown reason, his robes are still far thicker and longer and more protective than the… stars, the ultra-thin black silk wrapped around your body, but Obi-Wan is so self-conscious about his appearance that he’s not even allowing himself to look at you.  Obviously that doesn’t stop him from refusing to leave your side the entire night, and he finds himself rather grateful that only a very few number of s’Ziscari are fluent in Basic, if only to provide him with a valid excuse to socially detach.

Of the very few people he’s noticed wearing robes resembling his, they’re all far younger than him—much closer to your age than Obi-Wan’s, and stars, everything about this celebration is unbelievably unnerving to him—including, if not most of all, your response to it.  One of the reasons he knows the food was grand, apart from the immaculate plating and lavish dinnerware of course, is because you momentarily excused yourself from the seat next to him to dish yourself out a second helping.

Even now, even in the skybox seats of this distressingly packed arena, Obi-Wan struggles to keep down what little food he could eat while you stand tall next to him and seem completely unbothered by the situation—and by the Maker, it bothers him.  He isn’t used to this.  He’s used to you being the emotionally turbulent one, the one whom he has to pacify, and it twists his stomach with the way the roles have suddenly found themselves reversed.

“I think the blue looks nice, by the way,” you lean sideways to mention casually to him, and he knows.  He knows you’re just jesting, just trying to lighten the mood, but he feels the bile rising up his throat at the fact that you even commented on it aloud.  “Fitting.  Matches your saber.  Your face, though.”  The smallest hint of a smile tugs at your cheeks.  “It’s beginning to match the color of mine.”

“Thank you for that, young one; your sense of humor is positively delightful,” Obi-Wan gripes, clutching the metal hilt tightly in front of him with both hands while he gazes out at the stadium before him, bustling with black hooded figures and a rare flash of blue.  It does not escape his notice that in complete contrast, your arms are loosely meeting behind your back, your saber dangling in one hand while the other lazily holds your wrist.  Your body is… open.  Draped in garments somehow equally as opaque as they are revealing, presented to the wide panoramic view of the audience and stage with no qualms whatsoever.

“Wonder who I got it from,” you ponder with a tilt of your head, and… fair point.  “How long is this thing supposed to last anyways?”

“Stars—‘this thing’ can’t get over with soon enough,” Obi-Wan grumbles, his eyes anxiously flicking down at the empty stage in the center of the audience.  He’s struggling with butterflies and nausea like he himself is meant to have a starring role in this debauchery.  “They’ll have… acts.  Plural.”

“Heavens,” you sigh under your breath, and oh yes.  He agrees.

He’s also painfully aware that he should be using this free time to continue contemplating his decision about… matters concerning later this evening with you, but he’s already feeling massively overwhelmed as it is.  Right now, it’s all he can do to just breathe and attempt to face one trial at a time.

But then, as if the Maker is feeling just particularly malicious this evening, Obi-Wan’s stomach drops when something quiet flashes in the Force and the roar of the enormous crowd instantly falls to dead silence.  The ominous sign rockets through him and while a Jedi should not know fear, this might be the closest he’s ever felt to truly terrified.

“Ooh, dramatic,” you whisper, but regardless of your laissez-faire attitude, his heart is positively pounding as he watches the figures of robed Force sensitives slowly file out onto the stage, and everything inside him lurches at the realization that—

They’re all wearing blue.  Every single one of them is clothed in fabric that matches his current attire, the one that made him feel like a blot on the landscape the entire dinner and subsequent mass pilgrimage to the arena.  A bright splash of color in the midst of an almost inescapably giant ring of black.

You’ve stopped talking.  Truly, he has no idea if that’s a good or bad thing, not right now.  The Force sensitives join hands and create a ring in the center of the stage while every single person in the arena sits in perfect silence, and Obi-Wan feels dizzy.  He’s not getting enough air right now, but he doesn’t even want to breathe too loudly and somehow draw even more attention to himself.

Two of the blue robes break off from their fellow acolytes and meet in the middle of the circle, and to simply avoid having a heart attack, Obi-Wan very purposefully chooses to ignore—like he’s done multiple times this evening—the subtle flicker of curiosity he experiences at the significance of the color blue and what it symbolizes to the s’Ziscari.  He can’t even bear to watch the way the two of them slowly lean in and allow their lips to touch from under their hoods.

Maker, if he turned his saber on and stabbed himself with it, could he convince you it was an accident?  Probably not—no, definitely not, what a stupid thought to have—

“How does she wipe?”  He hears your voice whisper, and Obi-Wan’s facial expression immediately screws up in confusion.

He turns to you, his tone equally hushed but the bewilderment sharpening his consonants.  “How does who what—?”

Only—you’re not even looking at the scene unfolding in front of you.  Your expression is just as confused as his is, but instead of looking down, your chin is lifted and you’re staring directly across the arena at the viewing booth opposite to yours.  He still has no idea what you’re talking about though, not until he follows your line of sight and sees the way s’Zerthia has her jaw propped up in her hands on her throne, looking bored as usual, and how the length of her newly manicured fingernails curves halfway up her scalp from this angle.

“That’s dangerous,” you remark quietly.  “They’re like talons.  Gaudy little weapons she always has attached to her that she decorates, makes them seem less vicious than they actually are.  I see them.  I certainly don’t envy whoever she picks tonight to—”

You cut yourself off with a bit lip smile and turn your face away from him, and Obi-Wan is almost mystified by how casual you’re able to be about this. 

“Whomever she picks to…?”  He trails off with a sigh.  “Do I… Do I want to know?”

“Never mind,” you tell him quickly, lifting your chin once more while still clearly trying not to laugh.  You’re trying not to laugh, while… while that is happening in the center of the audience.  “It was, uh… tasteless.”

He blinks, wondering what that could possibly mean.  Everything about this is tasteless, the entire thing is just an absolute nightmare coming to life.

Though, after a moment of silence, Obi-Wan soon realizes he much prefers it when you fill the void.

“Members of the Royal Court take turns doing it for her,” he eventually replies, decidedly looking anywhere but where the man is slipping the blue robe from the woman’s body.  It takes you a second to register to what exactly he’s referring, but when you finally do, you snort.  It’s too loud.  A few heads closest to your isolated seats turn as Obi-Wan very quickly thrusts his elbow into your ribs.  “Quit being disrespectful,” he hisses under his breath.

“You just—!”  You quickly clamp your mouth shut and face forward again, trying not to smile in an appalled sort of way.  But then—“Oh,” you blurt, not loud enough for anyone else to hear in this open setting but still loud enough for him to glance around and be slightly anxious about it.  “Oh.  Wow.  I wasn’t… expecting…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes automatically flick down to the couple, only just long enough to catch a quick glimpse of stark nudity in the center of the arena before his gaze immediately bounces back up again and focuses on the incredibly interesting steel beam currently propping up the Queen’s viewing box, clearing his throat.  “I… did warn you.”

“Well, yeah, I expected them to…”  Your hushed voice trails off and you stay quiet for too long, too long to imply you’re still formulating an end to your thought.  You’re distracted by something, but then you appear to snap back to your senses and immediately clear your throat.  “I just wasn’t expecting… the, uh.  The… positioning.”

He says nothing in response.  It… it doesn’t give him great comfort, wondering how you could possibly know enough about this type of profanity to have expected a different sort of positioning.  The stark contrast between the color of his ceremonial robes and yours still remains completely unspoken, but it quietly pulls at the back of his mind nonetheless.

“What about it?”  Obi-Wan immediately hears himself prompt and oh, no, this is completely inappropriate.  Not only should he not be encouraging this kind of talk with you, but he also shouldn’t feel so… so negative, not about something so personal to you and something that’s certainly none of his business.  Regardless, he… still has this buried, unexplainable desire to know the truth about it.  Regardless of the indirect way he’s attempting to go about it, he wants to know the truth about whether or not you broke your oath, and while he recognizes it’s completely improper of him, the urge is still strong enough to manifest itself using his vocal cords.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just…  It’s…”  He doesn’t even have a visual reference for what you’re attempting to find the words to describe.  He doesn’t want to.  He just wants to know what you think about it.  “…Bold,” you finally settle on.

Bold.  It’s bold.  Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t be analyzing your verbal responses so closely if he had something more interesting to look at besides the general coliseum-like structure of the large outdoor stadium, but there’s a certain horizon he just won’t let his eyes dip below right now and unfortunately for him, being so high up above the crowd, the upper hemisphere of his visual field remains relatively dull.

“Who would've thought,” he eventually sighs, blinking up at the star-splattered sky now and attempting to see if he can use the Force to break off a piece of a satellite and have it impale him in a tragic accident.  “Considering the s’Ziscari are such a conservative bunch.”

His eyes soon wander back to s’Zerthia, and—Obi-Wan startles to find her staring directly at him with a thin eyebrow dangerously quirked.  She motions two long fingers in a V shape at her eyes and then points down towards the stage, her expression expectant and waiting.

Obi-Wan’s teeth hurt at how hard he clenches them together, his jaw flexing but the thick blanket of his beard doing well to conceal it.  She’s playing with him, he realizes; he can see the hidden smile on her lips all the way from here.

Maker, maybe she’s right.  Maybe he’s—maybe he’s being ridiculous about this.  This is fine.  This is fine.  His stomach feels like it’s all his food might come up at any second, but he’ll do it, he’ll look.  He can at least just look, right?

His gaze slowly begins lowering, trying to take in just a few things at a time so as not to overstimulate himself.  Thousands of s’Ziscari lining the seats of the arena, almost every single one of them dressed in black.  Lower still—the platform leading up to the stage.  A perimeter of blue figures now sitting down in a circle and then, at its center, a… a naked man and woman.

Obi-Wan’s heart pounds as he struggles to comprehend the sight, never having laid eyes on a nude woman before.  She’s on her elbows and knees, forehead lowered and resting against the floor, and the man kneels behind her, one hand holding her hips and the other wrapping around his—

Stars, Obi-Wan wants to end it all.  Right here.  His aim will be true.

But then… oh, no, he’s an idiot.  He’s a complete dullard, because he forgot.  Consumed by his own sheer anxiety and unease, Obi-Wan stupidly forgot an extremely crucial detail of the incredibly little he’s been told about the Sh’inzith.

—the projecting.

All at once, he’s nearly knocked over by the strength of the two Force sensitives at the center of the arena as they deliberately cast their minds out across the entire audience, presenting every sensation and fleeting thought they’re experiencing in all its intensity.  Obi-Wan immediately works to reinforce his mental shields as soon as he feels the shockwave about to hit, but there’s thousands of Force sensitives present—all of them congregated into one relatively small area, all of them tuning into the same two signatures and then suddenly… amplifying them back until it’s impossible for him to shut out.

“Oh, uh—” he just manages to hear you mutter through the whirlwind, just the slightest hint of panic in your voice peaking through the symphony of whispered thoughts and pulsing sensations coming from the stage, “—that isn’t good—”

Obi-Wan abruptly stumbles backwards and gasps at the awful, wretched feeling of something brunt pressing up hard against somewhere elusive, somewhere he’s never felt before towards the lower part of his body, and his mind fights viciously against it as he feels you spin around and reach out for his rapidly retreating figure.

“Wait, no—it’s okay, M-Master, it’s okay, it’s—” your voice cuts off and your hands suddenly fist into the robes at his chest, your forehead dropping to his shoulder against the sharp sting just continuing to push and push and push, “—i-it’s okay, it’s oka—”

He trips over his feet in the chaos and falls back on complete instinct and you’re so tightly attached to him that you’re yanked forwards with the momentum, the two of you plunging to the ground in a clumsy heap of grunts and tangled limbs.  Obi-Wan immediately starts crawling backwards across the floor underneath you, still trying to escape the horrible, inescapable sensation digging into a part of his body that doesn’t seem to exist, but it’s like you’re of the same mind—you’re scrambling forwards in the same direction trying to get away from the same thing, frantically attempting to calm him and simultaneously deal with the agony yourself, and then suddenly—

Oh—oh, Maker—

Suddenly something gives and surges in, and then Obi-Wan gasps—his elbows buckling under him and as the both of you drop down onto the floor because stars, it’s nearly blinding with impression.  Not only the aching, hard fullness stretching sharp and deep somewhere in his lower abdomen—but now a new sensation.  A tight, wet silk he feels swallowing him between his legs, concentrated on a part of his body that… does exist, a body part that’s currently pressed up right between your spread thighs.

“Fuck,” you moan hot against his throat, trying to find somewhere to brace yourself next to his shoulders and push yourself up off him, and he tries—Maker, he tries so hard not to, but his hands shoot out to grab your hips before he even knows what he’s doing and then he’s dragging his lower body up into yours on instinct alone, clamping his eyes shut and groaning out a desperate sound he’s never heard himself make before as his head drops against the floor.

It’s staggering.  It hurts.  He can't even hear your muffled noises anymore, not over the roaring encompassing his mind and body.  All he knows is that your hips quickly jerk back and grind down into his in response, sending Obi-Wan reeling while you bury your twisted cry of pleasure and pain into his neck.

The sound of it breaks through everything else.

Obi-Wan’s hands shake violently as they suddenly release you and then frantically shove at your shoulders, trying to push you off without hurting you.  He can’t think, he can’t see, he needs to leave—

“Get away,” he rasps desperately up at the sky, blinking his eyes wide but somehow not seeing anything in front of him but blackness.  “St-stars, get away from me—”

Suddenly you’re flipping off his body and onto your back next to him, too quick for it to be a mechanical movement alone, and he doesn’t even have the space in his mind nor the processing capacity to figure out if he Force pushed you off him or if it was you who did it to yourself.  He just clambers to his feet and stumbles away in a terrified, graceless retreat, bent in half, limping and gasping and fighting for every step he takes.

***

Your Master was right to leave as soon as possible, you think.  You were wrong to linger here for just a second to try and gain your bearings, because the more you work to grasp and attempt to organize them, the more mindless and disorienting they become.

You eventually have to heave over and drag yourself after him.

The further away you get from the arena, the easier it becomes to block the projection, but Maker, it’s exhausting.  You’re resigned to start out with a crawl—one of those Jedi Core crawls you haven’t had to do since the Academy but this one exponentially slower, forehead dropped down and eyes closed, just focusing on alternating shifting your elbows and your knees forwards and dedicating the rest of your mental energy to just isolating your mind from the debilitating assault.

Consulars don’t usually see much of war—you tend to do absolutely everything in your power to avoid it.  It’s the Guardians who experience the horrors of combat most often, who deal with ambushes and onslaughts from enemies of the Republic.  But Maker above, every merciless thrust into that poor little virgin at the center of the arena is like a blaster shooting directly at you, but then couple it with the thousands of reflections and ricochets in robes lining the bleachers?  You’re in the trenches of a deadly battle you had no idea was even about to break out and you have no weapon of defense besides retreat.

When you finally get far enough away to be able to push yourself upright as much as possible and continue staggering back to the palace on two feet, you have no concept for how long it’s been.  You can still feel the projection vibrating and clawing sharply at the edges of your consciousness, but at least the majority of your thoughts are your own now, and it gradually becomes easier and easier to focus and speed up to a clumsy run.

Though, no matter how successful you eventually are at muffling the vibrant sensations and thoughts of the two Force sensitives behind you—when they cum, you stumble down to your knees again and have to bite the back of your fist to keep from screaming.

Maker, it takes you a minute to recover.  You don’t even cum, you just feel it—the burst of energy from the Force in every direction, the violent explosion from the stadium that feels like it should fracture the ground beneath you.

You’re able to get up after a moment, if only because they decide to take mercy and finally cut off the projection.  You know that it’s a temporary relief, that they’ll likely be at this all night, but you hope the palace will be far enough away from the arena to block out the sensations completely.  You wonder if Master Kenobi felt that through the Force or whether he was too determined to block it out that he was able to simply ignore the nuclear missile that just detonated less than a few miles away from him.

You force yourself forwards and you want to hurry, you do—but strangely, in your wild state of exhaustion, stark reality is almost as debilitating as swimming through that endless madness was.  It’s quiet around you but the noise of still air pulses deafeningly in your eardrums after breaking free from such a thick mental filter separating you from your surroundings.  You still have your lightsaber clutched in your hand, Maker rejoice, and your thin robes are skewed awkwardly across your body, but you eventually find your way to the doors of the palace.

Though, trying to navigate the empty halls back to your Master’s chambers takes you longer than it should.  His signature is cloaked spectacularly, concealed to a mere speck you wouldn’t even know was there if you weren’t so closely acquainted with it for more than a decade.  You follow the flickering pixel of blue light through the obstacle ridden darkness, adjusting the front of your robes with one trembling hand while you wipe your brow with the other, closing your eyes and doing your best to take deep breaths.  He’ll be spiraling right now.  He’ll need a boulder to cling to in this tsunami, solid ground to stand on while the stars are falling out of the sky.

You… find him in your quarters instead.

The door is open and his handsome profile is to you, the thick fabric stretching over his broad shoulders now an agreeable light cream, familiar and telling of his intentions.  His hands are moving.  Setting something down on your bed—your robes, you soon realize.  He’s laying out your Jedi robes neatly for you across the fur blanketing the large mattress.

Master Kenobi begins speaking as soon as you step foot into the room, the tone of his voice very clearly impatient after having waited for you for so long.

“Change out of those ridiculous garments,” he tells you hastily, neatly laying out your leather belt across your dark tunic without even turning his head to look at you properly.  “We must leave.  Quickly.  Also—tell me you didn’t forget your saber at the arena, because if so, I’m afraid it’s lost to us forever now.  Ilum is only three days from here, perhaps we can stop there on the way back to Coruscant to find you another kyber cryst—”

You drop the hilt of your lightsaber on the floor and step forward, cautiously reaching out for his figure as he continues to ramble.  “Master, I—”

Your hand is thrown to the side with a subtle flick of his wrist and you instantly jerk to an abrupt halt, holding your palms out in front of you and keeping completely still while he spins around, his jaw slack and staring at you wide-eyed.  He takes a few steps away from you in shock.

“I’m sorry—” he immediately gasps, reaching out towards you even though the rest of his body is still desperately evading yours.  “Stars, I’m so sorry—that was just… That was excruciating, young one.  Why would anyone ever willingly—?”

“It—it doesn’t always—” you cut yourself off just in time, clamping your jaw shut before you can finish your sentence.

“We must leave,” he says once more as he turns back to your mattress, not appearing to hear you at all and shaking his head, far too frantic to sound like he’s just reminding you alone.  “We can’t do that.  I can’t do that—”

“It doesn’t always have to be—”  Maker, what is wrong with you?  Your heart kicks up in your chest and somehow stutters to a halt at the same time.  It’s the lingering effects of the assault your mind just experienced coupled with your desperate urge to console him that’s making you so utterly careless, you realize, it’s making your tongue loose.

“Stars, what do you mean?”  Master Kenobi finally snaps, and your blood runs ice cold.  “How do you know that?”

It takes the sum of all your years of training to keep the raging hurricane of emotion from showing in any capacity.  You feel like he’s holding his saber to your neck with how dangerously little you’re even allowing yourself to breathe right now, how utterly and completely still you’re holding yourself in front of him.

Lie, a little voice in your mind supplies quietly, the little voice you keep locked inside an impenetrable box of everything you are but have never been allowed to confront, haven’t been allowed to openly think just in case someone is listening too closely.  Lie.  Lie, right now.  Your silence is giving you away.

Only—you can’t.  You shouldn’t.  It’s not fair to keep this from him, not when you’re asking him to do something so structurally compromising to his belief system.  If… if you tell him the truth, perhaps he won’t judge you too harshly.  Perhaps he’ll feel… reassured, knowing he’s certainly not the first Jedi to break a sacred vow when he felt times were desperate enough.

Besides.  This might be the only secret that could potentially get you kicked out of the Order, but… it still isn’t your worst one.

“Because.”  The word is out of your mouth before you can rethink it, barely above a whisper.  “I… know.”

He doesn’t respond, and no.

No, you were wrong.  You were wrong to tell him the truth, and the look on his face immediately shoots panic through your whole body.

He doesn’t look reassured.

He looks… alienated.

“‘It doesn’t always?’”  Your Master eventually repeats back to you, and fuck—the implication is instantly clear.  The implication is made so clear from the sharpness in his tone, the hard edge to it as he rounds out the vowels in the last word that makes your heart twist and throb in your ribcage.  He might as well have just asked you how many times you must’ve violated your code of honor to know the difference.

“It’s not.”  You clear your throat and flick your gaze up to the ceiling, feeling like he’s using the Force to squeeze your chest in on itself.  “That was the absolute worst possible sensation that can be felt during… It’s—it’s not like that.  It won’t… be like that.  Not.”  Are there tears coming to your eyes?  “Not… with me.”

Utter quiet.  So quiet that if you really concentrate, you can hear the distant sounds of the arena continuing on with the Ritual without you.  You bite hard at your lip and wait for him to say something, anything.  Yell at you, tell you how disgusted he is, banish you from the Order.

Instead, Master Kenobi quite suddenly… deflates.  He sighs—not a heavy, exhausted one, but a soft one.  A quiet, accepting sort of sound.

He slowly lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, running both hands through his hair, and it’s just enough to give you pause.  You glance over at him, trying not to let tears fall beyond the plateau of your lower lids with the frantic downward movement of your eyes, and you’re only just barely successful at it.

“It’s alright,” he says gently.  “It’s… it’s alright, young one.  I… suppose I am in no place to judge.  Quite… quite literally,” he murmurs, gesturing to the space around him with a lazy wave of his hand.  Maker, his figure is too watery and unfocused to make out his facial expressions, but you don’t want to blink to clear your vision just in case a sudden downpour escapes.  “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have asked.  You’re… not my Padawan anymore.  I should have no reason to… even care at all, really.”

There’s something that feels… major in that, something monumental yet incredibly well hidden, but you’re still too full of blind panic to interpret it further.  Your breathing is shaky and you wonder, quite stupidly and not for the first time in your life, if it’s somehow possible to use the Force to evaporate the water in your eyes before it turns into tears.

“I am certain it took place in your younger years, a long time ago,” he continues calmly when you don’t immediately say anything.  “You did always have a… a rather unconventional relationship with the rules.” 

Your only response is a quick jerk of a nod.  Yes.

“Yes,” you immediately agree, hoping your tone sounds convincing enough through the lingering tremors.  “It was… a long time ago.  I’ve changed, since then.  Grown up in many ways.”

It’s his turn to nod, and you manage to calm down just slightly.  You’re still breathing too hard and you’re a bit too braced, too much of a stance to truly feel like relief, but your heart rate is beginning to settle back into a somewhat acceptable rhythm.

Master Kenobi looks over at you, and he says absolutely nothing about the traces of water still glistening along your eyelashes.  He just smiles softly and pats the space next to him.

You cautiously make your way over to him after a moment, feeling more unsure now than you’ve felt this entire mission.  You leave at least a half a foot of space separating the two of you once you carefully sit yourself down on the mattress, and you can’t even look in his general direction.  You just focus on the long, draping sleeves of your black robe as you look down at your hands and wait for him to speak first.

“Sometimes,” he eventually sighs.  “Sometimes I… feel like you’re the person I know best in the entire galaxy, you know.  I’ve… I’ve known you far longer than I ever knew my own Master, young one.  I picked you out of thousands, and I’d do it thousands of times again.  Sometimes—especially since the day of your accolade and subsequent absence, I feel like I can know exactly what you’re thinking, even from across an entire star system.  And yet somehow, you… always surprise me.  Even after all these years, I am just.  Consistently surprised by you.”

You don’t know how to take that.  You just sit there in a guilty silence, still unable to turn your head or offer any sort of response.

“I chose you as a Padawan because you surprised me, you know,” he reminds you quietly.  “I had certain expectations for you, and you did not meet those expectations.  Instead, you presented an alternative I’d never before considered, an alternative that forced me to reevaluate you—and by extension, myself—far beyond what I had previously.  That is not a bad thing.  It has never been a bad thing.  As is made blatantly obvious by the fact that I’m the one currently standing in the way of saving lives, and you’re…not.”

Maker, this is thin ice.  You don’t know what to say that’ll express hesitant agreement with his sentiment without making it sound like you’re not apologetic for breaking your oath.  You’re… well, you’re not, not really.  His response itself is causing you to feel far more turmoil than any legitimate regret for your actions.

“It was—” On instinct, you almost say it was a mistake regardless of the conflicts you’re just so happening to encounter on this mission, but something stops you.  You suddenly remember your place here, your goal.  To save the galaxy from the Separatists’ reign.  And, by extension… sleep with your Master.  You can’t call it a mistake if you’re going to ultimately try to convince him to do the same thing.  So instead, you scramble to finish your sentence with a different thought, knowing his full attention is pinned to you right now.  “…A long time ago,” is all your exhausted mind is able to come up with.

“Yes,” he gives you a small, companionable smile.  “It’s alright.  Your prior lapse—or, well… lapses in judgement… will forever be safe with me.”

And still, you don’t feel relief.  Not when Master Kenobi very quickly appears to look uncertain.

“I… apologize,” he offers after a moment, “if.  If I ever made you feel like… like you could not confide in me about any struggles or… or urges you may have been experienc—”

“Maker,” you suddenly interrupt with a frantic wave of your hands, everything cringing inside you, “Maker, we don’t have to do this.  None of it, it’s okay.  Know what?  Let’s just go home—screw the galaxy, I don’t care, just stop talking.”

He snaps his eyes over to you, a sudden bark of laughter escaping him before the rest of his face even seems to register something was funny.

It evolves.  Eventually he’s covering his face and stifling ridiculous little snorts behind his hands, trying to apologize in between the chuckles but laughing even harder.  It’s almost like… just a form of pure stress relief for him.  So far beyond traumatized that it’s revealing itself in a slightly hysterical way, even if what you said wasn’t hysterical at all.

“Now you have a mere glimpse into what my experience has been like today,” he finally tells you with a sparkling grin once he composes himself, lifting his chin as he looks at you and scratching his beard with a quiet flicking sound.  “Shall I keep going?  If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what, things can always get worse.”

“They don’t have to.”  You say it without thinking, the gentle reprieve caused by his laughter flowing through you in waves and making you throw caution to the wind.  The four words serve to shut him up quite quickly however, even though it was the opposite of your intent, and your smile drops.  Maker, just freely conversing with him about these things is navigating a minefield for his mental state.

“You… you say that, and yet even—” Master Kenobi eventually responds, cutting himself off with a cough.  “Even the things I’ve heard are meant to feel… pleasant, were just.”  He shakes his head and blinks his crystal blue eyes over at you.  “By all accounts.  Agony.”

“I know,” you nod.  “I know.  Projecting that specific situation was… sadistic of them.  A distortion of the truth.  Probably rooted in deep tradition, but also a great scare tactic if I ever saw one, playing with us by presenting the absolute worst of it before anything else.  It won’t hurt.  At all.  I promise.  In fact—I-I can make it feel—”

Maker, you don’t even finish your sentence, but you must think the general idea loud enough for him to understand.  You don’t actually have a specific word in mind—good, great, amazing, euphoric?—and yet, something quiet settles over you two at the silent implication, the mere whisper of the possibility of you pleasuring him.

And him… allowing it.

“Master, I—”

“Don’t,” he quickly tells you.  “Don’t call—You don’t have to… call me that.  Just for right now, it’s.  I don’t—” he takes a breath that sounds shakier than it looks, and then he paints an easy, fake smile on his face following the exhale.  You recognize that smile anywhere, though.  While you’ve never seen him wear it before, it’s the smile that politicians make when they’re about to present a lesser truth to you, a smile shown to you in negotiations all the time that signifies something… hidden.  He’s hiding something, something important, and you have no idea what it could possibly be.  “I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called that right now, young one.  Perhaps you should be the Master, and I the learner.”

“Ah yes, the circle is now complete,” you can’t help but jest in return, wanting to keep the tone light even though the subject matter is heavy.  “Is now when we trade lightsabers?”

“Indeed,” he smiles, this time more sincere, and… you can’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it appears you’re physically closer to each other now than you were when you first sat down.

“Do they, uh… actually expect us to…”  You clear your throat and wave a hand around, “…Project the entire time like that?”

Master Kenobi quickly shakes his head.  “No.  s’Zer—Queen s’Zerthia informed me that.  Ah.  For us, projection will only be necessary during the… well, she called it the ‘closing ceremonies.’”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod.  “I… see.”

It’s like you can physically feel his body start to break out into a cold sweat next to you at the sudden… realness of it all, the realization that it has to be getting late.  Close to midnight, if you’re not already pushing it.  It’s come time to make a final decision, you both know it.  You want to console him, offer him some kind of solace or reprieve, but stars, you just don’t know how, not when you’re this much of a mess about this, too, but for entirely different reasons.  You don’t have a single clue how to make him feel better about any of this.

“I just,” you rush before you lose the nerve, “I want you to know that—e-even if you feel like you’re somehow alone in this, you’re not.  Okay?  I’m… I’m really nervous, too.  I don’t… I don’t actually know what to do at all right now.  I don’t know whether to respect your apprehension or tell you it’s unfounded.  I don’t know if I should remind you what’s at stake here or whether I should avoid mentioning it at all costs.  I have no idea what position I should take, but I’ll—I’ll take whichever one you want me to.”

And it’s odd, because when you first launched into your confession, Master Kenobi gradually began to look more and more relieved, but at a certain point, something just goes horribly wrong.  You don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, it seems to rocket through your Master and suddenly his breathing stutters.

For a moment, you think he’s going to reach back, yank your neatly folded Jedi robes up from the mattress and push the dark fabric into your hands.  Tell you he’ll meet you at the docking bay posthaste, tell you not to linger, tell you that the mission was a failure.  But then—

“Before,” he suddenly says, the word almost startling you with how abrupt it comes out sounding.  Almost like he wasn’t quite expecting himself to say it either.  “Earlier today, you asked… you asked if there was anything you could do to… make this easier.”

“Yes,” you prompt immediately.  He won’t look at you, and for some reason your heart begins beating faster and the inside of your thighs are getting warm.

“I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this,” he admits with a whisper, his voice sounding so quietly reluctant, like he doesn’t want to say the words aloud but is forcing himself to.  “But… the Council put you in charge of negotiations.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his implication.  What does that have to do with anything?  Is he saying that you’re supposed to be in charge, and therefore he’s defaulting to you?  “I’m not sure I—”

“The Galactic Republic…”  Master Kenobi enunciates very, very pointedly, still unable to look at you, “…put you in charge of negotiations.”

Specifying—or in this case, generalizing—doesn’t help much.  “I’m still not—”

“Maker, for—for the good of the Republic, young one,” he presses under his breath and finally flicks his gaze up to meet yours, sounding urgent and torn in equal parts.  “Negotiate.”

Stars, negotiate with who?  With—with him?  For the good of the…?  Is he asking you to somehow reason with him beyond what you’ve attempted to do already, or persuade him to do what’s right for—?

Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.

Shock paints your expression blank and his eyes instantly evade yours once more.  You have to sit there for just a second and double-check that you’re not dreaming.  None of this seems real.  All of it seems like an incredibly elaborate illusion of the Force, ever since you first laid eyes on him at the start of this mission.  You know you missed him but stars, did you truly miss him this terribly?  Your longing must rival something fierce to unconsciously conjure this wild of a scenario.  Is he actually here right now?  Have you been speaking to a ghost?  Are you actually here right now?  Are you going to wake up any second and remember he’s thousands of lightyears away and has been for years, risking his life on the front lines of galactic war while you’re left to play politics and negotiate treaties behind the scenes?

These thoughts aren’t safe to have in normal interactions with him, but nothing about this situation is normal, and while you know Master Kenobi has years of experience reading your signature, he most likely won’t be able to gauge the specific details of your thoughts when you can sense how intensely he’s focused on guarding his own chaotic mind from you.

So you let yourself think.  If only for a second, you sit next to him and allow yourself to just… think about him.  About how much you care for him, how desperately you ache for him—you let all these improper longings finally have their moment with you.  You let yourself confront it, crack the lid of the hidden box tucked away behind your consciousness and brave it, because if there was ever a moment to do so, it’s right now.

Your heart starts slamming up against your ribcage and your hands feel like they’re tingling.  He wants you to convince him to have sex with you.  He’s asking you to corrupt him.  He wants you to negotiate the galaxy’s survival with the last man standing in the way of its prosperity—a good man with strong, immovable morals, a man who understands the consequences that follow integrity around and won’t be easy to tempt.

“This was a bad idea,” suddenly comes Master Kenobi’s voice, quickly backpedaling after too long of a silence.  “I shouldn’t have said that.  Forget I said that, we should just g—”

“Would you like to meditate?”  You immediately ask him on a complete whim, shuffling back towards the middle of the mattress for the second time today.  You’re careful to make sure he doesn’t see you carelessly flick your neat robes to the floor with the Force, clearing the top of the large mattress.  “Let’s meditate.”

“Stars,” he breathes, shyly his head turning to follow you, “I’d love nothing more, but there truly just isn’t any time—”

You find it easier than you thought it’d be to pull a playful face at him, crossing your legs and straightening your spine.  “Please, you’re a Guardian.  You blue sabers practically invented battle meditation, did you not?”

He looks skeptical for a moment, as he has a valid right to be.  “Is this a battle?”  He eventually asks over his shoulder.

You say nothing in response to that, instead using the Force with a flex of your finger to tug at the loose cream fabric of his robe at his elbow.  “Come on, it’ll do us good.”

He looks conflicted for a second, but then ultimately decides to humor you.  “Alright,” Master Kenobi finally agrees, turning around and crawling towards you on the mattress, and you’re just quick enough to stamp down a flicker of arousal at the mere sight of it.  “It won’t hurt.”

“Of course it won’t,” you agree with just a bit too much air in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.  He just seats himself directly in front of you, facing you, crossing his legs close enough to yours that your knees barely touch, and—

—Maker, he’s lovely.

You purposefully let yourself think it as his eyes slowly fall closed and he takes a deep breath, beginning to tame the wild tempest of his mind.  You let the word flitter around your thoughts without instantly repressing it like you always do, and just the mere act of allowing yourself to acknowledge the truth is freeing.  He’s lovely.  He’s lovely.  You could scream it.

Your eyes trail down the lines of his ever softening, tranquil expression, not even bothering to pretend to meditate for his benefit this time.  Your gaze roams shamelessly across his face, the way his hair is combed back away from it.  The sandy, masculine beard leading down to the thick column of his throat, the broad lines of his shoulders draped in pale fabric, the way his chest slowly moves as he breathes.  Lovely.  Lovely.

And then you go… lower.

His abdomen is stretched long with how upright he’s sitting, his flawless meditation posture.  His thighs are spread wide in this position, pants stretched tight into an elusive drum over his crotch and preventing you from truly seeing anything—but stars is it a thrill even just letting yourself look. 

Especially knowing that the more his mind works to compose itself, the easier it’ll be for him to hear you.

You keep thinking, growing bolder the more you’re left alone with this box wide open.  You think about how lithe and strong his body is, how it would feel under your hands.  You think about all the different things you want to show him, all the… the mind shattering pleasure you can give him if he’ll allow y—

Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.

It doesn’t sound the way you expect, though you don’t really know what you expected it to sound like.  A sharp, frustrated bark?  An exasperated, pleading attempt to get you to stop?

No—none of those.  It’s a quiet, low growl of a sound, and the clear warning in it absolutely burns a hole through you like he picked up his lightsaber and used it instead.

You take practiced breaths, trying to calm yourself down.  Stars, he just said your name, he’s said it so many times before, and yet hearing it in his mouth with that tone in this context feels like he just strapped rockets to your ankles and told you to stay put.  You’re impatient.  You’re turning yourself on, working yourself up, trying to get to where you can actually make a move on him after dedicating so many years to desperately repressing the longing to do so.  Once he told you to negotiate this deal with him, however, it’s as if every ounce of the impeccable self control you’ve practiced so spectacularly throughout most of your life slowly started to unravel.

Reaching out tentatively so as not to startle him, you wrap both of your palms around the bend of his knees and squeeze gently.  Master Kenobi displays no physical signs of—well, anything really, keeping his body completely rigid under your hands with no noticeable alterations in his breathing pattern.  Biting your lip, you begin to slowly rotate your thumbs, making sure to keep your movements slow and perfectly symmetrical.  Complete relaxation is your ultimate goal here—coaxing your Master into a serene state where physical contact is desired, not obligatory.  He's so uncomfortable with the concept of intimacy in and of itself though, from the way his eyebrows start to furrow and his spine begins gradually tilting back and away from you, it's almost as if your ministrations are dampening rather than fueling.

“Relax,” you murmur, and stars, even though you make it sound quiet and gentle, it’s like the melodic lull of your voice appears to startle him more than if you’d just spoken normally.  Maker—it’s counterintuitive; how are you supposed to turn someone on when the mere state of being turned on turns them off?  “Relax with me, it’s okay—”

“But I just can't, young one,” he suddenly implores, his voice pressed up tight in his throat, his cerulean eyes popping open in frustration and something else—an honest, heartfelt emotion that's strikingly less familiar to you, even after years spent by his side: deep, hot, stomach-wrenching guilt.  You watch your Master’s palms run the length of his thighs; back and forth, back and forth—almost like a nervous tick, you think—and it’s oddly endearing, if not increasingly concerning.  “I just can't, this is all so wrong.  Don't you understand?  E-Even if the Council did provide a—well, a rather admittedly ineluctable blessing for this downright ludicrous endeavor, i-it’s… I don't…”  He takes a deep breath, and visually, it looks like he's attempting to collect his thoughts and composure, but you know your Master all too well.  You know what he's really doing, and at this point, it's almost… frustrating.

“What are you so afraid of?”  You clutch his knees and whisper quietly, interrupting him before he can verbalize whatever perfectly logical reason he's trying to formulate as to why you both should leave the planet immediately, what he's going to say to the Council if they ever inquire as to why negotiations ultimately failed.  He jerks his head up sharply to look at you.

“The Jedi fear nothing,” is his automatic response, though his previously intense gaze strays slightly from yours after a second of too much eye contact.  “Fear is the path to the Dark Side, you know this.”

“And yet you are afraid,” you remark calmly, studying the way he’s turned his face away from you completely now, how you can still see his jaw clench under the thick beard with his profile shown to you like this.  “I—I’m trying to understand, Master, but I—I don’t.  Even if this mission were half as important as it is, your loyalty to the Order would follow you right into an early grave.  But this?”  You remove a palm from his knee to gesture between the two of you, the mattress beneath the both of you, “fulfilling this mission and these terms to save the entire galaxy is too ‘downright ludicrous’ for the Great Negotiator?  I don’t believe it.  Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”

Only, he’s suddenly moving—away from you.  Turning and planting his palms to fur, beginning to climb to the edge of the bed and sweep his legs around under him, and your voice has an unintentional edge to it when you address his back.

“Do you know how many lives over I owe you?”  You ask, and he jerks to an abrupt halt, feet just shy of stepping on the floor.  “Do you have any idea the stockpile of mortal gratitude you’ve amassed from me?  How many times you’ve risked your death to save me from mine over the years—can you count them?  I have.  I know my debt to you, I know the weight of my life piled on top of itself over and over again.  I remember each and every one of them like they happened yesterday, and not once did you hesitate even slightly, let alone the way you’ve hesitated today.”

”And?”  Master Kenobi quite suddenly snaps over his shoulder as he grips the edge of the mattress, sounding sharp but not necessarily directed towards you.  “What is your point?”

“My point is that if you’d so readily trade your death time and time again to prevent that of even one other person, let alone a difficult Padawan who caused the Order nothing but grief for years, then what is it that makes the deaths of trillions—” you nearly say preferable to bedding me before you realize how incredibly harsh that would sound, but something about the way he seems to tense his shoulders and curl inwards implies he was following the general cadence of your agitated signature more than the specific content of your words.

He says absolutely nothing, but he doesn’t move to drop his feet to the floor, either.  If only you could punch a proverbial hole through his practically indestructible mental barriers, you'd see the real reason he's so flustered, why he's purposely attempting to deceive you.  Unfortunately for you though, they feel like they're made of triple-reinforced beskar, a countermeasure gradually increasing in strength the more you try to probe.

But then—all at once, something clicks.  Something… fundamental.  An understanding. 

Your Master is a gifted negotiator, yes.  But more than that.

He wields a blue saber.  Not a green one.

He’s a Guardian.  A warrior.  He fights.  It’s something that has never truly been part of your nature, no matter how much you struggled with it over the years—but it is a part of his, no matter how exceptionally he’s been able to mask it for even longer.

So, all at once, you stop pushing.  Your signature abruptly pulls away from him, gives him room to breathe and simply hovers within your own personal space, unassuming and careful not to disturb him.  You see your Master lift his chin and straighten his spine slightly, immediately noticing your absence and the constant pressure you’d been applying, and you honestly can’t tell if he relaxes or tenses up even more because of it.

Finally, when you feel like it’s been long enough, you slowly reach out and gently place your hand on his arm.  This time, there’s no underlying motivation attached, no inherent desire for him to fulfill any sort of obligation.  Just a warm, companionable gesture to reinforce the simple knowledge that you’re both in this together, for better or worse.

Please tell me, Obi-Wan, you quietly whisper to him through the Force, allowing your tone and energy to transfer through your open palm and into his troubled spirit as softly and gently as you possibly can—a caress more than anything even close to a sentence or inquiry.  Your usage of his first name is entirely unprecedented however, and your Master sucks in a sharp breath in response.

I don't… But then the subconscious, half-formed thought fades away almost as quickly as it’s offered to you from behind the solid, unyielding fortress of his mind.  “W-what are you doing?”

You bite your lip, wondering how honest you should be with him right now.  Though, you suppose, if you truly want him to confide in you, you should at least meet him halfway.

“You’re the locked door,” you finally settle on.  “This is me knocking.”

Obi-Wan turns around and blinks at you, looking for all the stars in this galaxy like that was quite possibly the last thing he expected you to say.  You can see the frantic thoughts pass through his eyes almost as if the clear blue was completely transparent, likely remembering all the times you’ve leaned on him for guidance, listened intently and learned from his wisdom and experience.  And now you’re a fully grown woman patiently offering him your ear, wondering if you’ve earned enough of his trust for him to do the same.

“I’m afraid I’ll form an attachment to you.”  The words tumble from his mouth even though his body all but whips away from you in the process.  “It’s unreasonable for the Council to expect this from me.  From us.  I’m afraid our relationship will forever be tarnished from this, that neither of us will ever be able to go back to the way things were before.  I’m afraid that regardless of whatever decision I make, I won’t be able to carry the guilt on my conscience and continue to call myself a Jedi and Guardian of the Republic.  But mostly, I just—I-I—”

Your heart is pounding as Obi-Wan buries his face into his hands and his muffled voice groans raggedly, “—I’m afraid I’ll like it.  I’m afraid I’ll want it again, and again.  I’m afraid it’ll follow me back to Coruscant, that I’ll save the galaxy but spend the rest of my days aching for something I’ll never be able to keep, and that’s petrifying.  Desire, passion, selfishness, possession; all of them lead to Darkness, and I can—I can feel it right now.  Your soul is so gentle, so peaceful, and yet you… you inspire such Darkness in me, dove.”

Maker, you’re trying so hard.  So hard to keep your legs from clenching together at the utter desperation in his tone, how his breathing has picked up now that the words have ripped themselves out of his throat, like the whole thing was physical agony even just to say.  You have to take a second.  You’ve been so patient this entire time, but stars—this one makes you need a moment.  You’re so glad his eyes are clamped shut behind his fingers right now because yours lose focus trying to mask the absolutely debilitating wave of arousal that sinks down hot through your stomach.

Even when you regain the ability to speak, the ability to form a safe and proper response to the bombshell he just dropped on you completely evades you.

You purposefully don't say that you're already helplessly attached to him, that the colors of the galaxy somehow lost their brilliance the day you graduated to Knight, the day you left his side.  You don't say that you want this so badly you can feel it in your neck, that it would probably break you in half if he said no to this now.  Though it's the honest-to-Maker truth, you know discovering this information will only cause your Master to further distance himself from you, and somehow that thought alone is a million times worse than being denied the opportunity to be this close to him.  Even… even if what you end up sharing is more emotional than physical.

So you take a deep breath to center yourself, and choose your words very carefully.

“A compromise, then.”

Obi-Wan suddenly raises his head, turning around to look at you and blinking twice.  “A what?”

“You told me to negotiate.  What do we do as negotiators, hm?”  You raise an eyebrow, giving him a gentle smile and trying not to curl your fingers into the fur underneath you with how hard it is to conceal your burning arousal.  Do it for him.  Do it for your Master, you’re in l—you… care about him, and you care about the things he cares about, even if doing so feels like it’ll rip you apart.  “We compromise.  Yes?  So, let’s find one.”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t see h—”

“If you were to…”  You cut him off and look down, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase this.  “If you were to… find other means to bring yourself to completion, would you be able to convince anyone listening that I was the one doing it?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even blink this time.  He just stares at you, holding himself like a statue in front of you.  Finally, he seems to find himself.  “I… I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re stronger in the Force than anyone on this planet, Master,” you encourage softly, placing a hand back on his arm and squeezing this time.  “I’ve felt it.”

“N-No,” he practically hiccups.  “No, I mean I-I… I don’t know if… if I can.”

Your eyebrows narrow, a mixture of confusion and concern coloring your expression.  “If you can…?”

He looks back at you almost desperately, his eyes practically begging you to figure it out so he doesn’t have to say it.  Finally, Obi-Wan sighs, seeming to collapse in on himself with its intensity.  “I—I’ve never… purposefully reached completion before,” he admits.  “I’m—I’m not sure how to.”

Your eyes widen, wanting to kick yourself for making assumptions.  Of course.  Of course he’d follow his oath to its strictest interpretation, why would you ever think otherwise?  “Oh, y-yes, of course not,” you stutter, sounding incredibly stupid and perfectly mirroring the embarrassed flush also painting your Master’s cheeks, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s alright,” he holds up a hand.  “We simply… view such things differently.  So long as you do not pass judgment, then neither shall I.”

You nod and look down at your hands, wondering how else you can attempt to tackle this predicament.  “What if I…”  You blink slowly, almost wanting to keep your eyes closed in case he’s offended by the idea but figuring you should have them open to read his responses.  “What if I… don’t touch you?”

Now he just looks confused.  “I’m sorry?”

You blush and clear your throat, obviously phrasing this wrong.  “If you can modify the context of your projection, then I can… get you there.  Without touching you.”

“How could you accomplish such a thing without tou—” Obi-Wan immediately cuts himself off when you lift your hand and close your eyes.

His thigh.  The right one—you focus on it.  There.  Right above the bend of his knee folding over the edge of the mattress, you concentrate all the energy from your fingertips and reach out, connecting the two together.  And then you take a deep breath and begin to draw your attention slowly upwards.

Your Master’s breath catches in his throat as you use the Force to delicately trail further up his leg, not laying a single hand on him as his muscles start to visibly tighten and quiver.

“Young one, I—”  His breathing stutters when you keep your hand raised but let your head tilt and drop down towards your shoulder with your energy, slinking down the inside of his thigh like water and getting dangerously close to his— “Stars, hang on—”

You blink your eyes open at him and continue concentrating right there, letting your focus melt warm and thick along the muscle and squeeze it—

“Maker—”  Obi-Wan gasps and drops his head back, his legs nearly spasming apart.  “Maker, hang on, I…”

“Do you…” You breathe tightly, flicking your eyes down to the way he’s fisting the fur under his hands and subconsciously flexing his hips up just the slightest bit.  Even though the Force, his body feels good.  Strong, sturdy, and braced tight under your attention.  “Do you want me to keep doing this?  I can… go higher.”

“You can…?  The—the Force isn’t—” Obi-Wan groans, his eyes clamping shut, “—isn’t meant to be used in such… in such… If I’m to break my oath, young one, it needn’t be so… so blasphemous—”

Trying to conceal the hot sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, you simply allow your metaphysical hand to continue resting right at the juncture of his hip and thigh, waiting for a real answer.  You bite your lip and wait for him to tell you to either cut it out or to keep going.  He doesn’t even have to say it out loud if he doesn’t want to—he can just slide it under the impassable door still separating him from you, the door you’re eventually going to get him to unlock himself.

His back is to you, so you can only see a bit of his face from this angle, but you can hear him loud and clear when he opens his mouth and whispers to you, barely louder than a breath.  “Go higher.”

Adrenaline rockets through your veins and slowly, your fingers curl in thin air while your gentle energy wraps itself around his cock.

Both of Obi-Wan’s hands instantly fly up to his face and he releases a tight, longing whimper into his palms, and you feel almost as desperate as he sounds.  You can sense the ghost of his thickness in your hand, and the way he’s already throbbing for it is like pure spice to you.

You can’t stop your crossed legs from shuffling and rotating your body to face his hunched spine more directly, just taking a second and allowing him to adjust to the sensation of you just holding him between his legs like this.  Your fingers rest gently along his pulsing skin while he hides from you, and if only to get a little bit more of a reaction for your own sake, your thumb just barely angles to delicately brush up under his frenulum.  

Obi-Wan shudders and makes a choking noise behind his palms, and oh good Maker, you really want to see his face.  You know it’ll probably never happen unless you take your own initiative, but you also don’t want to overstep and snap him out of this blissful reverie.  Still, something compels you to be so gentle about it that he hopefully won’t even notice. 

You start to slowly work the length of him and squeeze his cock a bit more firmly, but a tendril of your energy slowly slithers upwards, so quiet and full of caution that it hardly even counts.  Very carefully, you start to flatten the lifeforce from your other palm over his stomach and trail it up, gradually urging him to stretch his slouched figure upright and then eventually start to tip backwards, never once letting your focus on his throbbing erection falter.

Your courageous efforts bestow prosperous rewards.  Obi-Wan’s hands drag down the length of his face and he makes it almost too easy to keep pressing him back—back back back until his muscles give up what little fight they were putting up against it and his shoulders are dropping down to the mattress, his head falling into your lap.

“There we go,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough to softly encourage him if he’s listening but avoiding a break in his focus if he’s not.  “That’s not so bad.”

“It isn’t,” Obi-Wan gasps up at you, his eyes tightly closed but his jaw slack and his handsome features screwed up in rapture.  “Oh, no, it’s… it’s really… rea—good.”

You bite your lip and your cunt flexes hard between your legs without your permission, feeling so empty.  If you’re being honest, only touching him through the Force causes your hand to become increasingly bold, also feeling too empty.  Obi-Wan’s head rolls to the side and he pants hot air against the thin black fabric covering your thighs as you tighten your hold around him just slightly and start to move up and down his cock in earnest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, the dirty word and rasp in his voice contrasting brilliantly with the proper Coruscanti accent and the crisp enunciation behind it.  “Fuck, this feels so good, I—”

His fingers grab at the fur covering the mattress top and pull at it, his adam’s apple bobbing sharp along the arching column of his throat as he groans and twists his head around in your lap.  He confesses it like it’s so wrong, but it can’t be wrong when he fits so perfectly in your hand?  How can this be wrong when it’s the only pleasure you can possibly give him that’s anywhere near close enough to match the way you feel when he’s around?  Even then, it’s but a fraction.

Your gaze flickers briefly from his face to check your progress with his body, and—stars, there’s a startling wet spot staining the front of his pale trousers, his cock tenting up shameless and needy for you to ache and throb just as desperately for in return.  Fuck, he deserves this, he deserves more—

“I can—I can make it better—” you can’t help but gasp, your eyebrows slanting upwards with need.  “Oh fuck, I can make it so much better than this for you, Obi-Wan—”

“You…?”  He blinks his stormy eyes open and sounds like he’s about to explode.  “This can be—” he chokes out, “—better?”

You can’t stop yourself.  Your pussy is clamped up so tight between your legs and Maker, you want to reward him for being so good to you, give him true adoration instead of phantom touches.  You don’t think before you’re moving out from under him and slinking down onto the floor, slipping in between his spread thighs.  You use the Force with a bend of your finger to tug his pants down just enough, just enough to let the swollen tip of his cock peak through the waistband, and then your head is dropping into his lap as you let it slide into your hot mouth.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and snarls at you—and something across the room shatters as you widen your throat for him and slowly sink down his length, curling your finger to stretch his hemline further as you go.  His fingers aren’t gentle when they fist into your hair and neither is the way he immediately twists it sideways, feeling like he’s trying to pull you off and shove you down on him at the same time.

You’re stuck between going as slow as you physically can to drag this out and giving him the best oral you’ve ever given to make him dream about this for the rest of his life.  You want him to want this as badly as you have for so many years.  You want him to fall into this Darkness with you, to crave you and what you can give to him so much that he’ll never want to leave you again.

So you make it wet.  You make it soft and slow and wet, switching between sucking gently at the tip and swirling your tongue around it, and then inching his length down your throat and swallowing around the thick girth of it once you can’t fit anymore in your mouth.  Obi-Wan is just an absolute mess about it—he can’t sit still, he’s tugging uselessly on your hair, whimpering out his bliss into the quiet room while you close your eyes and ignore his squirming, just taking your sweet time enjoying him and the way he feels.

He tastes exquisite.  Maybe it’s just because all your broken, stupid brain can think right now is slightly varying forms of my Master’s cock is in my mouth and it’s fucking leaking while you slowly nurse from it with your tongue, but stars—he tastes exquisite.

He’s swollen.  Throbbing.  Aching for you.  Releasing precum from the tip like his body is producing way too much of it after decades of neglect and just needs to get it all out at once.  Shifting and writhing underneath you but managing to never move his hips or cock a single inch away from the soft attention you’re giving him.  You can feel his smooth skin pulse against your tongue as you continue your lazy pleasuring, finally giving him what you’ve both been denied for so long and steadily swallowing down the spoils of your endeavors.

“—Wait, wait, Maker—stop,” you faintly hear gasped from above you not long after you even begin, and it takes the sum of all your efforts to unlodge his throbbing cock from your throat and pull away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale automatically, trying not to slur your words as a bit of drool slides down your chin.  “I’m s’sorry, Obi, I should’ve asked before I—”

“Something’s… n-not right,” Obi-Wan interrupts you and lifts himself up to his elbows, his abdominal muscles heaving and a wild, frenzied look in his startlingly bright eyes.  “My stomach was—I-I felt—”

Heat blooms through you along with a realization, and your eyelids begin to droop slightly at just how sexy it is—the fact that this man, this fully grown, red-blooded, warrior of a man is currently teetering on the precipice of his very first ever orgasm, and you’re the only one with the power to give it to him.

You shuffle backwards slightly, grabbing hold of his thighs and squeezing to get his attention.  “Hey.  It’s okay, relax.”

Obi-Wan nods his head vigorously down at you, the exact opposite of relaxed.

“Listen to me,” you urge quietly, trying to ignore the sight of his thick, swollen cock twitching restlessly against his abdomen, precum still steadily dribbling at the tip.  Is your mouth watering?  “This is it.  You’ll need to start projecting when you’re ready.  It’ll be tricky, but not impossible.  You’ll just have to imagine you’re inside me when it happens.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head vigorously from side to side, vehemently opposed.

“No, I don’t—” He croaks, “—I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t be able to—”

“Doesn’t my mouth feel similar at least?”  You ask, looking down at his cock once more.

“I-I—” Obi-Wan sputters, “I don’t know, young one—you tell me!”

Okay, well.  He… makes a valid point.

You settle back on your knees even further, gazing at your Master thoughtfully.  His chest continues to rise and fall with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat coating his temples and a mild flush high in his cheeks, but his eyes have regained a bit of their focus.  “You can just try to imagine the, uh,” you try, your cunt nearly convulsing with burning need at the mere sight of him, “the same positioning and sensation from… earlier?”

“Alright, I can…”  Obi-Wan nods, though his hands are shaking.  “I’ll do the best I…”

You can’t help but lean forward to press a soft, encouraging kiss to his thigh, and he jerks under your touch.  You try it again, receiving the same result, and it makes you pause for just a minute longer.

“I’m nervous,” he blurts unceremoniously after a moment of stillness, as if you hadn’t noticed.  “Oh stars, I’m nervous, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” you let your voice lull, your hands squeezing gently around the bend of his knees once more.  “Calm down.  Clear your mind.”

He hiccups and you wait.  You wait with your mouth a few inches away from his cock, waiting for his breathing to slow and for him to follow your lead.

Can you hear me?  You murmur through the Force, and he quickly whimpers and nods.  Focus your thoughts.

You gently kiss at his tensing thighs once again, and he doesn’t flinch away from you this time.  His breathing slows into a calmer, steadier rhythm, letting you trail your lips gently along the curve of his leg.

Will you let me try something?  You ask after a moment, opening your mouth just the slightest bit to brush your tongue out and taste his skin.

“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his breath stuttering through the word.

And—perhaps you shouldn’t have, but you give him something; a suggestion, more than anything else.  You give him a… visual.  A reference to guide his mind through the Force.

You, still in your black robe, slowly standing up from between his legs.  Widening your stance to straddle his lap, pull you robes up just enough, and then adjust your hips just slightly over the head of his cock.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at the vision, his eyes clamping tightly shut against it in vain.  He can close his eyes, turn away, hide his face all he wants—he can’t escape the way your body looks as it slowly begins to sink down on his.

At the exact same time, you lower your mouth around his cock once more, and you try to make it as close to the sensation as possible.  You don’t even move your tongue, you simply lift your soft palate and close your lips around his girth, beginning to carefully bob up and down along his length in time to the image you’re conjuring of you riding him.

Only, you already feel his balls tightening up and his body starting to go rigid with tension once again, and you can sense him still wanting to resist his approaching orgasm.  It’s okay, Master, you encourage quietly through the vision, it’s okay, just let it come easy.

“I—I’m not—” he shakes his head back and forth against the bed frantically, his breathing getting shallower and almost immediately picking back up to where it was before you stopped.  “I d-don’t want—”

Stop fighting, you tell him, continuing to mimic the sensation of him thrusting into your aching, neglected cunt with slow and steady movements of your throat.  Don’t run from it, let it take you.

He grits your name tightly in response and subconsciously begins to rock his hips up to match your unhurried pace, his ragged breathing gasping out into the quiet room and gradually increasing in volume and desperation the longer he stubbornly tries to hold out against it.

You know not strong enough to use the Force to coax it out of him.  You can’t alter your technique and break the illusion, either.  So you have to resort to desperate measures.

There’s enough remaining wherewithal to your mind that prevents you from permanently damaging his clothing when you tear his robes open with the Force and allow the metaphysical image of yourself to rip them apart with your hands.  Obi-Wan gasps when both versions of you reach up his bare torso at the same time and dig your nails into his chest.

Master—you demand, taking his cock down your throat as far as you can go and then clawing hard down his stomach—cum.

And thank everything good and right in the universe that he remembers at the very last second to start projecting, because being this close to someone as strong in the Force as Obi-Wan when he finally succumbs to his first taste of the Dark Side is just a fucking atomic missile straight to your nervous system.

It’s all you can do to just remember to keep swallowing.

The projection he casts out through the shockwave is utterly flawless—brilliantly composed, looking and feeling so authentic and overwhelming even from this distance that there should be no issue at all convincing any s’Ziscari in the wide vicinity who are tuning in right now.

Except—then you hear it.  Through the roaring pleasure of his thoughts, a flicker of his subconscious he’s unable to mask through the mind blowing bliss.

Is she…? Maker above, she’s drinking it—

A ragged groan tears through the silence of the room, his cock pulsing spectacularly on your tongue.  He just keeps cumming, and cumming, and so you just have to keep swallowing, and swallowing.  You suppose you should’ve expected this from a fully grown man who lived a life of celibacy, but what would typically be a rather short moment with anyone else subsequently goes on long enough to where Obi-Wan is actually able to lazily raise his head up from the mattress and simply watch you continue to swallow his load, dazed and reverent in his stare, glassy blue eyes trained on the hypnotic movements your jaw and throat make around him.  The remaining traces of whatever visual he attempted to maintain immediately flicker out of existence, replaced instead by the sight of your mouth around his cock, diligently taking down each rope of cum he gives you.

When he finally stops throbbing, you reluctantly let his cock fall from your mouth and slowly stand up as the botched projection fizzles out completely.  His gaze eventually follows the movement like he’s on a five second delay.

“So, uh…”  Your voice is hoarse.  “We… need to have sex.”

“Alright,” he agrees dreamily, his eyes lazily dragging down your body.  “Alright, we can have… I… Wait, what?”

“You, uh.  I know it wasn’t intentional, but you might’ve, uh…”  You  shuffle awkwardly from side to side, wondering why you’ve chosen now of all moments to become shy with him.  You’re literally still savoring the taste of his release in your mouth.  “You might’ve accidentally projected a very specific thought towards the end there and let everyone know that we weren’t actually doing what we’re technically supposed to be doing.”

“What did… what did I think?”  The question would likely be nonsense in literally any other situation, but you understand.  And truthfully, for the life of you, you can’t find it within yourself to feel even a little bit mad about it, not when it means you can continue doing this together.  You can’t even conjure up a single shred of disappointment in his failure, it’d just be a lie.

“Doesn’t matter,” you assure him, your heart continuing to pound.  You know you should make your next move now while he’s still so loopy, the post-orgasm bliss causing his signature to vibrate with pulsing endorphins as he blinks up at you slowly from the bed.  “Though we won’t be able to do it for a little bit, just uh.  Just for general… anatomical reasons.  But that should’ve at least counted for… initiating the Ritual, so I don’t think we have to worry about time anymore.”

Obi-Wan just stares at you, his Force signature feeling more serene and spaced out than you’ve ever sensed before.  Oh Maker, how you wish you felt the same.  You swallow thickly, still tasting his hard orgasm on your tongue, and then try not to clamp your thighs together with how embarrassingly turned on you are.  Anyone with any experience whatsoever would know exactly what you’re going through with just a mere glance—you’re biting your lip with your entire body is subtly crumpled in towards your swollen, neglected pussy—and your Master has been watching you struggle through it this entire time.

“Are you alright?”  He asks dumbly, finally managing to at least push himself upright, still completely unaware or unconcerned at his softening cock on full display for you and your starving libido.  “You’re… shaking.”

“I—won’t die,” is the only serious assurance you can make to both him and yourself right now that’ll ease your suffering the smallest bit.  The last thing you want right now is to come on too strong and snap him back to his senses, bringing everything back to square one.  “Just, uh… r-really worked—worked up.  Trying to just.  C-Cool it?”

Your fingers flex at your sides because no matter what you try, you just can’t stop thinking about his.  They’re right there.  They’re so close, so strong and thick and—

“Aren’t you…”  He trails off, letting his head tilt and then drop to his shoulder with a combination of confusion and exhaustion.  “Aren’t you going to…?”

“To what?”  You prompt shortly, your hands suddenly clenching into fists to deal with another violent wave of arousal at how unbelievably drunk he still looks.  Maker, you did that.  That’s all you.

“s’Zerthia said all—” Obi-Wan murmurs, blinking long lashes lazily up at you, “—all Jedi must… participate.”

Fuck. Just hearing him provide you an excuse to give into the boiling arousal causes you to suddenly break out into a sweat.  You don’t know if he wants you to get yourself off or if he’s indirectly implying he wants to help, but you’re so far beyond desperate that you jump at the chance as soon as he so much as hints at the opportunity.

Very slowly, you move forward and lift one trembling knee to brace next to his thigh on the mattress, and then carefully swing your other leg over his lap, lowering yourself into a straddle in the same exact position he attempted to project earlier.  You’re so unbelievably cautious about his cock, making sure you don’t accidentally touch it and jolt him awake.  Instead of your newfound proximity scaring him away like you feared though, he stays so… docile.  Still so relaxed from his very first orgasm that he even rests his large palms over the thin fabric covering your thighs, letting the loose silk drape and fold over his hands as he drags them up and down.

His eyes follow your trembling fingers as you work at the knot tying the material around your body, your cunt throbbing between your legs at how he’s just… staring.  His eyelids are dipped slightly, breathing so calm and slouched under you, pliant and waiting.

The thin fabric slowly parts only enough to reveal the valley between your bare chest to him, and you watch his eyes fall down the thin strip of skin and catch on the dark line of your panties riding low on your hips.  Maker, you can’t help but remember his terror at even glimpsing the two acolytes taking off their robes earlier—the way his eyes bounced around and how his cheeks lost whatever color they had left to them as soon as he finally made himself look.  Now, though.  Now he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the soft flesh of your tummy, the way your nipples are still covered by the thin fabric of your slightly parted robe but are impossible to miss while your breasts subtly move with your breathing.

You gently call one of his wrists to your hand with the Force and Obi-Wan is either mentally or physically too weak to resist your will.  He allows you to catch his hand and slowly lead it downwards with both of your smaller ones to the part of your body that’s longed for his attention for years, though now it’s absolutely weeping for it.

You don’t want to scare him.  You don’t want to scare him.  Oh Maker, you need him to be brave for you right now, or at least just continue to be stupefied.  You can work with stupefied, but you cannot work with panic, especially when you feel your own wanting to rise up the more you drag this out.

When the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties, Obi-Wan’s hand pushes under it without your guidance.

You’re throbbing.  It’s been years in the making.  Unable to stop the way your thighs contract and you lift your hips against his palm as it steadily curves down the slope of your soft curls, the sight of the finish line so within reach makes you reckless and too quick.  You can’t help it.  When he gets hesitant and eventually slows down to a halt right above your slit, you don’t even think before you’re suddenly giving his wrist an abrupt shove with the Force, pulling his hand down before he’s ready and forcing his middle finger deep through the soaking cleft of your pussy.

Your shameless moan of his name comes out sounding so grateful—you pour everything you have into it and sag into Obi-Wan’s chest at the feeling, but he startles and all but rips his hand out of your underwear before you can stop him.  He was a hair’s breadth from touching your clit and the denial of it—the sudden turnaround from your goal is just so massively overwhelming that tears suddenly spring to your eyes.

You can just barely make out the sight of him staring down at his trembling hand between the two of you, your slick shining wet and hot along the length of his finger. 

“Stars,” he rasps, blinking his wide, sapphire gaze up to yours—and then he quite suddenly looks alarmed.  “Did I—Did I hurt you?”  Obi-Wan gasps, his energy beginning to outright seize with distress while you blink rapidly and try not to crumble on his lap.

“No—I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m just… oh, fuck, I n-need it,” you stammer.  “Oh fuck, I need it Master, I’m so sorry—I’m trying to be calm but—”

“What is it, little dove?”  He urges, reaching his hand up to your face and flicking his eyes back and forth between yours, sounding almost as panicked as you do from your desperation.  “What do you need?”

“Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I need you to just—” You can’t fit anything into words, a tear finally making its way down your cheek when you clamp your eyes shut in frustration.  You just need him to understand, to give you what you’ve been craving for so long—but when you blink your eyes back open, his troubled expression has suddenly resolved itself.

Your Master’s hands immediately grab tight to your hips and twist you around, easily tossing you back up onto the mattress.  The jostle of bouncing back into the soft fur startles you, but not nearly as much as when he climbs over your body and braces an elbow next to your head, gently placing the tips of his fingers to your temple.

He pushes carefully but firmly against your natural mental barriers, flexing the energy shields inwards gently enough to not hurt you but with enough force to let you know he’s entirely capable of breaking through should you refuse to let him in.

So you do.  You let him in without a single thought, never mind a second one.  Obi-Wan gasps as your shields all but collapse for him that easily, and then he’s finally breaching the surface of your thoughts.

“Oh—Maker above, little one,” he grits almost immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and his other hand wrapping tight around your arm as he struggles to acclimate to the blinding distress you’re experiencing.  “Collect—” he groans as your cunt clamps down at the rasp of his broken voice, “—collect yourself.  I can’t—can’t think—”

Oh, no, it’s too much.  It’s way too much, even just having him inside your head without being able to read him in return—it’s too much for you.  You start hyperventilating and instead of wanting him out, you just want to drown out the sensation of everything else.  The endlessly pulsing, aching throb between your legs that you’ve been dealing with for so long, the way you can feel his cock dragging against your tummy from this angle and how much you already want it in your mouth again, the way your nipples are so hard right now that even this soft fabric feels so rough and sharp against—

Your robe suddenly rips itself off your chest, and you whimper up at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into thick fur and writhe under him, almost completely naked and just desperate for him to do something, to at least just use his hands or his mouth to make you feel bet—

Obi-Wan’s head drops and his blazing mouth opens hot around your nipple, his tongue rolling soft and slick up under the hard bud.

You choke out the first part of his name and you barely even have a flicker of a thought—a brief flash of a rabid, baser desire you’re not even able to consciously recognize before you feel his jaw opening and his teeth closing gently around it, biting down just hard enough to make you spasm bright and urgent between your legs.  “Oh, fuck—”

As soon as you feel the pleasure and twisting ache spark deep in your core, Obi-Wan flutters his eyes shut and wedges his hand back into your panties, humming low in his throat when your legs jerk apart for him.

This time, your clit is the very first thing he touches.

He zeroes in on it.  The tip of his finger starts to rub it exactly how you’d do it to yourself, exactly the right angle and speed and pressure that your body suddenly feels massively overheated and dizzy from it.  It blindsides you.  It makes sense he’d be able to do this, after all, but for some reason, the whole thing just absolutely blindsides you.

“Maker,” you whimper at the ceiling, soft and pitched high in your throat, eyes rolling back when Obi-Wan gently bites down on your nipple again and continues to work to relieve you even as every muscle in your body feels like it’s tightening up.

“Stars—” he whispers when he pulls away, “This—this feels incredible, Padawan.”

You moan and roll your hips against his hand, on cloud nine at just how he’s slowly allowing himself to become filthier with you, to lower himself in all his righteous beliefs and descend into delicious sin with you, and—

—wait, did he just…?

Your cunt clamps down hard with realization as he continues massaging your clit better than you’ve ever even done it yourself.  Maker, it shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does, hearing that word in this context.  Padawan.  Padawan, holding her legs open while her Master explores her pussy.  Padawan, moaning desperately as her orgasm buzzes deep down inside with a rising, threatening resonance.  Padawan, Padawan, Padawan—

“Oh, you liked that,” Obi-Wan remarks tightly, taking a second to tug on your clit.  You nearly start to cry again, your insides pulling up and going rigid at the sensation.  “I heard it, little one.  You like it when I call you that?”

“Oh I like it when you do f-fucking anything,” you choke out helplessly, your words starting to slur together.  “Oh fuck, you’re so amazing, you’re so good at everything, you’re the best Jedi in the whole entire galaxy Master, you’re so much better th—”

“My, you’re agreeable like this, aren’t you?”  Obi-Wan grits, his touches growing stronger and quicker and rocketing you straight to the edge of madness.  “Shall I take that to heart, my darling little Padawan?  Or did you say such flattering things to the oth—”

“Wait!”  You suddenly exclaim, desperately trying to push his hands away.  “Oh, nonononono—wait, wait, wait, I—I-I’m about to cum—I need to—”

His hand yanks itself out of your underwear once more and you take giant, gasping breaths and try to compose yourself at least somewhat, but then your Master is quickly scrambling down your body and using the Force to rip your panties down your hips—

“Obi-Wan, wait—” you choke out, “that isn’t—you don’t… h-have to…”

He looks up at you, dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’ll be able to—y-you don’t—”  You have to take a few gasping breaths and remember how to speak Basic.  “I used my mouth on you before because I… I wanted to.  If—If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to.  It’s not… oh fucking stars above, it’s not n-necessary.”

“Are you telling me this because you don’t want me to?”  He immediately asks, though you both already clearly know the answer to that considering how exposed your wild thoughts are to him right now.

“Ah, no I, uh… I just.”  You try to clear the thickness from your throat and you feel your body tremble while you focus as much effort as possible into trying to explain.  “I just want to be sure I’m not taking advantage of you, that’s all, I—I want you to know the truth about these things.  It’s not… necessary, b-but.”

“But.”  He repeats the word meaningfully as he glances back down at your weeping cunt, nodding slowly to himself.

And then your Master leans in, flutters his eyes shut, and slides his warm tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.

“Obi—Wan—!?”  You gasp, somewhere between a squeak and a squeal, your entire upper body launching upwards around his head as your clit is immediately enveloped into a slick, dexterous furnace.

Hold still, you hear his voice warn through the Force, sounding so much closer than you’ve ever heard him before.  Whether that can be attributed to the fact that the command came directly from wherever he is inside your head or whether it’s simply because his tongue is now tracing gentle circles around your clit as you whimper pitifully into the quiet of the dimly lit room, you’re not sure.  All you know is that his mouth feels like velvet between your legs and his beard is scraping across your thighs and your fingers have buried themselves in his hair without your conscious permission.

Hold still, young one, he urges once more, but you just close your eyes and moan shamelessly at it this time, opening your legs wider for him.  His voice, it’s… it’s maddening like this, coming directly from your own thoughts.  Deep, precise, somehow sounding so true, so much clearer and full-bodied without your pesky ears in the way.  Your hips are subconsciously rolling slowly against the lower half of his face when Obi-Wan apparently decides he’s had enough.

An invisible energy wraps around each of your individual limbs and snaps them against the mattress without any warning.  You whimper high in your throat, arms and legs held so firmly against the bed with the Force that your internal struggles aren’t able to be translated outwardly; he doesn’t allow your body a single centimeter to move under him, no matter how hard you fight it.  Which means you have to lay there and just take the way Obi-Wan’s hot mouth continues to lick and kiss at your clit slowly, taking all the time in the universe to properly explore you between the legs he’s forced apart.

“Obi—” you croak breathlessly at the ceiling, feeling a familiar heat start to burn hot and tight through your core, “Obi, I—I have to p-project—before I—ah!—before you—before you ma-make me cu—ugh, f-fuck—I have t-to—”

Then project, he encourages simply, gently fluttering his tongue over your clit.  You gasp and he hums, murmuring through the Force once more to you.  We’re not hiding anymore.  They’ll all know I’m using my mouth on you like this.  It’s alright.  Let them know.

You realize you’re going to cum the second you hear your Master’s voice say the words using my mouth on you like this while he slowly sucks on your clit, and you barely have enough wherewithal to gulp in a giant breath and begin projecting your signature as far across the palace and surrounding city as physically possible before your body shatters hot into searing euphoria under him.

Obi-Wan groans deep in his throat and holds you perfectly still under him as you cum with a ragged, hoarse wail of his name, giant waves of white hot bliss beginning to radiate through the Force from you with spectacular power.  The contractions are so much more pronounced when it’s one of the only sets of muscles in your body he’s granted permission to move.  It’s like everything is concentrated and multiplied there because of it.  You can feel each individual spasm your floor muscles make as they convulse against his tongue, how each blazing shot of ecstasy that shatters through your body wrings more and more wetness from your cunt into your Master’s mouth.

Never.  Ever ever ever.  Has anyone done something so mind blowingly sexy to you.  Nobody.  Ever.  He’s a virgin, you frantically remember as Obi-Wan purrs softly into the folds of your pussy while it cums all over him.

Your thoughts, young one, you can just barely make out his voice remind you gently, just as gently as he sucks on your clit through the aftershocks, somehow sounding even more aroused than he did before.

After allowing your projection to flicker out of existence with a putter, you’re completely dazed.  Incapable of moving regardless of the way he keeps you pinned with the Force long after he pulls away, slowly moves back up your body and waits while you work to regain your bearings.  You don’t even want to open your eyes right now, knowing he’s looking down at your peaceful expression while you work to catch your breath.  You’re too stupid with pleasure you almost don’t even process the soft touch of something against your lips.

You’re lovely.

The thought is so quiet you don’t even recognize it isn’t your own.  Not until he keeps pressing his lips to yours so sweetly, not knowing to do anything else when your mind is too fractured with ecstasy to unconsciously act as his compass like before.  Everything is innocent and gentle and not reminiscent of the fact that the robes you’re both wearing are wide open and your mouths tasted of each other even before he kissed you.

Instead of melting into the soft touches, though, they just start to burn you alive, the thick fog of your orgasm clearing more and more with each gentle press of his lips and your need for him steadily growing.  He’s kissing you.  Master Kenobi is kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds at a time before pulling away, pausing to look at your face each time to make sure your eyes are still closed, before leaning down and carefully pressing his lips to yours again.

The only part you can’t stand is that he won’t even let you move your jaw to kiss him back.

Kiss me, Obi-Wan, you urge desperately through the Force, not wanting to interrupt to speak.

“I am, little one,” he replies between kisses, and the sincerity in his tone tells you he’s not purposefully teasing you.  No, this is him kissing you, genuinely, the only way he knows how to.

Let me— you start to struggle in earnest against his hold on you, —please, let me—

The warm breath from his nose puffs softly against your cheek with a quiet little sound from far back in his throat, and then you suddenly gain the ability to move from the neck up.

You immediately part his lips with yours and Obi-Wan pulls back just the slightest bit in response, but your neck lifts up to compensate as you lick deep into his warm mouth.  He gasps at the foreign sensation and loses his concentration for a split second, enough for you to break free of it completely.  Your hands quickly fly up to cradle his face as soon as they can move and your fingers hook around the thick beard blanketing his sharp jawline, urging him back down into you.

Your legs come up to wrap around his lower back and he sags against your strong will with a needy groan, dropping down closer and obediently keeping his mouth open for you to taste.  As soon as he presses his body into yours, his cock strains and drags against your lower stomach, already throbbing hot and leaking precum along the soft hills of your skin.

Maker, you want it but somehow you… you don’t.  You just want to savor tonight as long as you physically can, keep holding him and kissing him like this for another few hours at least before you try to take his cock, but he’s unintentionally grinding it against you while his tongue shyly dances with yours, needy and already raring to go in his own timid way.

Do you want it, Master?  You finally murmur to him, running your fingers through his hair and gently biting his bottom lip, scooting your hips up to let him rub himself against something better than your tummy.  You feel… ready.

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head.  Your feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, and Obi-Wan finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck.

“Yes, I—” he moans into you skin, “Oh stars, I want it.”

With a gentle wave of your hand, you use the Force to drop his hips down to the proper angle and tilt the head of his cock to line him up perfectly.

And now this is the part you don’t want to rush.  This is when you take Obi-Wan Kenobi’s virginity.  You’ll savor just being able to remember this for the rest of your fucking life.  You’ll see him in Council meetings years from now and be reminded that you’re the only person in the galaxy to know the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room.  You’re the only one who will know that sound, that sound is yours, that sound belongs to—

“Padawan,” he grits, hips stuttering into you while you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “your thoughts—”

You groan up at the ceiling and your pussy tightens at the reminder that he can still hear you, but your body is just too bold and desperate for it.  Your thoughts begin to flare bright, growing more possessive by the second, and you can’t even wait for him this time.  Every single muscle in Obi-Wan’s body goes rigid when you tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow.

It stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you as Obi-Wan instinctively tries to lift off you and away from it, but you’re clinging too tightly to him.  Your whole body hovers off the mattress to stay with him. 

“You said—” he gasps, “—it wouldn’t h-hurt—oh—”

“It doesn’t,” you groan, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you.  “Oh, Maker, it feels so fucking good, Obi—feel it—”

His elbows shake where they’re locked and braced against the mattress but he drops his head and holds strong like this while you work your muscles to take him as far as you can from this shameful angle.  Your body feels like it’s on fire while you desperately cling to him and the length of your robe brushes against the mattress while you just keep trying to get him deeper inside you—

Suddenly something grabs hard at your hips and tries shoves you downwards and off his cock, but you want it too badly.  You summon the hidden strength of your energy and then channel it into your legs where they’re hooked around the curve of his lower back.

Obi-Wan chokes at the unexpected resistance and his elbows buckle, dropping you both down to his forearms with a jolt, but you’re too busy mentally clashing with each other for it.  The result is… well, it’s maddening.

Every time your pussy is able to swallow him more than halfway, you pull back and let his energy shove you down his length—but then dig back in right before you drop completely and use the Force to bend your legs and fight the uphill battle to his cock once more.  Your Master gasps, beads of sweat gathering at his temples while you fight him with every ragged breath in your body to keep fucking him.

Except—he’s the fighter.  And you should’ve known.

You’re no match for the sudden blast of energy from him, easily hinging your legs apart from around his back and then ripping you down off his cock with a wet sound, bouncing back down into the mattress once more.

In order to stop the desperate tears of defeat from coming to your eyes, you immediately clamp them shut and twist your face away from Obi-Wan’s, but he makes a low growl and uses the same ferocious royal blue energy to keep your knees pinned open and wide against the bed. 

And then drops his hips and rocks back into you, giving you those last few precious inches of his thickness you weren’t able to get at before.  It hits sharp nirvana up inside you with his thighs pressed tight to your hips like this.  His name rips itself from your throat while Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed with the Force while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. 

He’s so gifted, so strong in the Force, he’s able to use your mind as his anchor and give you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced.  And in return, you want to do the same to him.  You want to read his thoughts, instantly be able to give him everything he never knew he needed—

“You do,” your Master chokes out, “darling, you already—”

Everything inside you surges up at the admission, aching that much harder to hear him, to hear everything the way he can hear you.  The tips of your fingers find his temple, slick with sweat, and you press just hard enough to tell him your intent.

“Let me in,” you whisper, wicked arousal swirling tight in your lower muscles as they start to bear down on his cock.

“I—I can’t—” Obi-Wan gasps breathlessly, “I can’t—”

“Open—open the door, Master,” you beg, “please, open th—”

“Fuck,” he cuts you off, his voice rising in pitch while his his hips snap just a little harder against yours and his rhythm falters, “—It’s too good, Padaw—I’m going t-to—stars, are you—are you r-ready?”

Some terrifying, swirling darkness manifests itself deep in your thoughts.  It rises up, part of the desperate, hidden subconscious that you’re typically capable of stifling.  No, it says, don’t let this be over.  Not yet.  You don’t want to go to sleep alone, wake up and remember you’ll never have this again.  You need there to be a next time, and a time after it.

You try your hardest to push the longing downwards when you recognize it, but your Master is too quick, too talented to deceive when he’s this close to you.  He easily plucks it from your mind and expands it, enlarges the chaotic string of thoughts until you feel them pulsing at the edges of your consciousness.

And then Obi-Wan sees it all, immediately playing out in your memories as you helplessly watch on.  Every desire you buried for him unearthed, every whimper you stifled with the back of your hand when you touched yourself at night and thought of him amplified.  The years of repression, the blind hope that simply ignoring it would make it go away.  How hard you worked to deaden the burst of affection that radiated through the Force when you finally saw him after two years apart.  The circumstances behind the night you lost your virginity—not a long time ago, as he suggested before, but only just last year.  So desperate in your loneliness and longing for his presence that you began routinely sneaking around and fucking other Knights—Guardians with blue sabers whose souls were just marginally close enough to Obi-Wan’s, and you thought of him the whole time.  Every time.

But, perhaps, worst of all.  The… fantasies.

He sees himself dropping to his knees and congratulating you for passing your trials by burying his tongue inside your warmth and telling you how proud of you he is.  He sees you opening his trousers and slowly licking his cock while he meditates, trying to get him to break his concentration.  He watches the two of you fucking in every conceivable position, how incredibly ready you always are to take him when he needs it.  Most importantly, he recognizes your inherent, blazing desire to drag this out as long as physically possible, to permanently brand every moment in your memory to get you through his impending absence.

And then… then Obi-Wan does something unexpected.  Something incredibly uncharacteristic.

You watch as he morphs the fantasies right before your eyes.  He's still on his knees with his head between your legs, but now he’s telling you how proud he is of you for negotiating the mysterious, confidential deal that ended the Clone Wars.  You’re licking his cock as the ship autopilots itself through the week-long journey back to Coruscant from s’Ziscari, letting him slowly cum in your mouth as he sprawls lazily in the captain’s chair.  He’s taking you against the wall of your quarters after a mindless and dull Council meeting; you’re riding him quietly in his bed after lights-out at the temple; he’s rubbing your clit while he sits behind you and advises you on matters concerning your own Padawan you’ll be choosing sometime soon, two fingers deep and squeezing a bared nipple when he whispers in your ear how much he absolutely adores you.

Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill the empty spaces of your mind, a lovely pale blue tenor to harmonize gorgeously with the soft green alto of your own consciousness.  The resulting color of your combined energies fills your soul with Light, a stunning turquoise of a color you’ve never loved more, one you wish you could live in for the rest of your life.

For every debased thought of yours he sees, he shows you one even more revealing.  The way he used to dream of you at night, especially after a close battle where many Jedi and Clones fell, and then he’d wake up in a cold sweat with an erection pulsing feverish and so terribly shameful between his legs.  How he tried to shove a pillow down there once to somehow relieve himself of the aching hardness, and then had to rip it away and launch it across the room with the Force when he realized he’d been dragging himself against it and thinking of you.

“I’m gonna—cum—” your voice scrapes across your throat, and you can already sense him throwing his beautiful consciousness out like a net.  You match him with what little mental strength you have remaining, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your ankles around his lower back and pulling him down into you.

Obi-Wan’s energy keeps swirling a brilliant aquamarine with yours, presenting his every subconscious thought to you, one right after another, so quick you can barely keep up.  How he’ll always be with you, no matter what.  How the Maker himself won’t be able to drag him away from you now.  How quiet jealousy still tugs at his heart just thinking about the fact that you broke your oath—before you both could do it together.

Everything swells up inside you and you scream when it finally crashes over, your blended signatures sealing themselves together permanently and then detonating in a debilitating shockwave that ripples the air around you.  You’re blinded and deafened by its vivid energy, powerful and dazzling every shade between blue and green and Light and Dark, all balanced perfectly together.

You lay there in the gentle afterglow afterwards and feel your pussy still clamping tight to him, pulsing in random intervals while Obi-Wan slouches into you and every muscle in his body trembles with the comedown.  Everything is right.  Everything in you sparkles.

“Stars, Obi,” you start chuckling up at the ceiling, the sheer joy overwhelming you and bringing tears to your eyes.  “Stars, did we just—”

“We just won the Clone Wars, my dear,” he slurs into the crook of your neck while his cock still throbs inside you, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping up his spine, every single thought in his mind completely dead at the moment.

“How long do you… do you think it’ll take before it’s over?”  You ask quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair.  Obi-Wan groans and buries his face deeper into your neck.

“Few months, maybe.  Time for s’Ziscari…”

He stays like that for just a second, and you press your nose to him and breathe him in, marveling at how utterly gorgeous his signature is right now.  Clear blue with the lightest touch of teal, rippling like quiet water in a crystal calm riverbed.

Lovely.

You keep softly playing with the hair at his nape, and then quickly wrap your arms around him when he goes to try to brace his forearms next to your shoulders and lift up just the slightest bit.

“Wait, don’t—it’s—”  You bite your lip and feel him sink back down into your body without another word, clearly having only attempted it for appearances.  “This is good, let’s just… stay for a second.” 

He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even move, and—a few months, you think.  A few months of his absence, of wondering where he is but never being able to ask.  It burdens your heart, but you understand it’s necessary.

The Council may… grant me a position with a more permanent location after this mission, he responds quietly to your dip in the Force after a moment, too tired to even talk anymore and exhaustion weaving his every thought.  On Coruscant.

Your heart pangs with sudden hope, and you know he can feel it.  “They would do that?”

I could ask to oversee the s’Ziscari’s assimilation into our ranks, he offers alongside a stifled yawn into your collarbone.

He’d… request that?  To be closer to you?  But why?

He doesn’t hesitate before offering the words to you simply, not even considering them before they’re the only thought in his mind.  Because I care for you more than there are stars in the sky.  I always have.

Lovely.

No, no, not even, that’s just.  Love.  By itself.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly into your neck, and your soul feels like it grows wings.

You both lay there in silence for a long time after that, and it takes you even longer to realize he hasn’t succumbed to sleep yet, even as the aching fatigue weighs heavy on his back.  He’s resisting it, keeping his eyes purposefully open against your neck while yours are blissfully shut.

“Master,” you eventually whisper up at the ceiling, and his cock twitches inside you.  Oh stars, you’ll have to remember that.  “Go to sleep.”

I have one more confession.  The thoughts are slurred and distorted, barely conscious as he desperately tries to outlast the sleep trying to pull him under.  I didn’t even want to mention it before because I didn’t know how this was all going to go, but…  He blinks slowly against your neck even as his eyes droop, only just a few seconds from passing out with exertion.  The Sh’inzith lasts six days, dove.

Your eyes pop open in shock just as his finally fall shut, and Obi-Wan stops fighting.

[tennessoui]

18 obikin!! Amnesia fics are super fun 🍆

18. One of them wakes up with amnesia (Option A because two people sent in this prompt number and I liked both ideas I saw for it enough to not want to pick) this involves an Obi-Wan that got deaged as well as lost his memories so he's Phantom Menace Obi-Wan. no i will not be explaining. hand wavey drabble fic writing.

--

The man has not stopped staring, but something in his intense gaze makes Obi-Wan feel safe. Almost. Well. On edge, yes, but. Protected. He has the strange feeling that he’d rather be under this man’s stare than anywhere else in the entire galaxy.

But he knows he’s never seen this man before in his life, the same way that he knows he’s twenty-five and that Qui-Gon Jinn is his Master, that he’s a Jedi knight-in-training, that he hates teas with mint leaves in them, that he’ll never say no to a drink with Quinlan, that--well.

He supposes none of that stuff could be true anymore. Vokra Che, who’s a grown and certified healer master now, had told him what had happened. An older version of himself had touched something he wasn’t supposed to. The closest translation they could find to the runes on the object was that it would transform the user back to their most balanced state. Obi-Wan’s had, apparently, been at the age of twenty-five. He hadn’t recognized the name Anakin Skywalker. He had never been to Naboo.

He throws the rest of his drink back and waves to the bartender to pour him another. He’d gone straight here from the Halls of Healing. He’d had a shadow the entire way, but the man has yet to try to talk to him at all. It’s infuriating.

His Padawan braid swings into his field of vision for a second. He tosses it over his shoulder. He’d been told. Qui-Gon had died. Obi-Wan wants to not think about it at all.

There’s a brush of a Force presence that’s both familiar and completely foreign next to him. The man has finally moved to his side. Obi-Wan’s jaw ticks at his continued reticence, the way he’s observing him but not talking to him. It just simply won’t do, but Obi-Wan isn’t feeling his kindest. He doesn’t want whatever this man is offering him with his silent, dour stares and his suffocating Force signature that keeps trying to tangle itself with Obi-Wan’s own. It’s rude is what it is.

He waves down the bartender and orders a drink for the man. “If you got mint, put it in,” he tells the woman who raises an eyebrow but shrugs, one pair of her arms busy with the drink. When she gives it to him he slides it to the man next to him without even looking at him.

“What--” the man asks. “I don’t--”

“You do tonight,” Obi-Wan says bracingly, throwing back half of his own drink. “We’ve both just lost our Masters, haven’t we?”

The man beside him flinches as if Obi-Wan had skewered him with his lightsaber.

“You are him, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan lolls his head to the side to look at the man threw half-closed eyes. “My padawan.”

“Anakin,” the man says so quietly it’s almost lost to the noise of the bar. “I’m Anakin Skywalker, yeah.”

Obi-Wan takes a drink reflexively, humming in disbelief. “You don’t look like it,” he says consideringly. At Anakin’s confused look, he elaborates. “You don’t look like you could have ever been a Padawan.”

The man pulls himself up, face darkening at the perceived slight. It’s almost too easy to rile him up, but now that he has, Obi-Wan finds he has no interest in fighting this man. Quite the opposite, really. That’s...something. He can’t tell if that emotion comes from him now or the older version of him.

Either way, Obi-Wan has no desire to stand in the way of whatever storm this Anakin is building up in his head, so he turns to face him completely and pushes both hands into his blond hair, raking down the scalp gently before collecting the strands into a poor imitation of the Padawan ponytail. “That’s better, I suppose. The hair threw me off.” He lets go slowly, making sure to tug at one of the strands at the last second.

Anakin has a very strange look on his face, but he’s definitely not angry anymore. He’s even shielding much more tightly now. Obi-Wan smirks into his glass as he takes a sip. He definitely remembers that trick.

“Do you know who cut it?” he asks, catching sight of the end of his braid again. The drinks are going to his head much more quickly than he had intended. Must be all the trauma his body has gone through in the past few days. “My braid.”

“I.” Anakin stutters, caught off guard. “You did.”

Obi-Wan feels like laughing but also a bit like crying. There’s a terrifying emotion rearing its head in his chest. It threatens to swallow him whole. “Well, I suppose I never liked to stand on ceremony.”

“You cut your braid in the fresher and then called me in and braided mine,” Anakin says distantly, as if caught up in the memory. “You wouldn’t let me hold it. I thought you were so mean. But I understood at my Knighting Ceremony. It was a part of me in my hand, a...starmap of all the places I’d been and the things I’d learned during my training. And there was only one person I wanted to give it to in the whole galaxy.”

“Did you?” He asks, taking a sip to hide how important the question is, how devastating the answer could be.

“Well. Yeah. But I guess I don’t know if you kept it,” Anakin cuts his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s and runs his fingers up the long stem of his drink.

Obi-Wan chokes on a laugh. “He definitely did.”

The other man’s face settles into a frown. “You don’t know that. You’re not him.”

“I’m enough of him. I’ve got--some feelings. In my head. Impressions.”

“Of me?”

“Of how he felt about you.”

Anakin’s eyes widen and then narrow with a sudden intensity that makes Obi-Wan want to shiver. It’s like being in the eye of a storm. His hold on the delicate glass in his hand becomes dangerously tight as he leans forward into Obi-Wan’s space, as if he can’t get close enough to him.

“What do you feel when you look at me?” he asks almost breathlessly. Obi-Wan blinks, trying to figure out if he’s being seduced or not. It’s sort of working. It’s all that focus, directly on him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind if that’s how the night ended. But sleeping with his former padawan who he can’t remember right now doesn’t seem like the best decision he could make.

But Anakin had liked it when Obi-Wan tugged at his hair. He’d arched closer to him. And now, the distance between them has been eaten away until they’re almost pressed chest to shoulder.

“Safe,” he decides to say, even though the word feels too small. “Sad,” which is mostly true but also an oversimplification. It’s a sort of nostalgia mixed with sadness, mixed with acceptance and resignation. “Warm,” because even after being denied entry to Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin’s force presence has curled around Obi-Wan’s like some sort of krayt dragon, content to wait and guard and treasure. He leans forward, just until his mouth brushes against the skin of Anakin’s ear. “Coveted.”

Anakin definitely shifts at that, and when Obi-Wan pulls back enough to see his face, his pupils are blown wide.

Swallowing a grin, Obi-Wan swallows the rest of his drink in one go. “Drink up,” he tells Anakin in his most demanding tone, reaching into his pockets to pull out his older self’s credits to settle the tab. “I want to go.”

Anakin obeys immediately, making a face at the taste.

They’re out in the street within a few minutes, Anakin smacking his lips as if still trying to rid himself of the flavor. “I just don’t know why you had to order me that,” he complains, falling into step on Obi-Wan’s right.

Obi-Wan pauses and leans against the very unsanitary wall of the building, spreading his legs wide enough so that Anakin can come in between them. The man doesn’t seem to notice anything different, just steps a bit closer as a crowd of loud party-goers makes their way past them.

“I wanted to see if I liked mint,” Obi-Wan shrugs, raising his hand to rest on the skin of Anakin’s neck. He can feel the way his pulse is beating incredibly fast.

“Why would my drink help you with--”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. He commends his older self for being able to teach this idiot anything, even though he seems to have skipped over important lessons like Recognizing When You’re Being Flirted With.

Before Anakin can finish the thought, Obi-Wan twists his other hand in Anakin’s robes and pulls him forward until their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “May I kiss you?” he asks because it’s only polite to.

Anakin’s eyes widen and then fall shut as he gives a little nod, finally stepping forward until their bodies are pressed completely together.

At least someone, although he doubts it was the older Obi-Wan, taught Anakin how to kiss. Obi-Wan’s toes curl in his boots as Anakin takes control of the action, moving his hands so one’s pressing against the wall behind them and one’s running up his scalp. Obi-Wan takes his time licking into Anakin’s mouth, allowing Anakin to explore him in return. One of them moans, which seems like as good a time as any to break the kiss.

“Well?” Anakin pants, diving in to place a short kiss onto Obi-Wan’s lips. “What do you think?”

The short answer is that Obi-Wan isn’t. He noses back towards Anakin’s mouth hopefully, sliding his hand down from his neck to rest on his hip.

“About mint,” Anakin elaborates when Obi-Wan doesn’t respond immediately.

“Inconclusive. Need more data,” Obi-Wan tries to kiss him but Anakin’s smiling too hard.

“Then next time you can get the awful drink, and you can get me the Alderaan Sunset,” Anakin is complaining, but he’s laughing too and that’s nice. Obi-Wan thinks that making Anakin Skywalker laugh is one of the best feelings in the galaxy, and he thinks his older self would agree, if the warmth sparking up in his very soul means anything at all.

[theyoutubedork]

“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not too,”

Masterlist

The one where you get the vaccine, and boyfriend!Harry comforts you when you get really bad side effects.

Trigger warning: COVID times, pain, mentions of needles, and LOTS AND LOTS OF FLUFF

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

A/N: ok, so I haven’t written anything for tumblr in a while, I’ve been writing on wattpad a little, but I’m lacking inspiration on that front, so I’ve been flocking to Tumblr once again. Instead of finding inspiration for the story I’m writing on wattpad, I’m gonna just completely procrastinate and write something entirely new instead. Obviously my brain has the best ideas so here we are.

WARNING: (PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING)

this is based off of my personal experience with getting the jenssen (Johnson and Johnson) vaccine, which is what inspired me to write this story. I had a very tough go with the side effects of the vaccine. I’m fine now and I am not saying that you shouldn’t get this vaccine. Obviously this is a slightly dramatized version so that it is easier for you guys to understand. These side effects only lasted for a few hours within the first 24 hour period of getting this vaccine, which is very common and likely to happen. It just knocked me for a bit of a loop, that’s all. The amount of pain I experienced was something that I was willing to go through so I can get vaccinated. It is was very much worth it. Please get vaccinated, and please be safe.

——————————————————————————

As soon as you walk through the door, you see Harry’s head spring up from behind the couch. His hair is slightly messy, evidence of one of his random, mid-day naps. His eyes immediately soften, looking at your face, which is twisted from the small discomfort you felt in your arm. You had to go alone because the vaccination site had told you so, and you didn’t want Harry to wait for you in the heat for god knows how long. Harry immediately gets up and gives you a tight embrace as soon as you put your belongings onto the kitchen counter. He lets out a quick sigh of content, being a bit more touch-starved lately, which he doesn’t really know the reason for. He finally brings his head from the crook of your neck, and melts at the sight of your adorable puppy-eyed stare.

“How did it go? I was so worried about you love, wish I could’ve been there to hold your hand,” he coos. His hand pets your head, trying to soothe you from any remaining nervousness, which admittedly, you still were. He knew that you severely disliked needles, especially when getting shots. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a flu shot or blood work, you always had to have your head turned away. Thankfully you aren’t nearly as bad as you used to be. When your were younger, you would scream and cry. There was even one time when you were super young, that an extra nurse had to hold you down like a stereotypical psycho-medical horror film. Screaming bloody murder just for protection against measles. Eventually you grew out of that phase, only having to have your mother rub her hand on your back to try and distract you.

Your mother did that a lot actually. Whenever you were upset, she would always give some sort of physical contact to remind you that she was there. Her most common ways of this type of affection was either rubbing your back or circling her thumb on the back of your palm. However, if you would get hysterical, she would even put her hand on your head and scratch your scalp or even run her finger along the bridge of your nose. She learned this from one of you day-care teachers, who used this tactic to make you finally fall sleep during nap time. Upon reflection, it definitely could seem strange to others, but for some reason your mother always calmed you down with these methods, even when you became an adult. Obviously she doesn’t do this nearly as often, given that you can control your emotions better than you could when you were a kid, and the fact you didn’t live with her anymore.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when Harry wraps his arm around your side to bring you closer. You immediately wince as his arm wrapped around your left arm, squeezing it tightly, making the arm already more sore.

“Harry, my arm,” you mutter, and he quickly lets go, scanning over your features quickly to make sure you weren’t in pain. After you give him a goofy smile, he chuckles and gives you a small peck on the lips.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to hurt you.” He murmurs, pinching your cheek before grabbing your hand.

“Well now that you’re home, we can finally start that show you wanted to watch. I already went to the store and got you some stuff, just in case you get any side effects.” He rambles excitedly, plopping onto the couch before dragging you down towards him, your limbs already entangled with his. He adjusts slowly, making sure your left arm isn’t pressing up against anything too harshly. He pulls a blanket hanging on the backside of the couch over the two of you. You don’t let this distract you from giving him a narrow-eyed look due to his last statement. He sighs, noticing this,

“I know-“ he starts but you interrupt him,

“It’s very sweet that you went out and got stuff for me, but you know I don’t like if when you go out by yourself.” You say, tracing your fingers over his anchor tattoo as you continue, “But, you are an independent young man, who can do whatever he wants, so just text me before you go out and do that stuff ok? Don’t want anything bad happening to you,” you say softly, looking up at him with a worried look. He lets out a small “aww” as he grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips, peppering small kisses on your knuckles before he looks at you with loving eyes.

“I know, you’re right, but you don’t have to worry about me love,” he says, wrapping his hand lightly around your neck, pulling your head closer so he could give you a small kiss on the forehead. You rest your head on his chest, facing towards the tv. You pick up the remote off the coffee table, turning on the TV to start scrolling though Netflix.

“I’m always gonna worry about you, I love you too much not to,” you say somewhat absentmindedly, since this was something you say to Harry all the time. He constantly begged you not to worry about him, and you always say there is no possible way you could not worry about him. Not just because he’s your celebrity boyfriend, but because obviously you will always worry about the people you love. People may see that as a bad thing, but it just means that you always want the best for the people you care about, and that you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them.

You feel Harry’s ring-less hand, (he must’ve taken them off when he went out so he wouldn’t face any more risk of recognition; people are way too observant for their own good) find it’s way into your hair, lightly sifting through it.

‘Harry’s hands are surprisingly soft for someone who plays instruments as often as he does,’ you thought.

Ever since he found out about your mom playing with your hair, and other types of physical affection whenever you got upset, which he found adorable by the way, he had started to do the same, except at any given moment, not just when you got upset. You didn’t comment on it, but you secretly revel in it. He always was touchy-feely, but this was much more personal and intimate, and the way he pays extra attention to you makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you.

“You still shouldn’t worry about me so much,” he says, knowing full well that he will never be able to stop you. He knows that you worry about him for the obvious reasons, and that you would honestly be a bad girlfriend if you didn’t. He is one of the most famous people in the world, at least according to famousbirthdays.com.

After a few minutes of silence you hear Harry speak again,

“You know you’re the best girlfriend in the world right?” Harry says cutely, curling a strand of your hair around his fingers.

You let out a small laugh. He asked you this all the time, as if he never asked you the question before. You always brush off this comment, and this time is no different.

“No I am not,” you scoff, selecting play on the screen, the Netflix logo filling the screen. You feel Harry tug on your hair enough so he could make you look at him. This action makes your face heat up like the surface of the sun, making you try to look away from him.

“Look at me, love,” he whispers and you reluctantly comply. You see him with a tight lipped smile that rested below the apples in his cheeks. His eyes were slightly closed from how much he was smiling.

“I mean it, I know I tell you all the time, but you really are the best girlfriend in the world, you’re always so worried about me, making sure I’m ok,” he firmly states, scooping your stray baby hairs out of your face, “you’re like my bodyguard,” he chuckles. You raise a teasing eyebrow and he begins to laugh a little harder at your expression.

“Hey! You are like, the cutest bodyguard I’ve ever had,” you let out a small giggle at this, making Harry smile even wider.

“Damn right, I’ll kick everybody’s ass just for you babe,” you chuckle, air-punching the air aimlessly. Harry laughs loudly at this, giving you a peck on the head.

“I know you will, lovie,”

*

*

*

Later on in the evening, Harry had finished making dinner, and you were sprawled out on the couch. You usually would be in the kitchen with him, but for some reason you just didn’t want to move. Harry didn’t pay any mind, knowing that the vaccine you got was a single shot, meaning it was going to be a more potent dose. This also meant that you would probably be experiencing more severe symptoms than he did when he had gotten his two shot vaccine. He wanted you to get the same one as him, but he knew that the place you were setting up your appointment only had the single shot doses, and that you didn’t want to have to go through two rounds of needles.

He was only away for 25 minutes, so when he rounded the corner to enter the living room, to say that he was concerned was an understatement. He saw you, sprawled on the couch, your face scrunched together in pain as you tried to get comfortable. Your chest was heaving up and down at a not so steady pace. He set the plates in his hands on the coffee table before crouching down to make his face level with yours.

“You ok lovie? Dinner’s ready,” he said in a hushed tone, placing his hand on your forehead to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. However, when his hand reached your forehead, he noticed that the hair was glued to it, your forehead slightly slick with sweat. You let out a small groan of pain as your response. He immediately placed the back of his palm against your skin, not caring about your sweat. Not a fever, but not too far from one.

“Baby why didn’t you change into something a bit lighter?”

“I was going to but then I just didn’t want to get up. Or...move.” You whined. Harry’s face softened when he saw your cute little pout that you do whenever you get lazy or tired. Or both.

“Okay well do you wanna have dinner then get changed, or get changed and then have dinner?” He says.

“I wanna move as little as possible, so let’s eat dinner and then I’ll change.”

“Ok lovie...now eat before it gets cold.”

*

You were barely able to keep yourself up by the time you finished eating, and Harry immediately sprung into action. He quickly cleaned up the kitchen and put everything somewhat away before he rushed back to you. He had to catch you slightly since you were trying to make it to the bedroom before he came back.

He gingerly helped you out of your clothes and tucked you into your bed. Quickly shedding his clothes, and slowly getting into bed, trying not to dip the bed drastically. You immediately curled into his arms after he turn out the lights, and you let out small groans every once and a while.

“It’s alright angel, you probably won’t sleep super well tonight but I’ll be right next to you if you need anything. Okay lovie?” He murmurs, bringing his left arm around your waist to slowly trace circles at the bottom of your spine, soothing you greatly. You let out a small hum of understanding before nuzzling into his chest more, letting out a small sigh.

“You know you’re the best boyfriend in the world right?”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Chris lying on top of someone getting cuddles plz Ash I beg of you

Follows on Time Apart, It Doesn’t Work As Well As You’d Hoped, and Learn to Fly

Their heartbeat is slow and steady underneath his ear, and his eyes close, letting himself dwell in the sound. His fingers twist in their shirt, relax, twist and relax, rubbing his thumbs over the seams of their binder underneath.

They hum, softly, a tuneless sound very nearly like his own, and that’s like drifting in a warm sea, floating on saltwater and feeling the sun on his skin. Their fingers gently move through his hair, blunt bitten nails not quite scratching his scalp, just rubbing with their fingertips.

The coffeeshop is quiet around them, emptied-out except for the two baristas who speak in low voices under the whirring of the espresso machine, handing drinks out the drive-thru window, bags of cookies and cannoli, a scone or three. They don’t ask if Chris and Laken need anything more.

They know that the need, as it stands now, isn’t for the coffee that’s gone cold in both their cups. It's for the space to have their quiet together, after time apart.

The rain pours, outside, a soft and subtle rush, like blood pulsing through the veins of the world. Blood goes into and out of the human heart, water goes up to the atmosphere and then back to earth. It’s the same.

The earth breathes.

So does Laken.

Chris, like a bird with wings open to the wind to rise, listens to it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Laken murmurs, without pausing in the soft rhythm of their fingers. “Or of what happened to you, or of what it means for us. My future is with you, that hasn’t changed. I’ve never been afraid of you, Chris. Afraid for you a couple of times, sure, but never of you.”

“I’ll freeze up,” Chris says back, voice low. The music that plays over the speakers switches in a wild, odd swing between the sort of instrumental jazz Chris is used to and the occasional bouncy 80’s pop song. He wonders, in a detached way, which of the baristas has their iPod plugged in to the speakers. “Every, um. Every time. I can’t-... I can’t, can’t stop it right away. Ever.”

“I know,” Laken says. They’re on their back on the back, shoulders propped against the arm of the couch, head tipped back a little towards the ceiling. Chris lays on top of them, his own feet up on the couch’s arm at the other side, the soles of his worn-out slip-on shoes pointing up. His fingers run over the thick, smooth binder fabric under their t-shirt, back and forth, back and forth. His fingers skim along the edge where the black of the binder meets the skin over their lower ribs.

He mirrors the movement of their hand through his hair without realizing it.

“You, you, you shouldn’t-... someone who, um, who can’t... I'm, I'm fucked up, Laken."

“No one gets out of this life without some dings, baby,” Laken says, and their hand slips down, cups his jaw and gently encourages him to look up as they look down to meet his eyes. Theirs, always, are pools so deep and dark he can’t tell iris from pupil. Some of the long part of their hair falls forward, framing their face. “Nobody. Yours are a little rougher than some others, but I’ve got mine, too, you know? I love you, dings and all. We're fucked up but we're fucked up together."

“You don’t freeze.”

“No. I throw punches. And trust me, it’s not always the right response. Even if it feels good in the moment.”

“I, I, I wish I could fight.”

“You did.” Laken sighs, a low soft exhale, and he listens to the sound it within them as well as without. “You pushed her away. You said so yourself. You pushed her away and said no.”

“Not, not right away.”

“God, Chris. You’re even braver for fighting when your body is screaming at you not to. It’s not thoughtless, for you, like it is for me sometimes. You have to push past years of hurt in a couple of seconds. That’s big.”

“It, it, it feels… small.”

“Well, it’s not.” The firm matter-of-factness of their tone makes him smile, secretly, turning his head briefly so the expression is made against their sternum, the warmth of their skin that settles under his own.

“I’m going to to to to, um, to make, it, it harder on you,” He says, looking back up at them. He doesn’t like to look right into people’s eyes, never has, but it’s not so bad with them. Sometimes. And he knows they’ll let him look away when it’s too much. “You know? You, you should… you should maybe find someone else.”

“I should be there for the man I love,” Laken says, voice getting a little softer. There’s a clatter of metal steam-cups over by the counter, the baristas rinsing everything out during this slow time, when the nearly-overwhelming rain means no one is getting out of their car right now.

The two old men - Mr. Malley and Mr. Cilly - have gone back to their homes. It’s nearly lunchtime, and Chris’s stomach feels a little hollowed. He’ll get a scone in a little while, maybe. If he remembers.

“But... everyone who loves me dies, gets hurt, gets gets gets lost,” Chris whispers, feeling a sharp twist inside him. A grief and pain that was wiped away, pushed down by drugs but never fully destroyed. It rises in a wave to break against him, as if they have only just died, the two of them. His mother’s eyes fading as she told him it would be okay, in the end. His father had already been gone.

“That’s a goddamn lie,” Laken says, and there’s an insistence even in their half-whisper. “Jake’s still here. Nat’s still here. Antoni’s still here, Kauri’s still here. I’m still here. Hell, those weird old dudes seem to care about you and they’re still here, aren’t they?”

“But, but, but when I, when I tell everyone-”

“I’ll be right fucking there. Wherever you want me.”

“Everyone will know what I am.” They’re silent, but he can feel their correction behind their lips, barely held back, and he smiles, just a little. “Okay, okay. What I, um, what, what I had to do.”

“If that’s what you want to do, I support you. And I’m not turning away just because you’re doing something amazing, even if it’s dangerous.” They run a finger along his jaw, and their smile is bright, their teeth just slightly crooked in a way Chris loves. “I told you. My future is with you, and that’s a choice I made like a month after you said that you loved me the first time. I knew it was me and you, Chris. Whatever stands in our way, we’ll get through it.”

Chris blinks at them, thinking, and then his own smile widens. It’s still a little trembling, a little hesitant… but stronger. “Blow, um. Blow it apart and go through the wreckage.”

“What?” Laken blinks back at him.

He shakes his head, smiling and laying his ear back down over their heart, looking out the window at the driving rain. It’s made puddles in the parking lot, and he sees a bright white and red polka-dot umbrella as someone makes a mad dash for their car from the bookstore a few doors down.

“My mom,” He says, softly. “My, um. Mr. Malley said… my mom would, um, would would do that. If she couldn’t get over something, or around it, she’d… she’d she’d she’d go through it. Knock it it it it it down or, or, or, um, blow it up."

“Then let’s make like your mom,” Laken says, softly. “And blow WRU to bits and walk right through whatever’s left of their bullshit and build our life there. Take their wreckage and make a statue out of it. Or a hammer. Which we will then bash them with."

He laughs, against them, and they laugh, too.

He's missed the sound of their laughter so much.

When their hand moves down, he grabs onto it. Their fingers are warm, as always. Warm and dry, the perfect counterpoint to the weather. They press a kiss to his hair and he lets his eyes close, enjoying the feeling.

“Do, um. Do do do do you want to meet her?”

“Who?”

“My mom. And, um, I guess, I guess my dad, too. I I I I know where they are, now. Where they’re… they’re buried.”

Laken inhales sharply. “Since when?”

“Akio, um, told me. Do, do you want to… meet them?”

“Sure.” Laken hesitates, then adds in a kind of nervous feigned humor, “What if your mom doesn’t like me?”

Chris thinks of the woman in his mind, still fuzzy around the edges and with a voice he can only remember when he isn’t thinking too much about it. Dark hair and a bright laugh, holding him tightly when he needed it and letting him run when he needed that instead. The woman who went to every single practice and meet, who had been so excited for him to qualify for the national elite team alongside Akio. He can almost see her clearly, if he keeps his eyes closed and forces his way around the headache that still tries to push her back into the light.

“I think,” He murmurs, “She, she, she, she would have liked you. A lot. And and and and probably been mad it took me so, um, so so so long to bring you by."

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[infinitebells]

love me harder (a. miya)

angst because i felt like it.

“how long are ya gonna to keep this up?” osamu’s voice pulls you out of your own twisted reverie, and your head lazily turns to the side to face him. he knows the smile on your face is fake. he’s seen it a hundred times before, and he’ll see it a hundred times again.

“i don’t know what you’re taking about ‘samu,” you say quietly, shifting your focus back to the sight in front of you. you and osamu were seated on the bleachers in msby’s home stadium, watching the jackals celebrate their division victory. you could see bokuto and hinata jumping up and down with bright smiles plastered across their faces out of the corner of your eye, but only one person has your full attention. well, two.

miya atsumu stands with his arms around your best friend, one hand resting gently on the back of her neck as he presses a soft kiss to her forehead before swooping down to kiss her, opened mouth with a wide smile.

“ya know damn well what i’m talking about,” he murmurs. his voice is softer this time. he knows that being harsh with you won’t bring him anywhere.

“do you think he ever knew?” you turn away from the stomach churning sight to stare at osamu. you always admired how expressive his eyes were, even if his face remained impassive. it was one of the few things, besides their looks, that the mkay twins had in common. and right now, they swirled with pity. you can’t tell if it comforts or disgusts you.

he sighs, a hand running through the messy gray locks atop his head before standing up and holding a hand out to you.

“i’m not sure even you know the extent of your own feelings.”

———

you keep pace with osamu as you two go to the exit for the locker rooms, sitting down on a bench opposite of the door. his hand is on your head, fingers sifting through the strands as a motion of comfort. it’s a bittersweet feeling, knowing the love of your life’s twin is a better person to you than he’ll ever be.

“‘m sorry,” he says after a beat of silence.

“what for?” you turn in his grasp, palm still pressed flat against your head. your heart twists painfully as he smiles that fake smile that you know because it’s the same one you wear when you talk about atsumu.

“that he’s never loved ya the way ya deserve,” he whispers. it’s quiet in the still hallway, but you hear every word nonetheless. the shattering of your heart is muffled when you hear the telltale creak of the door swinging open. the giggles are what you register first, then the two red faces of atsumu and his fiancée. you’d be damned if you didn’t notice the smattering of red and purples bruises that matched across their necks.

“hey guys! thanks for waiting!” atsumu calls out cheerfully, walking over to you and osamu. his hand is tucked tightly against your friend’s, and osamu’s pointer finger rubs gentle circles across your scalp. he doesn’t need to be holding your hand to see how tightly you’re gripping the cold metal of the bench.

“ya’d complain fer days if we didn’t,” osamu scolds, standing up and grabbing your wrist to help you up as well. you’re scarily aware of the fact that every single one of them, your friend included, has at least a few inches on you.

“not true!” atsumu whines, and his fiancée turns to him and smacks the back of his head with her free hand lightly.

“stop whining and be appreciative that they’re here,” she says, before leaning forward to give you a one armed hug.

“it’s so good to see you! i feel like we haven’t talked in ages,” she gushes before pulling away. her hand never left atsumu’s. yours have stayed still at your sides, osamu’s hand still grasping your wrist tightly. you force a smile onto your face, pleased to see that neither her nor atsumu can see behind the mask.

“yeah, sorry, work has really been picking up lately with the end of the quarter coming up,” you explain.

“yeah but we’re yer best friends! ya gotta make time for us somehow,” atsumu pipes in. you’re grateful for the way osamu slides his hand to hold your own. it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

“i’m trying,” you say, and your smiles fades a bit. so does atsumu’s.

“well then try harder. ya can’t just go mia until the wedding y’know,” he protests, and osamu clears his throat before speaking again.

“ya can’t hound on someone for workin’ when all yer doin’ these days is volleyball shit,” he says, and you’re thankful that he’s diverted the attention away from you.

“it’s not shit ya asshole! it’s perfection,” he argues, and even you can’t help the small giggle that falls from your mouth. as painful as this is, atsumu never failed at making you smile.

“whatever ya say ya scrub,” osamu says, pushing atsumu’s shoulder with his free hand.

“alright moving on, what’s the plan?” your friend speaks up again, and you’re dreading what happens next.

“dinner at samu’s place!” atsumu says, nudging osamu before speaking again, “because he can bring onigiri!”

“you just talk to me for free food,” osamu deadpans, and atsumu scoffs.

“i do not!”

“do too.”

———

dinner is as expected. hopelessly dreary on your end, mixed with fake smiles and fake laughs. you’re beginning to wonder if this is what your life will be like from now on.

“alright! i have to go home early for my presentation tomorrow so i’ll see you at home baby,” your friend says, leaning down to kiss atsumu’s cheek before turning towards you. “text me this week, we need to have lunch ok?” you nod with a smile, watching as she steps out of the apartment. now it’s just you and atsumu, osamu having run off to the bathroom.

“i feel like we haven’t talked in ages!” he groans, shifting on the couch so that he’s fully facing you. you equally dread yet love the attention.

“sorry, just busy with work and all that,” you say, the smile coming easier this time.

“maybe ya should spend less time at work and spend more time tryin’ to find yerself a boyfriend!” he announces cheerily.

“easier said than done ‘tsumu,” you say, scared he’ll hear the way your voice trembles slightly.

“what’s that supposed ta mean?” of course he can tell when you’re upset. perks of knowing you since high school.

“not really into anyone who’s available right now,” you say loftily, praying to every god in existence that he’ll drop the subject.

“that’s available? ya tryin’ ta say ya got yer eye on someone who’s not?” he scoots closer, grabbing your chin and manually turning your head towards his. the little to no space between you two scares you so much that you can’t help the way you jump back, desperate to get away from him. you’re terrified if you’re that close again then you’ll do something you’ll 100% regret. his eyes widen at your own wide eyes and the look of terror across your face.

“don’t, please,” your voice is shaking now, and he scoots closer again to try and comfort you. you respond by pressing yourself into the arm of the couch as much as you can. you feel like there’s too much space yet not enough between the two of you.

“what’s wrong? did i do something?” his concerned look and worried expression is heartbreaking because you know none of this is his fault, yet you can’t help but be angry at him.

“i figured you’d know after all these years. turns out ‘samu is right though. you really don’t know,” you say, mirthful. his face twists up in confusion.

“what? what don’t i know?” he thankfully stays on his side of the couch this time.

“nothing, it’s fine,” you try to play off the words spoken in a moment of weakness, but you know he won’t accept that.

“it’s not fine because you’re on the verge of tears right now,”

“i already said it’s nothing atsumu, please accept that,”

“no because it’s not nothing!”

“atsumu ple-“

“ITS NOT FUCKING NOTHING WHEN YOU’RE CRYING LIKE THAT!”

“atsumu enough!” osamu’s voice is what shakes you from your state of emotional hell, and you nearly choke on a sob.

“do you know why?” he turns to face his brother. apprehension is painted across osamu’s face.

“it’d be better if you didn’t hear it from me,” he says carefully.

“bullshit just someone tell me what goi-“

“i’m in love with you, you selfish prick!” you sob, the tears falling freely now. it feels as though a dam has broken, and everything you’ve been holding back for years is finally washing across you, painting you in an ugly gray of pure depression. atsumu turns slowly to face you, and you take note of how his eyes are suddenly not as expressive as his brother’s are.

“what?” his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard.

“i’m not repeating myself because i know you heard. and i’m tired of having to fake everything that comes out of my mouth around you. so this is me baring all of myself because i can’t keep doing this,” you sob out, and you take note of the fact that osamu is conveniently no longer in the living room. “just tell me if you’ve ever felt the same, or even known, because i need some peace of mind,” you please. his silence is all the answer you need. he watches with empty eyes as you stand up, slipping into your shoes.

“please don’t expect me to be at the wedding. i know i’m friends with you both but i can’t take that kind of pain,” you say, tear tracks shining in the low light. for the first time in months, your bittersweet smile doesn’t feel so fake. he scrambled off the couch at that, running to you and grabbing your hand harshly. that’s when you see the unshed shine of tears pooling in his lower lash.

“n-no, ya can’t just not come, w-we’re like family,” his voice is trembling, but it doesn’t come close to how hard your hands are shaking in his own.

“that’s why i can’t come. because i’ll always be family to you,” you say softly before slipping out of his grasp and into the hallway. osamu’s apartment door closes with a soft thud behind you. as you walk to the elevators, you’re keenly aware of how numb everything feels.

———

five months later you’re scrolling through facebook, legs propped up on osamu’s. the pictures from atsumu’s wedding are plastered all across the app, and his smile has never looked brighter before.

you tap the like button without thinking, before shutting your phone off and closing your eyes. your head leans back into the arm of the couch, and the ache in your heart throbs in time with your heartbeat.

[nctsjiho]

Heart-to-Heart

warnings: mentions of the pandemic and about mental health, but we don’t go deep into the topic (I hope you are pulling through loves🤍💚🤍 Stay healthy!)

❀  JiHo opens up about her past and how she’s currently feeling

JiHo waits a few seconds for the comments to roll in to make sure she’s live before bringing her hand up and waving at the camera. She looks a lot more tired than normal, but that could be because it was currently 3 in the morning.

It looks like she’s sitting on a couch or maybe even her bed with her knees close to her sweater clad chest. The hood of the sweater hiding her hair and ears with the strings tied tightly at the neckline.

“Why are you awake this early?” She hums after reading the question. A smile starting to form on her lips before she answers. “I’ve been up all night playing games with Haechan, Chenle and Jeno.” She chuckles.

“Everyone. My hair has become so long.” JiHo starts to undo the strings of her hoodie and uncovers her head. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, which she also undoes to show her hair longer than it had ever been (during her time in NCT at least). The strands of hair fall to her chest and she cards her hands trough it. “I would usually cut it by now, but I’m too lazy to go to the salon.” She sheepishly grins. “And I’m actually starting to like it a little, what do you guys think?”

It’s been a while since the fans had seen JiHo’s hair like this. Messy with her natural curls much more visible. “I love your hair unnie!” JiHo laughs at the comment before thanking the fan. “I like your short hair, but the long hair is also really pretty.”

“Did you celebrate Ten’s birthday?” She reads out. “There’s a lot of birthdays in February so I tried to do something for every birthday boy. I’ve already wished Ten a happy birthday and gave him his gift, but this year I could only really celebrate with the boys who I live with.” She nods to herself, hoping the fans would understand.

While reading comments on her phone a creaking noise could be heard, JiHo’s gaze moving to her side. “Is there something?” She asks, followed by footsteps that become gradually louder. “I saw the light from the hallway so I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall asleep with the lights on.” It was Taeyong’s voice. The girl nods and then looks at the screen in front of her. Taeyong moves into frame while asking if she was live on V App. “Yes, I was playing with the dreamies earlier and then wanted to go live for a little.” She explains and the leader hums in reply. “Don’t stay up too late okay? Bye everyone.” Taeyong leaves, but not before patting JiHo on the shoulder, somewhat using the girl’s shoulder as leverage to help him stand up.

“How are you today?” An English comment catches JiHo’s eye and she reads it out loud. A deep sigh leaves her lips and she looks back into the camera. “It’s not that I’m feeling bad, I’m just really tired lately. I got sick before our gimme gimme comeback because I was so exhausted. But don’t worry I’m better now. I just think the situation we’re in right now with the pandemic is taking a toll on my body and mental health. Luckily I have NCT with me and they all try to help each other feel better.” A genuine smile covers the slight frown she sported while talking. “I’m not an expert and I’m pretty bad at giving advice, but if you’re feeling down please reach out to someone. They might not be able to help much either, but just talking about how you feel is so much better than keeping everything to yourself. I also hope that NCT can be a light in your day whenever you feel down. We still have a lot of content going out on YouTube and our music is always there for you to listen to.”

The live stream had really taken a turn. With JiHo reading out a lot of comments and sympathising with the fans, every now and than trying to lighten the mood by cracking a dumb joke. The jokes were never funny, but JiHo was slowly getting sleep-drunk and everything started to seem funny to her. Despite that she couldn’t change the overall mood of the V Live, with comments still as sombre as before.

“I live with my roommates but I still feel lonely, sometimes I just miss my family.” As she reads the comment, something in JiHo’s eyes changes. Her soft expression falls into almost a frown, the word ‘family’ coming out as only a whisper. It’s quiet for the next minute or so, the fans clearly picking up on something as comments flood in about her family or asking if everything was alright.

It’s clear that the girl is trying to hide her true feelings as she forces a smile back on her face.”Don’t worry everyone, I’m fine.” She laughs softly. “I’ve never talked about my family right?” JiHo can’t even keep her eyes on the camera. “I don’t really talk to them a lot.” She realises how people could misinterpret the meaning behind those words and shoots up in her seat. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not on bad terms with my family. I’m just not really close to them either.”

“I moved to Korea on my own when I was almost 14, I spent that birthday here with some of the trainees I used to live with.” She smiles at the fond memory and the fans in the comments seem to be more at ease after seeing her smile so genuinely. “Before that I used to live with my grandparents for most of my life. So I’m closest to them, and I call them at least once a month. It used to be a lot more but now I usually just message them.”

“I have a lot of friends in France though and we video chat a lot.” She laughs and tells a story about a late night video call session where they played Jack Box together. “I do miss them a lot, so I hope I get to see them in real life after the pandemic is over.”

“What about your parents? My parents? It’s a bit complicated.” She takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I lived with them for 4 years before my mother got really sick. She needed special treatment, and my dad got a big job opportunity. The moved together because she’d be closer to a hospital where they could help her even better. That’s when i moved in with my grandparents and I could stay close to my friends and the rest of my family.”

“When I was 11, my mother was healthy again and so we all moved back in together close to my grandparent’s home. It was a little awkward at first.” JiHo brings her hand up to scratch her scalp, her head drooping down for a second. “I only lived with them for 2 more years before I got scouted, so we didn’t get really close again. But they were always so supportive of me, so they still feel like my real parents.”

“They even host parties every now and then to celebrate new albums or milestones NCT achieves, and then they’ll send me pictures and tell me that they are proud of me.” The fans who were all listening intently had resorted to spamming the comments with hearts and an occasional ‘aww’. “I sometimes think that if I didn’t get scouted I’d be really close to my parents now and I’d have such an amazing childhood. Not that I haven’t had a great childhood already.”

That last comment had just left her mouth without much thought and people started to fill the comments with questions again. “Don’t say that, otherwise NCT wouldn’t have you in it” JiHo laughs before explaining herself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I think getting scouted is the best thing that ever happened to me. NCT and Czennie are like my second family. Please forgive me.” She brings her palms together in front of her face and bows, a bright smile clearly visible. JiHo then moves her hands away from each other before twisting her fingers into 2 finger-hearts. “I love you guys.”

Though she didn’t tell the fans everything about her past and her life in France was still a big mystery, everyone seemed pleased to know more about their neo girl. JiHo, herself, even felt a bit relieved like she lifted a big weight off her shoulders by telling her about her past and how she was feeling.

She knew now that she could trust her fans with a few more personal things. What she didn’t know though, was that her roommates had also been watching her live stream and just as she was about to end the stream on a high note, 4 boys barge in her room, with the tallest and the youngest of the four launching themselves on the girl.

“Ack-” She shrieks, surprised by the sudden appearance of her roommates. “What’s going on?” “Hmm, I’m so proud of you!” Haechan had JiHo’s shoulders locked in his arms and he was squeezing her tightly. “We’re all proud of you.” Doyoung had said from behind the camera.

The girl rests her head against Johnny’s chest, acting as if she was trying to get as far as possible from her same-aged-friend who was still holding on to her. “Okay! Okay! I think we’re good now. You guys can leave.” JiHo shoos the boys away and Johnny takes the hint, ruffling the girls hair before leaving with the 2 men who weren’t trying to suffocate the youngest. “Haechan~” She whines and the boy mutters something about letting him do his thing a little longer.

She had managed to wedge her hand out his hold and started to push him by his chest and head. When she realised he wasn’t budging she just gave up, her body going limp and now she was almost leaning into his embrace. “Czennie, see what I have to live with. He only hugs me on camera, otherwise he’s only bullying me.” Haechan gasps letting the girl go. “The audacity! JiHo is a liar.” He places his hands on his chest where his heart would be and feigns being hurt. He gets a shake of JiHo’s head in response before she ends her stream by telling the fans that they should take care of themselves and their loved ones.

[anyoneseenadam]

Ahhh can u plz write some fluff with Mor? The fandom is starving AND THANK UUUU 🥰😘😍🤩😛

pairing: Morrigan x reader (acotar)

warnings; kissing and exam stress but asides from that it’s pure fluff :))

a/n: kissing girls man, hits different. this is quite short I’m sorry I have lot’s of study to do but I wanted to get something out! hope you like it <3 (this was also heavily inspired by cmbyn cause I’m re-reading it) 

---------------------------------------------------

“Or are ‘being’ and ‘having’ thoroughly inaccurate verbs in the twisted skein of desire, where having someone’s body to touch and being that someone we’re longing to touch are one and the same, just opposite banks on a river that passes us to them, back to us and over to them again in perpetual circuit.”

“Stop looking at me like that.” You said, not taking your eyes off the page in front of you, the words not quite reaching your brain, and you read the paragraph again. Your neck ached and you could feel the beginning of a headache forming in your temples, the look your girlfriend was giving you from your bed was not helping.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ as she stood and walked over to you, slinging her arms over you shoulders and reading the meticulous notes you had been taking, her cheek pressed against your own. “Come to bed baby, you’ve been working all day and you barely slept last night.”

She was correct of course. You had final exams coming up that you had to pass if you wanted to become a qualified teacher but that meant many nights without sleep and without quality time in the arms of your lover. You had stayed up into the early hours of the morning the previous night and were up again to start working at seven. You leaned back into her warm touch, your eyes closing for a second before you forced yourself to concentrate.

“Later, I promise, I just want to finish this chapter,”

“You said that an hour ago,” you laughed and brought her hand to your mouth kissing it before pushing her away, picking up your pen and continuing with your notes. She kissed your forehead before collecting the empty dishes and mugs that were sat next to you, taking them to the kitchen to wash, you zoned out as she left, listening to her move about the kitchen, the domestic sounds soothing your hectic mind. But soon she was back, carrying two steaming mugs and with a bag of your favourite crisps under her arm. She placed everything down, smiling at the pout you had on your face, brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of your notes, your own words confusing you, before walking over to you and closing your book.

“Hey!” you whined as she picked you up, walking you to your bed and placing you down again.

“You’ve been working all day I’m sure you’ll survive,” she muttered, passing you a mug that smelled of chamomile, the relaxing flower making you sigh contentedly as you inhaled it, watching as Mor move around your room, collecting baggy clothes, pillows, and blankets. You loved seeing her like this, she was always beautiful, but when she was only wearing your over sized clothes and with her long hair piled on top of her head, face clean of makeup but glowing, you fell just a bit harder. Her natural beauty was something you almost wished you could frame, something you wanted to keep with you at all times, wishing you could always hold her to your chest tightly, fearful that if you didn’t she may leave.

She wouldn’t though, she was just as enamoured with you as you were with her. You were her sunshine, her angel and since she had first seen you she was filled with a desperate urge to protect that light. You hadn’t even met her family yet, and while she partially felt guilty for that, she simply wanted to keep you as close as she could for as long as she could, her overprotective nature making her want to keep you for herself, like a child with their favourite toy. However the bags under your eyes and your bitten, chapped lips hurt her to see, so she was determined to get her sunshine back, through a practiced method of cuddles and selfcare.

You sipped your tea as she threw an oversized sweater at you followed by your favourite shorts, before moving to the bathroom to do cauldron knows what. You placed your mug on the beaded coaster you kept on your bed side unit and changed into your clothes, before standing and moving to tidy away your books and numerous coloured pens.

“(y/n)!” you heard Mor call in a sing-song voice and you placed your books away, moving to the bathroom where you saw her triumphantly holding the face masks the two of you had impulsively bought from a recent market you went to. You smiled and went to her as she motioned you to sit in the empty bath, you giggled and did as you were told as she followed suit. When you were both sat comfortably, she straddled your waist and tied your hair away from your face gently, with so much love and care you leaned up to press a kiss against her mouth. She reciprocated quickly, lips moving against yours like a well-practiced dance, the two of you working in perfect tandem, tongues moving languidly with one another, neither of you feeling the need to rush. You slid a hand around her the back of her neck as she let a soft whimper into the kiss, making you grinn against her mouth. You had missed this, the feel of her pressed against you, the busy days you had been spending making you forget just how well you worked together, the way your breaths synced, and your limbs never got in the way, both loving the other while simultaneously being the other. Knowing exactly how the other worked. How the other moved, as if you were controlling her and she, you.

Mor pulled away, breathless, cheeks flushed, and you grinned lazily up at her, loving the effect you always had on her.

“I missed this,” she said, kissing your nose gently and gazing at you lovingly, before scooping out the creamy paste, and smearing it over your face.

“I know, I’m sorry but exams are almost over and then I’ll be all yours,” you smiled at her as she finished, wiping her hands on a wet cloth as you took the pot from her hands and massaged it onto her face as well, her sighs music to your ears. When you were finished you both stood and made your way back to your bedroom, curling into each other with your mugs as you asked her about her day.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with them,” she laughed as she told you that her family were all still pestering her to meet you.

“I mean maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing,”

“Spoken like someone who hasn’t met them,” you laughed as she continued, “I mean I only came out a few months ago and I really like having something to myself, I feel like I’ve always had to share with everyone. I don’t know is that selfish?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I’m still going to be yours after I meet them, maybe we should just rip of the plaster. I’m sure none of them are nearly as charming or beautiful as you are anyway.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,”

“Well one of us has to be,” you squealed as her hand’s dugs into your sides, seeking out the points that made you squirm, desperately trying to get out of her grip, empty mugs long forgotten on the floor next to your bed and face masks washed away. You wrestled around as you tried to gain the upper hand, however the highly trained female won with ease, pressing a sloppy kiss on your cheek much to your dismay as she cheered over her victory.

She stared down at you in awe as your eyes sparkled, wondering how she managed to find the most beautiful girl in the world and somehow be lucky enough to be with her. You were in just as much awe, pushing a strand of long, blonde hair behind her ear, huffing a laugh when she nuzzled into your hand before collapsing on top of you, her face nestled in between your breasts, pressing a kiss into the right one and whispering a soft ‘I love you.’

You pulled her hair out of the bun it was in, knowing she would wake up with a headache if it remained up all night and Mor’s heart ached at the subtle display of love, the show of just how much you listened, how well you knew her. You then proceeded to massage her scalp gently as the two of you lay listening to the world moving outside, the distant chatter of people going home on the street below you or the faint music you could hear from a nearby bar lulling you into a trance like state, where the only thing that mattered was your other half, the person you loved and the person you became.

Soon you noticed Mor had fallen asleep and smiled at her cute snores, your hands continued to trail up and down her back as you too slowly drifted into a well-deserved sleep. Your heart easy, and head at peace as you lay with the girl you loved tucked safely in your arms. No one else there to separate your entwined souls. 

[icollectyoursins]

Holy shiiiiiiit! Asnsks, I love your blog! Thank you for this amazing content! 😍❤️ Could I please request an Abbacchio x fem! Reader, where she tries to convince him to role play as a police officer for her? Thank yooou! (also, I'm sorry for my terrible English) 💮

No, absolutely I can write that! I have no idea how to do role play (which, you would think as someone training to be an actor, I would, but I just don’t get it.) However, I also said I didn’t see the point of liking Kira and after writing that I discovered so many things about myself. I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me, ahah.

Update as of finished writting: This awakened something in me, hence the length. Oops.

You may have bitten off more than you can chew with asking Leone Abbacchio to dabble in robber/cop role play. Your fantasy has become a reality, however you’re starting to think the power is getting to his head (in the best way possibly, of course).

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Role play (obviously), handcuffs, man-handling, fingering, making the reader taste their own uh... juices?? (I don’t know what to call it), spanking, dildos (not masturbation, but used on reader, I just can’t remember what it’s called), rough sex, cream pie.

Word Count: 1794

Oh, dear.

     “Oh, come on! It could be fun,” you wrapped your arms around Abbacchio’s waist, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Trying to convince him to role play with you was proving harder than expected. He was more than apprehensive to indulge in your fantasy, but the look in your eyes and the sway of your hips had him weak, only one more word away from breaking to your will. “What could go wrong? Me, in handcuffs, helpless. You could do whatever you wanted.”

     He huffed, looking away from you, clearly blushing. You would look so good bare in front of him, hands behind your back, ass red from smacking it so much. He could already feel something churning in him. “Fine.”

     Your face lit up at your victory, standing up on your toes to peck him on the lips. “But, no clothes.” You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I’m going out, I want you to be here. All day. No clothes. Try not to do anything suspicious.”

     Oh... oh, no. Warmth spread through your core as well as on your face as you nodded, grinning. 

-----------

     True to your word, you spent the entire day after that wearing nothing, opting to spend most of the time under a blanket until he sent you a message saying he was on his way. At that point, you walked around the house, putting things out of place, hiding things, you know, normal criminal stuff.

     You were in the kitchen when he gets home. The minute he steps in, you can feel energy change in the air. It’s serious all of the sudden, sending excitement down your spine. There was no mistaking, he’s going to be hunting your ass (possibly quite literally). In a spur of the moment decision, you hide behind one of the walls so you’re out of view. You can hear his footsteps as they walk into the living room, away from you. A breath of relief rushes through you, but you can’t help shaking, whether it was the cold or excitement, you don’t know, but you hoped he couldn’t hear you.

     Abbacchio looked around his living room, noticing little bits and bobbles missing. Whoever “broke in” to his house left the valuables, thank god, at least in this room, perhaps he should check in the kitchen? Soft, slow footsteps made their way towards your hiding place. You couldn’t help shyly covering yourself when you heard him round the corner, stopping at the entrance.

     He knew were there, but just to tease you; make you wait, he looked the other way towards the window. Hands in pockets, he walked over to it, closing the curtains. It doesn’t take long to notice the clinking of metal on his hips as well as the shine. Handcuffs, proper handcuffs. You also noticed the bag hanging off his hand. From what you could make out in the plastic, there was something very long and very pink.

     Leone hears a shift behind him, then turns around to see what made it. The sight he saw would have knocked any other man onto his knees. He knew better. A woman he had never met standing in his kitchen completely bare. She hadn’t even had the decency to properly cover her tits. He narrows his eyes, sighing.

     There was something in the way he looked at you that made you feel so small and afraid. You broke into a run, turning around the corner and up the stairs, holding your breasts so they wouldn’t slap. God knows that is the last need you needed. A sore chest from-

     Hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into something solid, then pinning you against the wall. You’d only made it to the bottom of the stairs when he caught you. He placed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, snatching one of your hands, twisting it behind you. You let out a mix between a gasp and a moan as he growls in your ear.

     “You’ve got some nerve,” he trailed a hand across your back, down your side and then to the front of your crotch, lightly teasing the outside of your lips. “Were your hoping I wouldn’t be home? Thought you could take what you wanted and then leave, thief?”

     “I’m not a-”

     “Don’t deny it. Do you know who I am?” Abbacchio presses into you, lips brushing against the crook of your neck.

     “N-no.”

     “So, you don’t know you’re stealing from an officer? And poorly, at that.”

     “Uh-no.”

     “Tch, pathetic. What? Did you decide to get off while you were here? Thought you’d have time?”

     “This is an abuse of power,” you say shakily. He laughs lowly.

     “No. This is an abuse of power,” he grabs your other hand, pinning them to your lower back. You hear the clinking of metal and then a cold around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to move; to escape, but he was too strong, pushing harder into you as a warning. You’re trapped now, there was no way to get out of this. What was your safe word again?

     Leone’s hand returns to your vagina, from the other side this time, groping your ass cheek on the way down. You hadn’t even realized how wet you were until you heard the squelch of his finger pressing into you lightly. He chuckles again, pulling his finger back, putting it in his mouth. He hums at the taste. 

     “What a tasty thing you are, thief. Is this what you wanted? To be bound and fucked? What a whore.” He turns you around, quickly lifting you up over his shoulder. You kick your legs for a bit, but soon discover that it’s pointless. He’s going to do whatever he wants with you and you fucking love it.

     He walks into the living room, stopping at the arm of your couch, setting you down and then flipping you around, pushing you over it so your ass is in the air. You hear some shuffling behind you, then in mere seconds, his fingers are back on your slick entrance sliding up and down, putting extra attention in to your little bundle of nerves, pushing harder against your clit. Occasionally, he changes the direction, keeping his rough fingers on your bud, swiping back and forth before returning to your wet, needy hole.

     You moan loudly, pushing back against him. Your moan is met with a firm smack against your plush cheeks. Abbacchio wraps his hand in your hair, pulling you up so your back arches. 

     “Do that again,” he growls. You furrow your brows and are about to say something when you feel something large against your entrance. It’s cold, plasticy. He’s not going to-

     Your thought is cut off by the thing pushing into you, making you mewl. The tip goes in, but then he pulls it out, only to push it back in, deeper. The process repeats until what you now know is a long dildo is almost fully in you. Your face is red and your scalp sore from how long he’s been holding you there. He lets go, letting you flop to the soft cushions. 

     He moves to your side, bringing the dildo to your lips. You open your mouth willingly, eyes rolling back at the taste of yourself on it. Abbacchio mumbles something about you being a whore, but you’re not sure, not that you’d mind. At this point, it was well past being confirmed. He smacks your ass again, then gropes it which makes you jerk forward, taking just a little bit more of it in your mouth. His hand continue to come down on your cheeks until they’re red and there’s a visible bulge in your throat. 

     The dildo is removed from your throat far too soon, a string of drool still connects you to it. You pant, barely calling out his name when he walks behind you, tossing the pink thing away. The sound of his clothes coming off is unmistakable. You’re already so out of energy, but there’s something in you that never wants this to end. He rubs his thumb down your slick again.

     “Is this what you wanted, puttana?” You whine, nodding your head. “I better make this worth your while, then, shouldn’t I?”

      You nod again. “Please.”

     You feel the tip of his cock tease your entrance. “Please what?”

     “Please~ah. Please fuck meee~” He chuckles darkly, then slams his length into you in one quick motion. You scream, voice cracking. His hands wrap around your handcuffs, using them as a handle while he pounds into you, pulling out completely, then filling you again. Eventually, his thrusts are so powerful that he’s using your own momentum to fuck you. 

     You’re not aware of what you’re saying, but you know words are coming out of your mouth, babbling like an idiot as he fucks out every brain cell you have. Abbacchio hears every word, though. And he loves it.

      “Ah! Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me, please. Oh, don’t stop. God YES, don’t stop! Abbacchio, ~uuuh.~ Leone!” Fuck, he was getting close. All he wanted to do right now was fill your walls with his seed. He groaned. Thinking of our cum dripping out of you drove him insane. He let go of the handcuffs, doubling over you, picking up the pace of his hips.

     The feeling of his cock pounding into your walls over and over and over again quickly drove you over the edge, orgasm washing over you in a white sheet. Your walls spammed down on Abbacchio, clamping down on him tightly, your juices flooding over the side and down his leg sent him flying into his own release, spilling into you. The combined feeling of your cum and his leaking out of you had both of your heads spinning. 

     To him, it was everything he imagined it would be. He pulled out, breathless at the sight, not even realizing he was moaning at it. Your handcuffs were undone, not that you noticed. You were too fucked out at this point. After he briefly cleaned you up with a warm towel, he pulled you into his arms, keeping you close to him while you relaxed on the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

     Guilt started to settle in his chest as he kissed your forehead. 

     “You’re on the pill, right?” He asked, trying to hide his concern.

     “IUD, but yeah. Don’t worry about it.” You felt him relax as you said that. You opened your eyes a crack, then laughed.

     “What?”

     “The curtains were open,” you laughed dreamily. Leone looks over and sure enough, your curtains were wide open and the window was open just a crack.

     “Shit.” He grumbled. He was never going to hear the end of this.

----

Translations:

puttana = slut

[vesuvian-american-fics]

better with time. Ch 2

less than favorable. 

As you become more acquainted with Captain Levi, finding him unpleasant is quite the understatement. (AO3)

Words: 1,858

A bead of sweat rolled down your forehead as you stared back at the man before you. He was short in stature but nevertheless very intimidating. His pale fair skin looked even more porcelain in contrast to his shiny raven black hair that was styled so neatly, his thin brown drawn together in a frown, his dark eyes narrowing as the silence drew on.  

He kicked the bars of your cell harshly, making you jump violently, pressing yourself further into the corner until you couldn’t retreat any further.

“Answer me when I speak to you.” He ordered. There was another pause before you remembered what he asked you. Who are you? You racked your mind for the answer, and as you opened your mouth to finally respond you found no noise followed.  

You grasped tightly at your throat at the realization. Where is your voice?! Panic making your tremble you tried to speak again and still, no sound.

“Oi! Enough with the games.” He said, losing his patience rather quickly. You shook your head wildly and pointed to your neck until he seemed to catch on.  

“You can’t speak?” Levi cocked his brow at you, unamused as he didn’t believe your story. You nodded your head fast and tried again to speak, your heart rate picking up. Why now, why can’t you speak? Maybe going for who knows how long without speaking did a number on your vocal cords, weakening them to the point you were mute.  

Levi sucked his teeth in annoyance and without another word, he left and you listened closely as he ascending the stairs that were just out of your line of sight. So, you were underground huh? That explains why it’s so chilly down here. The minutes passed, the silence did nothing to alleviate your mounting anxiety. Without warning, loud rushed stomping sounds cascaded down the stairs at alarming speed. Fear crawled up your spine, as your eyes darted around for any place to hide. Just as you were about to throw yourself underneath the sheets on your bed, a childish effort really, two hands gripped onto the bars of your cell harshly.

“You’re awake!” They exclaimed, pushing they’re head between the bars to get a closer look at you. You froze, slowly craning your neck to look behind you and see who sounded so eager to see you. A brunette that wore thick glasses, eyes sparkling with interest and a feverish blush spreading across their tanned cheeks.  

Your face twisted in confusion, your eyes slid over to the man that stood next to this new character and back to the brunette.  

“What’s your name?” They shouted; you could practically feel the excitement flowing off of them in waves. It was refreshing though you were still on guard with this situation you found yourself in.  

You thought for a moment before drawing a blank. You shrugged your shoulders, before looking sheepishly between to two people before you. You don’t remember your name, really. You felt your heart drop, the more you tried to remember the more holes in your memory that you discovered.

“Oh...” They sounded a bit disappointed in that, but quickly bounced back.

“I’m Hange Zoë, and this is Captain Levi." Finally, having names for the two calmed you just a bit. Hange seemed kind, much more refreshing than their grumpy counterpart.  

Levi huffed, seeming not too keen on the fact that you know his name now. You frowned at that before returned your attention to Hange.

“I hear you lost your voice?” They said, more focused on the task at hand now. They took a step back from your cell and retrieved a notepad and pen from their lab coat, ready to record anything.

You nodded in response, before sitting yourself on your bed. From there, Hange continued to question you, and you attempting to answer the best you could.  

“Why don’t you give her the notepad so she can actually give a proper response, idiot.” Levi suggested, a tired look in his eye. He must have grown bored with the game of charades before him. The idea wasn’t so bad, you had to admit, it would make things a lot easier and you were excited to finally explain your side of the story in detail.  

Without waiting for a response, Levi snatched the pen and notepad from Hange’s grip and tossed them into the cell. Of course, he couldn’t give you the respect of handing it off to your properly. You shot him a glare before dropping to your knees to collect the items, sitting back on your bed you huff at his actions before looking at the page before you.

Hange’s handwriting, you couldn’t read a single word of it, and not just because of how sloppy it was. The words looked completely foreign to you and yet you still knew it was your language. You just couldn’t understand a single thing, and then you realized something else. If you didn’t know how to read anymore, how could you write? Your mind was empty, frustration boiling inside. Just how many skills did you lose in your time as a titan?

You balled up your fists and brought them to your head, giving yourself a few good whacks before attempting to read again. Still, nothing was coming to you. Angry tears clouded your vision, you looked back up to Hange and tossed your hands into the air in defeat.  

Hange’s eyebrows rose in alarm.  

“You can't, speak, you can’t read, and you can’t write?” They asked inquisitively. Feeling dejected you nodded your head as you wiped your tears on your blouse. Slowly you rose from where you were seated and handed off the notepad and pen back to Hange. Understanding and kind as they seemed to be, Hange placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing minute circles there with their thumb.  

“Don’t look so sad, this just makes it all the more fun for me to figure you out!” They said, that was more so good news for themself than for you but still, it made you smile and silently chuckle. This was still leagues better than being a titan, and surely, with time you can easily relearn these skills.

Levi rolled his eyes before stalking out of the basement. Halfway up the stairs he turned back to Hange and spoke.  

“Get her a bath, she looks like shit.” He spat before you heard, rather than saw him ascend the rest of the stares. Your mouth fell open at his insult, the nerve of that guy. He was so rude and off putting. You hated him!  

Hange laughed a bit at your reaction before unlocking your cell and leading you up the stairs and towards the washroom. On the way you passed a large room where many other people sat, eating and talking amongst themselves. Your eyes scanned over their faces and none of them noticed your presence in the moment your walked across the doorway. That is until your eyes locked on a pair of vibrant emerald eyes. In that split moment, there felt like there was a secret understanding between the two of you, it was unnerving but just as quickly as you saw him, you were pulled away further down the corridor.

Finally, at the end of the hall you were met with a large wooden tub. It had been so long since you’ve taken a proper bath and the steaming water that was waiting for you looked to be so inviting. You were snapped from your thoughts as Hange spoke.

“For safety purposes, I won't be leaving.” Hange stated matter-of-factly, they almost looked more eager than you. You scrunched your face at the lack of privacy but you understood. At least there was a partition so you could undress with a little peace of mind.  

Sliding into the bath water you silently sighed, hearing the splashing of water die down, Hange turned around to face you once more. In their hand was a bottle of a fragrant liquid, seeing the confusion in your expression they explained.  

“Shampoo. I'm sure you want your hair washed free of all that titan gunk.” You grinned, bobbing your head up and down in appreciation and agreement. Little did you know just how rough Hange’s hands would turn out to be.

<3

Levi decided to check up on Hange seeing at they still hadn’t brought you back down to the cellar. Fearing the worst, he rushed into the washroom without knocking and there he found you, still in the bath fighting to keep your head above water as Hange torturously scrubbed your scalp.  

Your arms flailed around as they tried in vain to find purchase against the rim of the tub and hold yourself up. Hange, too busy talking your ear off hadn’t noticed you struggling underneath their ministrations. Hange often got lost in their own world when they discussed titans, science, and their research, it was their favorite past time. Levi found it secretly amusing but he didn’t want you drowning at Hange’s hand, at least not before he figured you out.

“Oi! Keep scrubbing like that and she won’t have any hair left on her head.” He interjected, making Hange jump as they hadn’t even realized Levi had entered the room.  

“O-oh! Sorry!” Hange snatched their calloused hands from your head and your you winced as your caressed your scalp after that wicked assault. Flustered at how carried away they got Hange pat your head apologetically, before helping your stand. Levi quickly turned his back to you, giving you privacy before barking out another order.  

“Clean this place up too, don’t want her germs infecting the place.” He said was he waved his hand around lazily, gesturing to your filthy clothes that littered the floor.  You huffed at his attitude before wrapping a towel around your frame, and hiding behind the partition as you waited for Hange to find you new fresh clothes. Two sets of footsteps left you alone in the washroom, and not long after, you heard Hange rush back inside with a new blouse and skirt for you to wear.  

“Sorry about that again.” Hange said as they scratched nervously at the back of their head, you waved off their apology before dressing yourself. Taking a look at yourself in the mirror you smiled at the outfit before reaching for your boots and lacing them up. Just as you did, your stomach growled loudly, your face growing hot in embarrassment at the sound. How many years has it been since you had a proper meal?

One that wasn’t human flesh that is.

Hange chuckled before patting your back roughly, knocking the wind out of you.

“No worries, I'll bring you food down to your cell! We don’t serve human though, sorry.” They poked at your side and laughed at their own joke as you pouted and shot Hange a playful glare. Your expression softened though, Hange didn’t seem to be afraid of you, and though you were in less than favorable circumstances, you felt you may end up having a little bit of fun here.  

[theskywaslookingback]

2020 is almost over and I just wanted to share some of my favorite lines from fics that I’ve worked on this year. No particular order because I’m bad about remembering when I started and finished a piece.

Jon’s flat is cold and musty. It’s obvious from the moment they step inside that it hasn’t been occupied in some time. The curtains are pulled tight over the windows, the light from the street peeking around the edges with a hazy yellow hue. Dishes have been left in the dry rack, a mug on the counter containing something that might have once been tea. It’s stifling in its bareness, empty walls and heavy bookshelves. The only point of warmth comes from two hands clasped together in desperation. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

Jon wants to pull him closer, let Martin crawl into the skin of him until they are not two but one and Martin never feels lonely again. - doubt, these are the ways that i love you series

“It’s just Daisy,” Jon says, “she’s not- she won’t hurt us.” The end lilts upward like a question. Light roves under his clothes, the cloth wrapped snugly around his face. All of his eyes flickering back and forth between hunter and lover. Each time they land on her it feels like a blade. It feels like a kiss. - home and safety, apocalypse now series

“Love you,” Gerry breathes, because he can. He’s too full of it to hold it inside of himself anymore. He always has been. - 3AM, visible world series

“If I step on your foot,” Martin says tightly. “I’ll step on yours back, Blackwood.” Laughter crashes out of him like a battering ram and Martin presses closer, pulls Gerry in tighter and lets himself be guided around the kitchen in clumsy circles. - Summer Air, visible world series

“You know, you could just go to a salon.” Jon says, but he’s already standing and reaching for the box. “This is cheaper.” “I know. You can tell.” “Hey--” -6PM, Saturday Night, visible world series

“Jon, no person’s desires are consistent from day to day. You’re always allowed to change your mind.” “But even I don’t always know,” Jon says thickly, “that’s-- you’ll get tired of it. Or Gerry will. And I’ll be--” “Stop that.” Martin says, but it doesn’t feel like an admonishment. Like everything about Martin it sounds kind and measured. “You are so, so hard on yourself, you know that?” Jon knows. “Yes.” “Love is not easy,” Martin says, “especially for people like us. We’ve had to work for this, all three of us, every day of our lives. I’m not going to get tired of you. I’m not going to be upset if boundaries change. I’m just going to learn the new rules, over and over, as many times as are needed.” Martin drops down to press their foreheads together and Jon feels his eyes close involuntarily. “I love you. I choose to love you, and I will continue choosing to love you every day for the rest of my life. Okay?” - Abrupt, visible world series

There is something between Gerry and Martin that Jon doesn’t understand, though not for lack of trying. He can see it now, in the tremble of Martin’s jaw and sudden sober wakefulness on Gerry’s face. He tries not to feel that familiar awkward ache in his chest that reminds him there will always be things about his partners that he doesn’t understand. - Intimacy, visible world series

“Why?” Jon asks. It sounds startled out of him, like the abrupt firing of a gun. The tape crackles in Jon’s hand, growling like an aching, hungry stomach. “I mean, why do you care?” He doesn’t sound accusatory or angry, just curious. ‘ I don’t ,’ is what Tim wants to say. It’s what he means to say. But instead his stomach swoops and the words tumble from his mouth, unwanted and unbidden but true, “You’re all I have left.” Jon’s mouth does something funny, trembling into an ‘o’. He fumbles for words, though nothing comes out but vague stammering noises. Tim snarls and grabs him by the shirt, twisting his hand in the fabric and pulling hard until Jon meets him chest to chest. “Do not do that to me ever again.” “I-I didn’t mean to--” “ Don’t. ” - litany (in which certain things are crossed out)

She’d gone out for lunch an hour ago on her own. It felt like a test, the gnawing hunger in her blood versus her will to make it be still, no one there to hold her accountable except for her own desire to be better. It was alright, fine. She’d gotten a sandwich at the cafe and impulsively ordered a salad to take back to the Institute for Sims. God knew he’d never remember to eat if she didn’t remind him. - Days Before; Unwinding, chaper one

She can feel his mouth against her neck, lips wet as he tries to speak. She holds him tighter, feels his fingers dig into the fabric of her shirt. “Shhh,” she rumbles and feels him sigh. “I know. Be still.” She slides a hand into his hair, rubbing fingers against his scalp the way her mother did for her after nightmares as a child. His breath hitches and she knows he’s crying, silently in a way that makes her wonder when he’d learned to quiet his own sadness. “I’ve got it, I’ve got you.” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter one

Tim gestures at the piles of research vaguely, almost spilling coffee over his hand. Jon takes his mug. “Is that not why I’m here?” “Is it?” Tim gins, raising an eyebrow. “Sure there’s no other reason? A little Netflix and chill?” He’s joking, of course, he knows Jon has never expressed any interest in him in that way. Just a harmless flirtation, meant only to bring a little bit of heat to Jon’s face and neck. And that it does, the tips of his ears burning a ruddy red at the implication. “Tim-” - Days Before; Unwinding, chapter two

Gerry traces a finger over the constellation of freckles along Martin’s shoulder, up the side of his neck, almost light enough to tickle. He’s named some of the constellations before, called them things like Orpheus or Ariadne, pressing kissing into the bare skin until Martin giggles and presses him gently away. - Lazy Sunday Morning, visible world series

“I’m taking you to the doctor. Is the oven already off?” “Yeah, it– yes.” “Okay, just hang on to my shoulders.” “If you drop me–” “I can carry Martin,” Gerry says, hoisting Jon up from the ground, “you think I’m going to drop you?” Jon grumbles but presses his face into Gerry’s shoulder. - prompts, visible world series

Helen…is. At least it thinks so. Any state of being is complicated, as they were never meant to be a being. Helen was, and then very quickly and unceremoniously and all at once Helen was not. And they were Helen, and Helen was them. So, Helen was, and Helen is. The Archivist is, certainly. He’s pretending not to see, keeping his two front eyes shut in her hallways but all the rest of them creak open with curiosity. He follows her with his eyes closed, his hand outstretched to feel the bend and pulse of the wall. The way it shrinks and expands, undulating like an intestine. She wonders if he knows it is feeding on him. Not much. Not enough. But it is, it does. She does. [...] (The thing they were before was never any of that, because it never had to be. It was twisting lines, curving shadows, spirals and fractals. Being hurt. Becoming hurt. And it had turned that hurt on Michael, who had not always been anger and fear and sharp stark lines. And it would turn that hurt on Helen. But not yet. Not yet.) - prompts

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to. - hands, unfinished

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom  and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face.  “Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles.  “I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway. - hands, unfinished

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold. “Alright?” Martin whispers. “Yes.” “You’re shaking.” “I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.” Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache. - hands, unfinished

Jon hums in agreement, closing his book without bothering to mark the page. He starts to stand and has a sudden thought, freezing half in place, “Do I— do you want me to—?” He gestures vaguely at the hall, where the single bed lies unmade, and then down at the settee. Last night had been...well, wonderful; but it had mostly been a necessity. Now, with the radiator half-working, warming the bones of the cottage, they could theoretically get through the night alone without freezing half to death. He sits back down on the settee rather heavily and it knocks their legs together, though Martin doesn’t seem to notice.  Martin’s brows scrunch together and Jon has to fight the urge to smooth the skin back down with his thumbs. “Do I want what?” Me, Jon thought. He huffed out a sharp breath through his nose. “Do you want— do you want to sleep alone?” - hands, unfinished

“Thank you,” Jon says, his throat and eyes burning with unshed tears, “for having loved me.” Martin’s eyebrows furrow down and his hand comes up to brush Jon’s cheek. His fingers come away wet and Jon knows he’s lost. “Jon?” “It’s okay,” Jon says, even though it’s not. Even though his chest is painfully tight and he no longer knows how to breathe. “It’s okay.” “Jon what- oh. Oh…” Martin’s hands are so lovely and warm and real, one pressed to his face, his chest, his neck. “I did love you,” he says and Jon’s eyes close. There are lips, chapped from the cold and wind, pressed to his forehead. “I did,” Martin murmurs, “I still do.” “How?” Jon breathes out, ragged, his hands reaching for Martin’s wrists with desperate strength.  “How could I not?” - hands, unfinished