#and that line specifically alway just stuck in my head!!!!

[thechy-fychannel]

You said you think pre-infarction house was an addict-can you expand on that? What drugs were he hooked on and why did he fully switch to vicodin and never used others again? Did he ever reach a go-to-rehab level addiction? How did wilson handle that? And what was Stacy's attitude towards his addiction? I think she would have been a lot more forgiving than cuddy because 1. She herself is a smoker who goes back to cigarettes during hard time and 2. Unlike cuddy, she didn't have a small child to worry about.

Ahhh thank you sm, I love this question!!! Let's get into it ✨

So my theory is that house was abusing morphine prior to the infarction. here are my reasons for thinking so:

1. Three Stories- the entire reason house's infarction was as bad as it was is bc everyone except house was convinced he was just drug seeking at first. it makes absolutely zero sense for them to think that unless he already had a history of drug seeking. unless I misremember (anyone feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) he already worked at PPTH for a while before the infarction happened. so it was the same doctors he knew and interacted with every single day that saw him screaming in agony and chose to believe he was just trying to seek drugs and not actually in pain. he had to have a history, it just doesn't make sense otherwise for them to assume he was drug seeking.

2. one very specific line in No Reason (the episode where house is shot and the whole episode is a hallucination). when house, wilson, and cuddy are in her office and house is realizing they did something to his brain (the ketamine treatment) cuddy says this specific line: "You were out of control, you were shooting morphine!" This line has always stuck out to me and no one ever seems to mention it. It's very out of place bc the conversation they're having is about him being shot and them doing something to him while he was under. I think this was his brain connecting this event to the last time someone did something to him while he was unconscious, trying to rationalize these traumatic events.

3. In early s3 when the pain comes back, he begs cuddy to give him a shot of morphine in his spine (the scene where he drops his pants in her office and asks her in tears if the scar is all in his head too since she thinks the pain is all in his head.) cuddy gives him the shot and he comes back looking for another one later on, after the pain comes back again. she informs him that she never gave him morphine, it was saline. the fact that the pretend morphine worked suggests he had a mental dependency on it. I'm pretty sure this is the point where he goes back to vicodin (it's been a few months since I did my last rewatch so I could be wrong). I think had she actually given him morphine, he likely would've become addicted to it again. Just the thought of the morphine was enough to have him looking for more.

4. Wilson's tendency to jump straight to heroin use when he thinks house is on something other than vicodin. it happens more than once in the series when house starts acting just the slightest bit off, wilson leaps to the conclusion that he's on heroin. which is an insane leap to make unless it's something he's had to worry about in the past. I think the reason wilson would jump to heroin over morphine is if he knows what it looks like when house is high on morphine. If house used to abuse morphine, wilson would be able to recognize it and if he can't, it must be something much worse. this again plays into why I think he was an addict prior to the infarction even if it wasn't morphine, because who in their right mind would jump to their best friend using heroin if that person didn't have a long history of abusing similar drugs?

Now to answer your other questions:

Why did he switch to vicodin and not go back to others he may have been addicted to? I can tell you from personal experience that while morphine feels great, it makes you hazy and tired and out of it. I think once he was prescribed vicodin after his surgery and learned that he could function on it and not feel hazy, it was a match made in heaven for him (he says a few times in the show that vicodin doesn't make him hazy, so he immediately knows if he's on something else bc he feels hazy.) He didn't need to switch to anything else as long as he had access to vicodin bc he got the high, the pain relief, and no haziness. but when he got cut off of his vicodin during the tritter ordeal, he stole oxycodone (I think?) from wilson's dead patient. so if he didn't have vicodin, it's safe to assume he would go back to whatever he had access to.

Did he ever reach rehab level addiction? / What was Stacy's attitude towards his addiction? I think if we go based off his colleagues thinking he was drug seeking + cuddy saying he was out of control and shooting up morphine, I would say yes, it was rehab level addiction. But— I feel like if it had been that bad, stacy would've mentioned it in some sort of capacity during her arc when they were discussing their relationship. she never hints at him being an addict as far as I can remember. she loved and cared about house so much that she was willing to accept him hating her if it meant he was alive and healthy. I feel like if his addiction had been dangerous, she would've done anything to get him help the same way she did during his infarction. even if it meant going against his wishes and him hating her, she would've insisted he got help. so I'm conflicted on that question, honestly. I think maybe it depends on the perspective of those around him. maybe those at the hospital saw something stacy didn't, I'm not sure. but I agree with what you said about her being more forgiving and understanding of it than cuddy was. I think if he had been an addict while they were together, she would've given him an endless amount of chances until it became dangerous, that's when she would put her foot down and try to force him into rehab and their relationship probably would've crumbled for a whole different reason.

How did Wilson handle his addiction? I think house being an addict prior to the infarction plays perfectly into the theme of wilson emotionally neglecting his wives for house. we obviously don't have an exact timeline of his marriages aside from his first one ending just before house and wilson met, but it's pretty safe to assume that he was married to and even possibly divorced from bonnie before the infarction ever happened since he seems to have been married to julie for a little while in the beginning of the show.

[sidenote: here is my personal timeline HC for wilson's marriages.

Sam: 1991-1992 (canon)

Bonnie: 1993-1998

Julie: 1999 (before infarction) - 2005]

In the episode where house uses bonnie to get dating info about wilson, she says the iconic line, "You always needed him and he was always there for you. He had a wife waiting for him at home and you didn't care." And it just makes sense if the reason house always needed him was because of his struggles with addiction. house in general is a needy person who always wanted wilson's affection to himself, that much is clear, but wilson had to of had a good excuse to always run off for whatever it is house needed from him prior to him being disabled.

Getting into more specifics about how wilson would've handled his addiction back then— I think he would've handled it similarly to the way he did with the vicodin. he's an enabler unfortunately, he would've let house make excuses and made excuses for him because he tries to give house the benefit of the doubt that he can control himself. I think back then even more so, because house wasn't in pain and disabled, wilson had no reason to think house couldn't control himself. I think it's even possible that wilson was in denial about it too, he didn't want to believe his best friend was an addict and maybe he felt like he needed to protect house when others started accusing him of such. I think that may be why wilson asked cuddy to make that bet with house to find out if he was addicted to vicodin. he ignored it and denied it last time and he's enabled him for years since the infarction, he wanted to know if he was treating house's pain or still enabling an addict. the answer was both, which makes it no less complicated. but like with all of house's issues, wilson continues to stand by him and be there for him bc he loves him and wants him in his life, addict or no addict.

[humanmorph]

PALISADE 18 SPOILERS

the next saddest thing about baldwin home getting shot aside from. The whole situation. is that it cuts Austin off from doing more intros with him when they were sooooooo fucking good

Like I had this on repeat the other day (thank you FatT fans who make AMVs your service is invaluable)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[sysig]

What I want from you is / It was

Your voice

[biteyoubiteme]

thicc thigh obsessed gyu 😵‍💫 he loves how squishy and plush they are, touches them all the time, rests his head, inner thigh kisses and wearing pretty thigh highs and stockings has him hard and drooling

beomgyu x thighs

beomgyu x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞!!! chubby reader implied, thigh fucking, marking, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 0.6k

an: okay I want to say I love that you sent me this and it was stuck in my head forever and im just now answering it but omfg- gyu IS A THIGH LOVER I'll take it to the grave/ die on that hill bc YES. and specifically the gyu I wrote in bubblegum flavored- so if you see beomiebear mentioned here thats why bc it’s so him coded pls I love it thank you for this. [m.list]

He would so buy you thigh highs, little sets of garter belts that clip to the top of them. He loves the marks it leaves on your thighs if you’ve been lying down with them on. Likes to snap the bands to make you jump. He loves when you’re in a skirt, and loves it even more when you wear tights, he ruins every pair you’ve ever had and loves to rip them just enough to suck hickeys on your inner thigh. Will take the time to suck them Into the shape of a heart, spending as much time between your legs as possible. Gets you fishnets a size too small, still stretchy enough to feel comfortable but tight enough to let your skin dimple, the marks left after you've taken them off turning him on just as much. 

He loves it when he lays on your plush thighs and you play with his hair. Loves it more when you wear thighs highs when he does it, finger tucked under the elastic, running back and forth. Loves when you sit and it makes a little roll right where the end is, peppers kisses all along the seam. Will use his teeth to pull them down enough to kiss the indents on your skin. 

Insatiable when you casually walk in wearing anything that highlights your thighs. But it’s always the first thing he notices anyway. You could be spending dinner with all your friends and he’s got his hand shoved between your thighs under the table, not necessarily touching you but just resting his hand between your legs for the comfort. 

Gets you specific stockings to wear during sex, the lace lining on top the perfect spot for him to kiss along. The sheer gauzy fabric is just the right texture for him to run his teeth over while he looks up at you from his knees. dons so many kisses to your lower half you have to remind him your mouth exists, pushing his hair back from his eyes, “beomie if you’re good I’ll let you fuck them,” 

and he’s putty in your hands, his weakness so easily exploited when it came to you. Because he loved to push his cock between your plushy thighs. His hands holding your squishy flesh hard enough to leave red hand prints all over. 

Laying you back against the mattress and lifting your legs up, pushed together and slathered with lube, your ankles over his shoulder, arms wrapped around your knees as he pushes his cock in and out between your thighs. 

He’s a whiny mess kissing at your legs, begging for release as you squeeze your legs together for him. You watch the way the tip of cock pokes through the seam of your legs with every thrust. His hair in his eyes as he loses himself, “Oh god- you feel so perfect-“ his fingers digging in harder as he orgasm gets closer, and watching the way you look laid out before him, your body reverberating with every hash slap of him against you. 

He always cums so much when fucking your thighs, the hot streams pulsing out and coating your stomach. cock jerking as he gives lazy thrusts, his whimpers so sweet to your ears as you praise him, “You came so good for me beomiebear, if you clean me up I’ll let you go another round,” and he will comply licking you clean and burying himself between your legs to properly devour your wetness; a reward within this request itself just before he’s hard again and ready to do it all over.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[midnightbears]

Arranged marriage with Gyomei pls. Kagaya matched Gyomei with Y/N ​​for some reason and Gyomei slowly falling in love with y/n 🥲🥲❤

✿ i love you, and i want to find out what that means together.

#STARRING: himejima gyomei ft. fem!reader

#TAGS: arranged marriage. gyomei is in his early twenties in this one! set before the main events of kny. some invented lore for the sake of the story please just bear it thanks

#NOTES: hello there! thank you for your request <3 tbh I've always had this specific idea stuck in my head and you just gave me a reason to write for it LMAO i actually went kind of crazy with this fic omg i loved to write it let me know if u would like a part two! hope you like it and hope it wasn't too much LMAOOo

your existence could be hashed over with one word.

purpose.

ever since you could remember, your entire life had been mapped out for you: what to eat, what to not eat, what to like, what to dislike, what to wear, your hobbies, your pastimes, your vocabulary—everything. apparently, every inane thing that had been shoved down your throat was only done to make you a dignified woman worthy of whichever lord they married you off to.

you and your family hailed from a long line of priests and priestesses, where the girls were raised to be proper wives and shrine maidens and the boys were carefully taught the profession in hopes of serving important figures throughout japan.

you were helping your mother tend to the flowers one day when a messenger from the ubuyashiki clan—a kakushi, as you heard they were called—appeared before your temple's door, asking your father to choose and provide the clan with one of his daughters.

you were picked immediately, and you had no choice but to stand before your father, trembling, and pretend that you agreed with his decision with a serene expression on your face. you could tell this was just his way of finally getting rid of you.

in the words of your father behind closed doors, if someone couldn't be bothered to have the decency to visit the temple in person and instead sent a mere messenger to request a carefully trained shrine maiden, it was clear they didn't deserve the best of what he could offer.

you smiled, agreeing with him.

when you went to pack what little things you had, nobody was in the shared quarters; at least you would spare yourself of your sisters' cruel remarks over your father's decision. you did not have many things of your own; you packed your hairbrush, a book, and what few things you held dear.

the kakushi was waiting outside when you emerged. trying to maintain a semblance of calm, you offered him a small smile. he looked at you with curiosity but did not say anything. kindly, he allowed you a moment for a brief prayer before the buddha statue at the front of the temple. then, you were off.

no one came to say goodbye to you.

it was alright, you supposed. the only person you could think fondly of was your mother, and a barbed wire of melancholy slowly wound around your heart at the thought of not being able to part ways properly. you knew that she preferred you over her other daughters, but even so, you were aware that she would never hear the end of it from your father if she came to say her farewells. you would write to her.

you were the third of six sisters, and always, one of them was more talented than you were, just a tad bit more attractive, just a tad bit more creative, just a tad bit more charming. sure, you were well-versed in the duties of a useful spouse—okay, all your sisters were as well. what good was that when you had nothing special about you? what was it your father called you? ah, yes, mediocre.

the kakushi did not speak to you for the entire trip, for which reason you did not know. a question hung on the tip of your tongue, although you dared not ask it. at some point, he urged you to wear a blindfold and climb on his back, which you simply accepted, knowing better than to ask.

you didn't make anything out during the journey, only listening to the sound of small pebbles vibrating against the ground as he made his way up a mountain. after what felt like hours, he finally put you down, gently tugging the blindfold off you and allowing your eyes to adjust to the bright light of morning.

once you were presentable, he escorted you toward the estate entrance. you could tell he was a bit off put by the way you were just accepting things, but he didn't say anything about it.

the kakushi stopped before the towering gate of the ubuyashiki mansion and offered you a deep bow. you thanked him, and you could see him smile with his eyes before he left. another kakushi, a woman this time, escorted you toward a graveled garden, a small figure sitting by the engawa.

she knelt on the ground and bowed her head, and you did the same until she picked herself from the ground.

looking forward, you met the gaze of a boy who looked to be around the age of fifteen, with kohl black hair that sat just above his shoulders. he had the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, so easy to look at, lavender tainting the irises. he had the calming smile of a buddha, and although knowing nothing about him beyond reputation, you felt at ease with him.

"i am kagaya. i trust your journey went smoothly? thank you for your patience, maiden. i apologize for not going to your temple in person, i hope your priest will forgive me. believe me, i wanted to, but i'm afraid my illness would not have allowed me to make the trip."

the boy's voice was unlike any other you had ever heard, fluid and gentle, causing a wave of reassurance to wash over you. you felt at ease immediately, as though something had just taken every burden off your shoulders and instead shrouded you in a cloud of repose.

"it was no trouble, oyakata-sama, truly." you followed this with a deep incline of your head, your own voice remaining serene and mellow, "it is an honor to be in your presence."

kagaya smiled. "your temple is of great renown. my clan has had the pleasure of counting with your priests and maidens across the centuries. there is no need for such formalities, child."

granted, you were sure you were older than him by a few years, but the way he called you 'child' was comforting, and you were not about to question him, simply keeping quiet.

"you are to marry one of my pillars, maiden. he is an honorable man, the lord of stone, i am sure the two of you will get along. he should arrive any moment now."

you willed yourself to say something, yet you simply could not. you were not the first maiden who was given to a lord for marriage, and you certainly wouldn't be the last. still, your heart did a flip at the simple notion of ending up in a similar situation as your mother, forced to produce offspring until your husband found you undesirable.

for a moment, a cold hand wrapped around your heart in fear of what that man would do with you. however, the single thought of the young boy before you lying about the pillar's honor revolted you. he was telling the truth, and if he said the stone pillar was a good man, then you had nothing to fear.

softly, the sound of footsteps reached your ears, and you turned slightly to see a towering figure approaching, his presence both imposing and serene all at once.

the man who stood before you was unlike any you had ever seen. large beyond comparison, clad in the dark robes of a uniform and a green haori. his stature was immense, with muscles that seemed chiseled from stone. he was young, with an impassive face, yet undeniably handsome. his eyes, clouded with a milky whiteness, told you that he could not see, yet he moved with a grace that belied his blindness.

"this is himejima gyomei, the stone pillar," kagaya introduced, "he has been chosen as your betrothed, and i trust that you will find solace and strength in his presence."

gyomei walked toward you, his movements slow and deliberate, his footsteps echoing throughout the garden—

your breath hitched as he knelt before you, reaching his hand out. but instead of what you expected, he pressed his palm against your cheek, his voice reverberating like a chiming bell inside a cathedral. he caressed your cheek as one would treat an injured butterfly.

"maiden beloved," he murmured, tears spilling from his eyes, "i apologize for making you wait."

the ceremony was that same day, quick and endearing.

you were married in front of oyakata-sama, his wife, and other members of the corps as witnesses. before you knew it, the wedding concluded, and your husband guided you to your new home with you by his side.

gyomei was not acting like he had been given you as some justly won right to do with as he pleased. that set your heart at ease, greatly so, and in some way, it was like he could tell, too. he was walking slowly, allowing you to keep up with his large strides. small talk filled the empty silence of the way home as he listed all the things you would assist him with.

you were to cook for him, clean the estate daily and take care of it when he was away, write letters for him and read them when he received any, and...

huh. that was it.

getting used to your routine was easier than anticipated as weeks passed, although you would be lying to yourself if you said that gyomei's patience and demeanor weren't helping you in the slightest.

he had insisted that you sleep in a separate bedroom within the estate, taking into account that despite being your husband, he was still a complete stranger to you. the very moment you reached your new home, he made sure to explicitly tell you that he did not wish to embarrass you or cause you discomfort in any way, shape, or form.

during mornings, you would naturally wake up at the crack of dawn, your training making things much easier. you would dress yourself in the robes gyomei had gifted you for your wedding and make your way to the kitchen to start a big meal for the day. you'd wake him up then, guiding him to the kitchen to share breakfast together.

most of the time, you ate in silence, although you did not mind at all. after that, you would wash dishes, and he trained. the estate was not that big, so having to sweep the floor or dust the shelves daily did not bother you, and you instead found comfort in the repetitive routine. you would finish quite swiftly and urge gyomei inside again for tea time during noon.

you tried to entertain yourself as best as possible during the afternoons and evenings. usually, you would find yourself tending to a small garden you'd created when you arrived. your husband would sometimes join you, captivated by the sweet smell of the flowers and the sensation of the earth beneath his fingertips. you would explain what the flowers looked like and how they were meant to be taken care of, and he, in turn, basked in your every word.

gardening duty was one of the things you enjoyed most back at the temple, and since no one else was willing to get their hands dirty, you were the maiden who would regularly take care of the flowers.

you bought flower seeds during your first trip to the market in the nearby town and took the time to introduce yourself to as many people as possible. the locals were very kind to you, and as you started frequenting the shops more and more, you were always being greeted by folks who wished you and your husband the best.

as months passed, your relationship with gyomei deepened in ways you had never expected. the initial tension and clumsiness of living with a stranger began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of familiarity and comfort.

gyomei, true to his word, respected your boundaries and gave you space to adjust at your own pace. however, small gestures of care and affection started to seep into your daily life. he would often leave freshly picked flowers from your garden by your bedroom door, their vibrant colors and sweet fragrance greeting you first thing in the morning. sometimes, he would assist you with household chores, his presence making the mundane tasks feel lighter and more enjoyable.

he began to pay attention to the little things, like how you offered wounded slayers who stumbled upon the estate a fresh meal and a place to redress their wounds, or how you fed the cats mingling around your shared home every single night, even noticing that you had taken the time to name them and remember everyone.

the town's people, too, played a part in your growing closeness. they would often remark on how harmonious you and gyomei seemed together, their kind words fortifying the bind that tied you together. you started to see the way gyomei interacted with them and how much respect the people had for him—and you couldn't help but admire him more each day.

your conversations, though initially skimpy and shallow, began to flow more naturally. gyomei's deep voice would rumble through stories of his past with the children of the orphanage, his experiences as a hashira, and the lessons he had learned along the way. you, in turn, shared snippets of your life at the temple, your family, your dreams, and your fears. it was through these conversations that you realized how much you had in common despite your different backgrounds.

anyone with a pair of working eyes would see it, or, at least, anyone who had known for at least once in their lifetime what a soul-stirring connection with another human felt like. you found comfort in his presence, seeking him out like a moth to a flame, and he, in yours, only wanted you to tend to his wounds after missions, fix his haori, or wait by himself outside just so he could pray by your side.

eventually, it got to a point where the separate bedrooms became less of a necessity and more of a formality. you often found yourself falling asleep together in the living room after long conversations or shared moments of silence. whenever you did manage to part ways, you always lingered by your door, a dreamy smile encasing your lips.

you could not deny yourself anymore. you were the happiest you had been in years.

one evening, as you both sat for dinner, the familiar quiet enveloping you like a warm blanket, gyomei's voice broke through the tranquility.

"i love you."

the bunch of food you were going to bring into your mouth splattered into the bowl again with a messy splash. oh. oh my god. you whipped your head toward your husband, who stared at you with a soft expression on his face.

"you do not have to say it back if you do not feel the same, but i wanted you to know." then, gyomei went back to chewing his food as if he had not said what he had just said.

"why?"

gyomei shifted his head in your direction with a worried expression, your teary tone and doddering heartbeat doing nothing to mitigate his apprehension. he tried to reach for you, but you jerked away from him. he could tell that whatever you were feeling was not directed toward him, but still, it pained him greatly to know you were suffering.

"g-gyomei, i—"

your hands were shaking, and he reached for them to trace your skin with the pads of his thumbs. he opened his mouth, but you beat him to it as you keeled over, shoulders trembling as sobs left your mouth, your usual calmness thrown out the window.

"y-you said that you wouldn't embarrass me! there is nothing special about me. what is it about me that you could possibly love? you're always so good to me," you were throwing word vomit at this point, and the worst part was you did not even know where it was coming from, "i haven't done anything to receive your affection! i'm just doing the things i'm supposed to do..."

tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them, and he leaned forward to pull you into his embrace. your body completely froze, an unknown emotion taking over. gyomei had never initiated contact before. most of the time, you had to be the one to grab his hand or tug his collar.

"my little maiden... you have no idea how precious you are to me," gyomei murmured, his voice impossibly gentle and firm. he held you close, his large, comforting presence grounding you as your sobs began to subside. "you see yourself through the harsh lens of your own eyes, but i see the truth of your heart with my own. your unconditional kindness, your strength, your sincerity—these are just some of the reasons i love you."

his words seeped into your cold heart, slowly quieting the tempest inside. you couldn't understand how someone as incredible, kind, and powerful as gyomei could see such worth in you, but the sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his embrace made you want to believe him.

"you don't have to prove your worth to me or anyone," he continued, his voice alleviating your wounded spirit. "you are enough, just as you are. your presence in my life is a blessing, and i am grateful for you every single day."

"gyomei," you whispered, your voice trembling but no longer with fear. "i… i love you too. i was just scared. scared that i wasn't enough for you."

he smiled softly, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. "you are more than enough, my love. and i will spend the rest of all my lifetimes showing you just how much you mean to me."

© midnightbears on tumblr, july 2024. please do not repost to another platform, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Operation Exemies to Lovers | Cregan Stark

A/N: Now yall know i have not written and finished a fic in a hot minute so sorry if this reads a bit wonky. Yk I'm an enemies to lovers and exes to lovers girl, so why not combine them both into a modern!cregan stark fic? Also, this is dialogue heavy as that's kind of my thing, if it's not yours, welpt keep scrolling boo I aint mad!. I also fixed the inc*st family tree so you'll see that in this as well (i'll prob keep it for future modern AUs). Anyways lmk what you think and enjoy! Also, I suck at summaries so I pull quotes from my fics, sorry not sorry pookies

Summary: “So y’know those sappy novels Hel’s always reading, anyways I asked her about them and she had one where the two main characters were like totally at ends with each other but their friends were like ‘nah they should be smashing’ so we think, based on our research and our scholarly source-Helaena, we should force them to be around each other until they finally talk it out! Or well, y’know-f*ck it out”

Warnings: cussing, spelling and grammar errors (sue me!), kissing, mentions of smut/allusions to smut but no smut, arguing, Alyssane Blackwood slander (sorry girl), somewhat mean!reader, this is an AU where Aegon's not a bad guy!!!! just a clown <3, mentions of an ill parent, Baela be hitting Aegon (he earned it!), Aemond is still missing an eye sorry to the Aemond girls

Word Count: 6.4k (period I stuck to keeping it short and sweet)

Modern!Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader

“He’s staring at you again” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, doing your best to focus on highlighting the passages about the few Westerosi Civil Wars that had happened centuries ago. It was already difficult enough to focus in the crowded library, midterms were killing everyone. 

It wasn’t a shock for the once quiet and almost empty library to be packed, especially with student athletes who were desperately catching up on their studies in attempts to pass all of their midterms, write endless essays, and practically beg their professors for extra credit via email. 

You should’ve been able to focus on the task at hand, studying with your best friends Baela and Rhaena for your upcoming history midterm, the exam itself would focus heavily on the several majors wars that shaped westerosi society as a whole, and would even include the transition from government leadership as a monarchy into a democracy. 

Hell you’d even have to describe what was once known as the ‘Iron Throne’ and its historical significance. Truthfully the large metal hunk of junk was now sitting in the King’s Landing Red Keep Memorial Museum.

Usually the library was the easiest place for the three of you to study, it wasn’t as loud as your fourth floor flat in one of the student apartment buildings off campus, it was usually pretty clean and well kept, plus every resource you could possibly need was somewhere within the large building. 

However today, your usually comfortable red leather-lined chair felt stiff and was making you hot, not to mention the lack of air flow and increased temperature due to the amount of body heat on each floor, then the lights were either too bright or too dim, and all you wanted to do was slam the books shut, grab your laptop and leave.

“Let him stare.” you muttered as you tried to keep your gaze on the text in front of you, however it was getting increasingly difficult as a very specific pair of eyes were practically burning a hole into your side. 

Gods, he was so obnoxious.

“I don’t think it’s healthy for you to hold onto the grudge against him, of course he totally earned it! I’m not downplaying your emotions but anytime he’s around you stiffen up like a virgin afraid of dick” your jaw dropped at Baela’s words, now staring at her, brows furrowed in shock.

“Baela! You can’t say things like that” Rhaena almost immediately swatted at her sister’s arm, shaking her head before tucking one of her loose locks behind her ear. “You really take after father sometimes.” 

Baela simply shrugged, glancing back at the two tables that were usually empty, now they were filled with six of the school’s hockey players, all spread apart with a plethora of books, laptops, pens, and notepads covering the tables. That’s also not counting all of their bags laying on the floor besides their chairs. 

“I get that you two broke up on not so good terms, but you should be showing him that you don’t care about him! Not that he makes you so angry you’re about to explode like a bomb in Mario Party”.

With that Baela turned her gaze back to her laptop, however at the sound of several texts chiming in at once to both Baela and Rhaena’s phones, you knew that their cousins had texted them once again. It made sense that they’d all shared a group chat, especially considering how close in age they were, and how large the Targaryen/Hightower/Velaryon family was. 

Of course the first time Baela had broken down their family tree you were incredibly confused. Her mother Laena Velaryon was married to Daemon Targaryen, who happened to be the uncle to her cousins Jace, Luke, and Joffrey’s mother Rhaenyra. 

Now, Rhaenyra was married to Dr. Strong (or just Harwin as he’d asked you to call him once at a family gathering you’d been invited to, to which you quickly declined as he was your Literature professor), but based on the Targaryen’s political status within Westeros, their sons took their mother’s last name, not their father. 

Then comes Aegon and Aemond, now truthfully you’d met Aegon your second week of classes a few years ago when he’d caught you off guard, asked for your number, then got mad when you’d ghosted him after finding out he had a girlfriend! (Shame on him, truly). But you actually ended up being pretty good friends with the goof. 

Anyways, Aegon and Aemond were the children of Rhaenyra’s best friend, and now sister-in-law Alicent Hightower who married Rhaenyra’s only brother Baelon Targaryen. 

It’s also important to remember that throughout this entire family tree, which was in fact drawn out on construction paper for you, Alicent and Baelon also had two other children, Daeron and Halaena, both of them attending Sunspear University together. Then of course Rhaenyra and Dr.Strong (Harwin), have two much smaller sons, Aegon and Viserys, which was even more confusing considering you’d already met an Aegon.

Rhaena and Baela shared a look, and it was a look that worried you, so of course instead of being rational and brushing it off, you clenched your jaw as you slowly turned around, making eye contact with none other than your ex-boyfriend who’d been leaning his head against his hand and staring at you with what could only be described as a mournful lovesick expression.

You rolled your eyes, quickly turning back around before anyone else would look at you and do something that would probably piss you off. 

It also didn’t help that the cousins texting Baela and Rhaena were also seated at the table with your ex boyfriend. 

“Jace said that Cregan wants to talk to you but you blocked him, I don’t think you want to know what Aegon said, but it involved an eggplant emoji and a bed” you rolled your eyes, letting out a deep sigh while sitting up straight and shaking your head.

“He’s apologized a million times and has yet to tell me why he decided to go out of his way to not only break things off with me and tell me he still loved me in the same damn sentence, then go out the same night and end up on Aegon-Aegon of all people’s instagram story sucking face with that Blackwood bitch while she was on his lap.” 

You let out a cynical laugh of sorts, rolling your eyes once again. 

“Tell Cregan Stark that I’d rather fuck Aegon after one of his alley-way vomit sprees than ever talk to him again” however, before you could focus back on your studies, an amused laugh came from behind you before the chair next to you was pulled out, only for you to meet the gaze of Aegon Targaryen himself, a lopsided smile on his face with his brows wiggling in a playful suggestive manner.

“Well if I knew the easiest way to get you into my bed was to go drinking until I’m sick then I would’ve invited you out sooner baby” with that he leaned closer while making kissing noises, only to be met with your hand shoving his face away.

“Aeg, for the last time, she doesn’t want you like that” he feigned hurt at Rhaena, sliding back into the chair with his hand over his heart. 

“You wound me dear cousin! You wound me!” then he sat up straight, now looking back at you “so I was sent over here as a trusted messenger. My boy back there, you know him quite well, if y’know what I mean-” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down again, then you shoved him “-anyways, Cregan has been like all sulky and heartbroken and he really misses you. And he doesn’t want anything to do with Alysanne! She came onto him!, so can you give him another shot?”

With that you simply shook your head, quickly packing your things up while scoffing. 

“Tell your “boy back there”-” you spoke with air quotations “-that if he really gave a fuck about me, he shouldn’t have dumped me after two years for no god damn reason, then fucked that Blackwood bitch-who by the way is a fucking whore!” 

Your outburst was met with the looks of many, Rhaena quickly clearing her throat watching as you packed your things away. “What she means to say is, she doesn’t want to talk to him. I think it’s too fresh still”

Aegon scoffed “it’s been four months people! Four months! The summer ended, it’s a new semester, I think she can talk to him now” he glanced around the table, eyes widening as he watched Baela grasp quite the hefty textbook while glaring at him.

“Baela don’t hit me! I’m just saying! Listen-” but before he could finish you’d already gotten up and mumbled that you’d see them at home while you walked away.

Aegon paused, watching as you walked away, blatantly checking you out for a few moments, then you’d disappeared. He then turned around and motioned for someone to come to the table, this is what led both Jace and Luke to walk across the room and now sit where you were sitting and in the last empty seat of the table.

“Listen, we’re all tired of being caught in the middle of this awkward divorce alright. So we came up with a plan!” Baela shook her head while Rhaena sighed slightly.

“No offense Aeg, but your plans are always horrible, need I remind you of Aemond’s missing eyeball?” Luke winced slightly, remembering the day he’d accidentally hit Aemond in the eye with a firewood poker when swinging it behind him.

Truthfully, Luke had no idea Aemond had entered the room when he and Aegon were ‘dueling’ one another, however he’d felt his poker hit something, and he heard Aemond’s loud scream of pain. 

They’d all been kids when that happened, and to make it worse it occurred on their grandfather’s birthday when everyone had traveled to King’s Landing for a large birthday dinner/family holiday.

“She’s got a point there Aegon, but-guys-we all came up with the idea together!” Luke placed his hands on the shoulder of his cousin and his brother, smiling widely while Baela and Rhaena both shook their heads in disappointment.

“Okay, you win, but if the idea is bad, Baela’s going to smack Aegon with that textbook, so pray it’s not bad” they all nodded, Aegon scooting back slightly.

“So y’know those sappy novels Hel’s always reading, anyways I asked her about them and she had one where the two main characters were like totally at ends with each other but their friends were like ‘nah they should be smashing’ so we think, based on our research and our scholarly source-Helaena, we should force them to be around each other until they finally talk it out! Or well, y’know-fuck it out”

He paused to take a quick breath “But we can’t let them in on the plan, otherwise Cregan’s gonna be all like ‘oh my god no she hates me, the love of my life hates me I can’t torture her, blah blah blah, I’m so nice and honorable, blah blah’ and she’s gonna be like ‘fuck that, I’ll kill him for fucking that Blackwood bitch and dumping me for no god damn reason’. Also I don’t think he ever fucked Alysanne-but I did-niether here nor there though!” 

Jace and Luke looked at Baela and Rhaena as if they were waiting to be yelled at by their mother, meanwhile Aegon smiled and nodded after his long winded explanation.

Rhaena spoke first “y’know honestly, your impression of her is pretty spot on.” Baela nodded her head in agreement before adding in “but if this doesn’t work, and she finds out, she’ll want to kill all of you and Cregan. I’m sure you all have realized being on her shit list isn’t exactly the best”

Jace nodded, glancing back at Cregan who was finally focusing on his statistics work with a stoic expression on his face. “Listen, if it doesn’t work and she kicks our asses that’s fine, but we at least have to try! I mean come on Rhae you told me that she cries over him still! And he’s no better. There might not be tears but he’s so long winded and mopey”

He then sighed, patting Luke on the back “I think this is our best shot. I mean c’mon they’re some of your guys' closest friends, and Winterfell over there’s my best friend that I’m not related to-oddly enough they’re pretty rare these days. They used to be so happy together! Now look at them both”

Baela sighed, nodding her head as she finally set the books in her hands down “she’s definitely not really herself anymore. Maybe if it doesn’t work, then at least they’ll both get closure from their relationship”.

Aegon smiled, nodding rapidly again “see! You guys get it!. Also don’t tell Aemond either, y’know he’s too ‘I’ve got a stick up my ass’ sometimes. We can call it operation-uh what’s the book trope that Helaena called it again-one second everyone!” he paused, grabbing his phone from his pocket before quickly calling his sister.

“Hey Hel, yeah yeah I’m good, what did you call that book again! The one where they were like forced to be around eachother then fuck it out and get married and shit?” 

Several hundred miles away, Helaena was grasping her nose bridge as she let out a deep sigh, her brother truly was a character.

“Oh-okay! Got it-thanks so much Hel, love you too! Give Daeron my love and remind him to wrap it up with those Dornish baddies!” with that he hung up the phone before meeting Baela’s disgusted glare.

“You’re so gross, Aeg. And stop saying the word baddies-you sound so cringey!” he simply shrugged at her.

“Anyways, now that we’re done being rude and judgemental to our baddie eldest cousin who’s super smart, funny, and beautiful, we’ll call it operation enemies to lovers!” 

Rhaena raised a brow “wouldn’t it actually be exes to lovers? Since they’re exes? I guess they might also be enemies based on the way she wants to wring his neck-and not how she used to-” with that her eyes widened as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Jace sighed “don’t worry Rhae, we already know about the shit he let her do to him. Young love, what can I say” 

Aegon nodded his head, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively once again, then he slightly elbowed Luke, who met his gaze with a laugh before they both spoke in unison “kinky innit”.

“Anyways-are we doing this or not? I’ve got a history midterm to study for and you three are interrupting it, and it’s bad enough that Aegon already made the smartest person we know leave” It was clear that Baela was losing her patience.

“Oh come on Bales! Y’know if you’re still interested I can set you up with ol Benji over there, heard he’s a freak in the she-” there it was, the book smacking him in the face “-ow Baela! Jesus! You’re just like your dad! Mean and ever so beautiful to look at” he winked.

“Gross man, she’s our cousin!” he shrugged “didn’t stop our ancestors, okay fine-fine! I didn’t mean it okay! Shit. you all are so violent. The blood of the dragon I guess”.

-

Three days have passed and the TarVelTower group chat had been in constant communication about ‘operation exemies to lovers’ with the additional confused replies from those that were not present in the library that day.

They were planning a game night, it was something they’d all done in the past, inviting their other friends to come along as well for drinks and a night of utter tomfoolery. Baela and Rhaena had done everything but swear on the Old Gods themselves that Cregan wouldn’t be there, meanwhile Jace, Luke, and Aegon had to practically beg Cregan to come to Jace’s for the game night.

It was also a plus that most of them lived in the same building. Dragonstone University wasn’t that large, not compared to other schools such as Sunspear, Driftmark, or even Harrenhall-although it was rumored that Harrenhal U was in fact haunted, that’s probably what brought so many to the school in the first place.

Baela and Rhaena had to drag you out of your bed after your post-class nap and usher you into the shower, stating that you ‘stunk of outside’, which was rather rude considering your only classes today were virtual. 

They’d mentioned the game night several times, and each time you asked if Cregan would be there, they’d said no, which you found a bit odd considering Jace was literally his best friend and probably closest confidant. Maybe his father had come down from Winterfell again, but you were thankful that he wouldn’t be present to ruin your mood.

All you had to do was take the elevator up two floors, so all you did was shower and throw on a pair of sweats and one of Aegon’s many discarded team sweatshirts. It had his number on it and even after washing it what felt like a million times, it still smelled like his overly strong cologne that he claimed ‘the ladies love’.

He’d also told you that maybe you were an ogre for not loving it, which of course even further solidified your friendship with the moron (lovingly).

You took time to braid your hair, knowing that you’d probably wake up hungover without a want or a need to brush it, so this was just easier. Then you’d foregone makeup, knowing you truly didn’t care how people saw you, especially not your friends. 

Of course the one thing you’d always contemplated wearing sat on your desk, the thin gold chain adorned with a small charm in the shape of a howling wolf. It was as if it sat mocking you because almost everyday you’d stare at it while getting ready.

You’d worn it everyday for a year after Cregan gifted it to you. He randomly showed up at your door one day, slightly out of breath, a wide smile on his face with his disheveled hair pulled back. One hand rubbed against his short beard, while the other held a small black gift bag. He looked as if he’d run here, then was contemplating the decision to run in the first place.

Then he’d kissed you gently, a smile you rarely wore now, adorned your face then.

When you invited him in, he was quick to follow, shutting and locking your door behind him while you made your way to the small kitchen, grabbing him something to drink as he caught his breath.

Then as you spun around to hand him the drink, he held the bag out for you, practically forcing you to open it (it wasn’t forceful at all, rather when you declined opening it immediately, he didn’t hesitate to place the strings of the bag between his teeth before picking you up, then plopping you down onto the couch, soft giggles leaving your lips when he climbed right on top of you.).

You remembered him watching as you opened it, he held himself up overtop you, while you easily pulled the small jewelry box out of the packaging, then when you opened it he looked almost nervous, as if you wouldn’t like it.

But you’d kissed him, pulling him down into your lips, thanking him between rushed kisses. 

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of it before grasping the necklace and shoving it into one of your desk drawers. Out of sight, out of mind, you’d tell yourself-until you’d go looking for a pen and see it again.

Rhaena’s voice knocked you out of your thoughts completely, she stood in your doorframe, her posture a little too straight, which would’ve normally thrown you off, but you couldn’t focus on that, not when you were trying to shake off the feeling of heartbreak.

“You ready? I’ve got the snacks already packed to bring up, you’ve just got to grab our blankets. Baela’s already there helping set up. Aeg said he’d give her twenty bucks if she’d actually arrive earlier than him for once” you laughed at that, shaking your head slightly.

It was no secret that Aegon and Baela were incredibly competitive, and as cousins, they had what could only be described as a sibling rivalry, always trying to one up one another when they could, and making stupid bets over random things.

You actually liked that they were all so close, when you’d befriended Rhaena, you never thought that she and her sister would come with a large family that would welcome you in with open arms.

“Yeah, just, let me-um-get my shoes, yeah my shoes. Sorry” you were mumbling and stuttering as you walked to the shoe rack beside your door, slipping your feet into your fuzzy slippers before following Rhaena to the living room, grasping the small pile of throw blankets before the both of you left your apartment. She was quick to lock the door, then you both headed upstairs.

You were still technically early when you arrived, and as you entered the apartment Aegon was handing Baela a $20 bill, while she smirked. Luke was laying on one of the couches on his phone, Jace was putting drinks in the fridge with the help of Benji who honestly looked happy to be there. Meanwhile Aemond sat reading whatever random philosophical book he’d chosen for the week, and to your surprise, Helaena was pulling what smelled like cookies out of the oven.

“Hel! You’re here!” she smiled when she saw you, placing the tray down before meeting your embrace. “Yea, I actually was visiting my parents and Aegon picked me up earlier.” you smiled at that, you enjoyed her company, even if it was a rare occurrence. 

By the time everyone was settled in, around forty-five minutes had passed, and everything was nice. For the first time in a while you weren’t on edge, which was definitely noticeable, and you’d actually managed to relax into the large bean bag below you. Even if it did remind you of a certain someone.

Then, it was as if you’d summoned the asshole himself.

Jace was quick to shoot up and walk to the door, glancing at his phone nervously. Then he opened the door, nervously laughing for a few moments.

Then you spotted him. Not before Aegon, who was already tipsy, had managed to shoot up from his spot on the ground “Cregan! Glad you could make it man!”.

Baela and Rhaena watched as you let out a deep sigh, it was clear you didn’t want to ruin the night, so you simply turned to face away from the door, burying yourself further into the bean bag, covering yourself in the throw blanket as much as you could.

It’s important to mention that the bean bag happened to be big enough for two people, and for a long time, it’s where you would sit with Cregan, well technically, given his size, you’d be cuddled up together, and now, as his gaze found you ignoring him on that bean bag, the gloomy cloud that followed him around had resurfaced.’

After a few tense moments of silence, everyone commenced what they were doing.

Aegon, still standing, held up a deck of cards.

“For today’s game night we’re gonna need to partner up! Rhaena, you’re with me tonight! I need your smarticle particles!” you blinked slowly, Rhaena was usually your partner. Then you sat in silence as you watched everyone partner up.

Baela was shoved into Benji-literally shoved by Aegon. 

Aemond chose Luke as he stated their team needed “balance”, which actually made a lot of sense considering Aemond was always somewhat brooding, and Luke was a ray of sunshine.

Jace glanced between Helaena and Cregan, but when Baela shot him a pointed look-missed completely by you-he chose Helaena.

Which of course left you with the one person you wanted nothing to do with.

Rhaena tried breaking the ice, watching as Cregan awkwardly sat in the armchair beside the beanbag. “It looks like our old winning team is back together!” you were the first to scoff.

“Hey! They used to cheat!” you couldn’t stop yourself from responding to Aegon “actually he waited until we broke up for that”. As you spoke, everyone’s eyes widened, meanwhile you remained in your spot, staring at your phone, mindlessly scrolling through instagram.

However, as good of a guy that Cregan Stark is, you were the only person that was ever able to bring a different side out of him. You two rarely fought, but when you did, it was almost catastrophic and usually ended in very rough sex, or a heartwarming apology after ignoring one another for a few days. 

But you’d never broken up, you both took time to cool off in whatever way you needed.

Things are different now.

“For the last time, she came onto me! I’ve told you this thousands of times!” As he raised his voice, the frustration in his tone was evident, and his accent sounded thicker than usual-a key indicator that he was upset. So instead of backing down, you scoffed, now looking at him, fury evident on your features. 

“Yeah because a man your fucking size was so easily overpowered by her right! She just waltzed right up to you and beat you into submission or something?! Oh fuck you Cregan!” 

The two of you held eye contact, anger and frustration evident.

Aegon slowly sat down, leaning towards Jace and whispering “I think it’s working”, meanwhile Jace shook his head, having been witness to the few fights that you’d actually had with Cregan in the past.

“What would you have wanted me to do, I was shitfaced! Was I supposed to shove her to the ground and tell her to go fuck herself?!” you nodded your head at that, now sitting up, even closer to him than before. He stared down at you as you stared up at him.

“Yeah actually, that’s the best fucking idea I’d say you’ve ever had!” he scoffed.

“We weren’t even together and you hold that against me! Still!” That's what sent you over the edge.

“You fucking dumped me for no god damn reason, told me you loved me, and then went and fucked that Blackwood Bitch! The same fucking day! As if I meant nothing to you, we were together for two years Cregan! Two fucking years!” 

He heard the crack in your voice, everyone did. As you stared at him, he could see the way your eyes glossed over, he knew you too well. He knew the tears were coming.

“I tried to talk to you-you didn’t wanna hear anything!” you shrugged, gathering your things as fast as you possibly could, now looking anywhere but him.

“You don’t fucking deserve to talk to me you asshole”. Then you stood up and did what you always do in these situations, you ran away and left.

He was left there in shock, staring at the door, jaw clenched while he watched you leave. 

“Well that’s one way to start a game night” 

“Aegon shut up!” cue the smack “Ow! Baela! Stop hitting me! Go hit Benji, he likes that shit!-ow! Seriously?! Jace and Luke, get your cousin!”

Then in unison “she’s your cousin too!”

And finally, Benji piped up “is she talking about my cousin?” 

Instead of watching you waltz away, Cregan stood up, grabbing his things and mumbling his own apologies. Then he left, he knew exactly where you lived, so instead of taking the elevator, he rushed down the stairs, trying to cool off. 

When he stood in front of your door, it felt like a routine, something his body was so used to. As if this was muscle memory for him.

Then he knocked, once. No response. 

Twice. Nothing. 

Three times-maybe third times a charm. Nothing.

He stood there, his forehead leaned against the door. Cregan Stark was not a man of regrets, hell he prided himself on actually being a good guy, he was raised to be respectful, to be kind, to be strong, Stark men were not assholes. They weren’t childish, they weren’t selfish, they were supposed to be honorable in every way.

But here he is, leaning against his ex-girlfriend’s door, still in love with her, full of regret for ever breaking things off. He hadn’t even explained himself. He wanted to-he’d tried that day, but you stormed out, tears that he’d caused flowing down your cheeks. 

Then he felt the door shift, and you stood there, wrapped in the same blanket, eyes red as you stared up at him.

Gods, all he wanted to do was tell you he loved you, that he needed you, that you made him feel whole.

“I don’t have any fight left in me Cregan. It’s been months, why can’t you just leave me alone.” 

“Because I love you.” you sighed, shaking your head “no you don’t. If you loved me you wouldn’t have left me.” 

Sure you might’ve been being dramatic, but truthfully, you’d been heartbroken for months, following your breakup you’d lost ten pounds in two weeks. You’d never felt worse, and now, you were starting to feel alright, but it was no secret that there had been many nights full of tears, hugging a sweatshirt that you’d never washed, hoping to preserve the smell of his cologne.

“Can you just fucking listen to me for five minutes, please, I’ve been trying to talk to you for so long, just please-let me talk to you” you shrugged.

“Why?” he blinked a few times, taking a deep breath, running a hand through his hair-hair that you used to always touch, forcing him to sit between your thighs while you braid his hair, laughing when he’d complain, or when he’d do poses for you after you’d finished.

“I love you, I’ve never stopped loving you, I go to sleep at night and my dreams are filled with you, your smile, your laugh, even your fucking frowns. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. My heart fucking yearns for you. I can still feel the way you used to hold me, the way your breath felt against my neck, Gods, I think about you 24/7! I think about everything that I did, the way that I screwed up-I screwed us up. I love you! I’ll scream it from the fucking rooftops if that’s what you want!” 

You didn’t bother wiping away your tears, instead you stepped aside, leaving room for him to come in.

“You want to talk then talk.”

Then he walked inside, and shut the door the same way he used to. 

It truly was muscle memory, the way he walked to the couch and sat down in the same spot he was always in, then he waited for you.

He watched as you slowly sat next to him, still wrapped in a blanket like a sad burrito-Gods he spent too much time around Aegon. He didn’t hesitate to wipe the tears from under one of your eyes with his thumb, repeating the action on the other cheek.

“I didn’t want to break up with you. I never wanted to break up with you. My father’s-well he’s sick at home, I was going to leave, go back to Winterfell to take care of him, to take care of everyone. I just-I didn’t want you to be alone here, and I didn’t want to be your long distance boyfriend that you only ever see on fucking facetime. I just-I couldn’t do it.” 

You were silent, watching as he broke slightly, his voice cracking at the mention of his father, then at the mention of you being alone. 

It was no secret that Cregan and his father were close, you’d met Rickon Stark twice, and each time he’d embraced you with open arms and a warm heart. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he shrugged.

“Because, I’m supposed to be strong, I’m supposed to know my duty to my family, I’m supposed to be there for them, and it was hard-hard to say that I had to leave you for an unknown amount of time. I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to go a day without seeing you, you make me crazy in the best way, even now, whenever I see you on campus my heart practically flies out of my chest. Seeing you at my games, you’re like a ghost haunting me.” 

You slowly nodded, listening to him, watching the way he’d blink away his tears, the way his brows would furrow and jaw would clench slightly. 

“My dad’s the one who told me to stay. Told me not to throw my future away, that he’d be alright, y’know he’s a fighter-always has been. Told me to get my girl back-” he let out a small chuckle, the laugh laced in sadness “-but I think she doesn’t want me back. I went back up after we split up, just for a week, and he told me I was an idiot to leave it all behind. A full ride to Uni if I kept playing hockey? The girl of my dreams? Called me a bloke before he told me that he’s okay, he’s not letting go anytime soon” 

Cregan hadn’t been looking at you, he was focused on his hands, fists clenching slightly as he tried to swallow his own emotions. He hadn’t noticed the way that you’d been inching closer, not until your arms were wrapped around him, head leaning against his shoulder.

“You could’ve just told me from the beginning. I would’ve been your facetime girlfriend y’know? Would’ve figured out a way up there”

The familiarity of it all was what made him break, a small sob leaving his lips while you held him. It didn’t take long for you to shove him further into the couch and climb into his lap, the same way you used to when all you wanted to do was be as close to him as possible.

You held him, sat atop one of his thighs, arms wrapped around his shoulders while he cried into your shoulder. His arms gripping your waist, holding you against him. 

This is what should’ve happened all those months ago.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch” he laughed at that, and you felt his small smile. Meanwhile you ran a hand through his hair, fingers dancing through the dark locks before slowly running against his scalp. Your other hand traced small circles against his shoulder blade, you missed this.

You missed him.

“You weren’t a bitch-I probably deserved that.” you scoffed, moving back slightly, now holding eye contact with him as you brushed his tears away. “I was a bitch, I was the biggest bitch ever.”

He smiled, shaking his head “She really did come onto me. I did push her off-” you shushed him “I know. I believe you, I just-I dunno. I was hurt, then I saw that and it just stayed with me. I figured you dumped me for someone else, someone better-” he cut you off with a kiss.

It was so gentle, so soft, so sweet. Then he pulled away “there’s no one better than you for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. I just-I didn’t want to look weak and I didn’t want to leave you and-” you shushed him again, this time holding a hand against his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up Cregan Stark.” Your tone was light hearted as you shook your head “You’re not weak for having emotions, and you aren’t weak for wanting to care for those that you love. Don’t be stupid, we’ve both been stupid enough.” he nodded his head, then you slid her hand down, now caressing his face, your thumb lightly pulling on his bottom lip.

“I missed you” you smiled, a small giggle leaving your lips.

“Based on the way you stare, I could tell” he rolled his eyes “gotta commit your beauty to memory somehow” you slightly shoved his shoulder “you cornball!” 

“I missed you too loverboy”

Then you kissed him again, a slow, passionate kiss full of emotions, smiles, and even a few giggles. He then slid his hands under your sweatshirt, and you quickly pulled apart, letting him take it off, leaving you in just your bralette, then his lips were on yours again.

Before anything else could happen the front door swung open, startling you both, leading to Cregan’s grip against you tightening, meanwhile Aegon and Jace both hit the floor, while Luke stood there awkwardly, Rhaena shook her head, and Baela looked as if she was being held back by Benji. Meanwhile Helaena and Aemond were nowhere to be seen.

At least until they moved closer to the doorway, both of them shaking their heads and muttering “fucking Aegon” in unison.

“I told you guys it would work! Look at them! Kissing and close!” Aegon still spoke, even from the floor while Jace was on top of him. Then Jace slowly rolled off, letting out an ‘oof’. 

“Were you all eavesdropping?” Aegon blinked a few times at your question, glancing back at everyone else. Then you noticed the flush on Luke’s face and Rhaena’s awkward expression. Plus Jace was nodding his head. 

“Why did the Gods make him our brother?” Aemond shook his head “I truly do not know.” 

“So are you two back together now?” 

You sighed, standing up and grasping Cregan’s hand, pulling him towards your bedroom.

Cregan glanced back, still laughing at the scene “yes. Now please, fuck off mate”

With that you pulled him into your room and locked the door.

“They’re all the worst” he nodded his head at you, he’d expected you to pull him into your bed, however you walked towards your desk, rummaging through the different drawers until you found something. 

You glanced at him “can you help me with this”, while holding up the necklace.

“I’d be honored” you rolled your eyes, a bright smile on your face while he walked over, taking the necklace then as gently as possible, clasping it around your neck. Then he left a line of open mouthed kisses from below your right ear, to the edge of your shoulder. 

“I love you” his voice was soft, a whisper, almost as if it was a secret shared between the both of you.

You smiled, spinning around, one hand now on his face, the other on the back of his neck, fingers tracing circles through his hair. “I love you too”

-

Taglist:

Girl it dont exist LMAO

[safination]

Darling, I'm an Overlord

|Masterlist|

Pairings: Alastor x wife!Reader. Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, Dry humping, licking, biting, sucking, foreplay, MINORS DNI

“I could make an offering,” you say, pressing a kiss to where his jaw ends. It’s a simple act to roll your hips down. “…But I think I would prefer to get on my knees and show you how I worship.” Alastor grips your waist, rolling your hips even deeper. “Just a king?” “How about an emperor?” A twitch tells you everything there is to know—it’s still not enough. “More.” “How greedy,” you tell him and tap a stray finger on his belt buckle. “Hmmm, then—How about I worship you like an Overlord?” Alastor laughs, shaking his head but his hips rut upwards to meet you halfway. It’s the smallest of movements, but if forces you to press a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. TLDR: Alastor's worried you'll be late for dinner, but he promised to be patient, and such control deserves an award

This was stuck in my mind and no, I will not continue it but any other author is free to go and complete it. Honestly, not my best work but I think some of you might enjoy it. Tbh, I felt awkward writing it, but that's a whole different can of worm. This is quite short and I wish I could add more, but not really lol. MINORS DNI—NSFW

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

There’s a specific shade of red that Alastor enjoys on your lips. It’s quite the inconvenience to ask a shop to custom make the color every single time the lipstick runs out, but your husband is a man of fine detail. Even the smallest of changes will be noted.

As all things do, this specific pigment will eventually disappear for good. Still, you swipe the color across your lips, painting it red.

Afterall, a special night requires a special look.

“Dearest, we’re going to be late,” Alastor calls out with a smile that shows the yellow of his teeth. There’s a small twitch on his cheek and his fingers impatiently tap on the tip of his microphone, even as he sports an even tone. “The reservation won’t hold for very long.”

You lock his gaze from the reflection of the mirror. “Late?”

“Yes,late.” Alastor brings a hand out, leaning on the bed. There’s a carefully crafted expression of boredom on his face. “We’re going to be late.”

Darling, you’re the Radio Demon–one of the most powerful Overlords in this realm.” You blot your lips on some tissue. “They wouldn’t give away our table, and there’s always the option to kill anyone who complains.”

A muscle on Alastor’s cheek twitches. “Oh my…It seems I’ve been far too complacent if someone would dare to voice their objections to me.”

Lines trail the skirt of your dress, smoothing the wrinkles before presenting it to Alastor. “Tell me what you think, honey,” you say, smiling as you twirl. “Come on–How does it look on me?

“Good,” Alastor says, humming. “Shall we take our leave? I already have your coat.”

You frown, pointing your nose into the air. “Good?” you parrot back. “That’s not good enough. I was aiming for ravishing. I guess I should change.”

“Take your time, my love.” Alastor pinches the bridges of his nose but smiles nonetheless. “Afterall, I specifically said I wouldn’t complain.”

With a laugh, you stride towards him and present your bare back. “A little help?”

“That’s much better,” Alastor says as a claw gently trails up the skin of your back. The tip sends shivers down your spine and straight into your core until he digs the claw on the base of your shoulder. A drop of blood oozes out, trailing down your back. “Now, it’s absolutely ravishing.”

“I meant the zipper,” you say. “If it stains, Niffty will hang your head.”

“My apologies.”

Oh…his tongue is moist. It trails across your skin, painting slow trails across your shoulder to lap the blood. The zipper of your dress zips up before you could fully lose yourself.

You turn to face Alastor, stepping between his legs to place your hands on his knees. It only takes a single but gentle push to widen the space, and your hands keep pushing wider until you’re leaning down to meet his gaze.

“You’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding your irritation,” you say, and kiss the edge of his lips, lingering for more than a moment. “Such control deserves a reward.”

Alastor takes his thumb, swiping away the streak of red. It only smudges it across his lips. “We have a reservation,” he says but slots you further between his legs with a firm grasp on your hips. “What was the point of making one if we aren’t going to be on time?”

The tip of your tongue swipes across his lips, lapping away the lipstick stain.

Alastor’s eye twitches, and uses a finger to push you back. Instead you open your mouth to suck his finger, swirling your tongue around the skin. It trails from the base of where his palm meets his finger then until his knuckle. The wetness of your tongue licks until it reaches the tip of his pointed claw.

The edges of your teeth nibble on his skin before taking in another finger. Alastor blinks at you as you suck his digits deeper in your mouth, swirling your tongue around to reach the tip then down the knuckle until his claw hits the back of your throat.

You move your tongue upwards from the base, trailing it to lap around the tip of his claw before releasing his fingers with a small pop.

A line of saliva bridges your tongue to his finger.

The palms of your hands trail up his knees, pressing down the plum of his legs. “We’ve been over this, darling,” you tell him, inching closer to press a kiss on the edges of his lips. “Overlord. Radio Demon. Death.”

Alastor catches your wrists, playing with the tips of your fingers before intertwining them. “Just an Overlord?”

“Powerful Overlord.” The next kiss goes on his jaw.

“Then how would you give me my reward?” Alastor pulls back, pressing his own kiss on the ring around your finger. “Tell me every detail.”

“I could treat you like a king,” you say, brushing your lips down his jaw. Alastor leans to the side, exposing his neck for another one of your kisses. “

Your hands trail across his dress pants once more, stopping when your knees land on the carpet.

The side of your cheek nuzzles against his leg, and you smile up at him, locking his gaze to your eyes. You press your lips along the inside of his thigh, glazing kiss after kiss after kiss. Still, you keep your eyes staring firm into him, even as Alastor’s leg jumps from the sudden bite of your teeth.

The curve of your nose outlines his leg, and a muscle in his thigh tightens. It loosens and relax when you brush the pads of your thumb up and down.

Alastor crawls back to climb down the bed. A steady hand guides the plush of your thigh, beckoning you to crawl after him. It squeezes when his back hits the headboard. Alastor’s thumb swipes over the inside of your leg and he digs a claw into the skin. This prompts you to throw your legs over him, straddling his hip while leaving room for an erection to grow.

“Tell me how you would treat me like a king.”

“I could make an offering,” you tell him, rolling your hips to stimulate his softened member. The crotch of your lace underwear grinds on him. “...But I think I would prefer to get on my knees, and show you how I worship a king.”

Alastor grips your waist to pull your lower into him, steading you as you rub against him. “Just a king?”

“How about an emperor?”

A twitch pokes your crotch and it tells you everything there is to know–it’s still not enough. Alastor needs … “More.”

“How greedy,” you tell him, trailing your hands down his chest until it reaches his belt buckle. Your fingers tap on the metal over and over and over again. “Hmmm, then–How about I worship you like an Overlord?”

Alastor laughs into the air, breathy as he exhales. Sure, it’s a ridiculous notion…but his hips rut upwards to meet you halfway. The way his clothed tip grins on the crotch of your panties pulls a small gasp tumbling out your lips. It’s the smallest of movements but it forces you to press a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself.

Alastor grunts as he snaps his hips up. The claws on his hand dig into your hip when you grind down on him.

More….It’s not enough. You need mo--

Alastor’s bow tie is crooked. That just won’t do.

You pull on the edges of the fabric, unfastening the knot until it pools between your palms. The pace of your grinding slows as the pads of your finger trail down his arms. It wraps around his wrist, and you bring them to your lips, pressing a kiss on the inside before pulling them together above his head.

Another twitch of his clothed cock. It hits deeper into your core this time, prompting you to lean forward with a breath exhale. Never have you been more glad to be wearing such thing panties. The force of your shifting weight grinds your crotch harder into him. The back of Alastor’s head hits the headboard with a slight jump.

There’s an innocent smile on your lips as you take his bowtie and bind his wrist to the bedframe with a knot. “This looks much better, indeed.”

Alastor pulls on the knot and it unfasted around his wrist. “Are you doing this correctly?”

You keep grinding deeper into his cock until small moans release into the air. The pace of your humping quickens as you re-tie the loose knot around his wrist. 

“Don’t you know, darling? Overlords brim with power,” you tell him, trailing a sharp nail between the buttons of his dress-shirt until it snaps open. “I have to protect this feeble body of mine from such strength.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek with a hum. “How smart.”

“Shall we make a deal, my dearest, darling, Overlord husband?” you say, nibbling the edges of your teeth on his shoulder. 

Alastor snaps his hips up to rut the tip even deeper, forcing you to moan into his skin. Soft breaths brush across. His hands dig deeper into your hips, pulling even deeper as he grinds his cock into your underwear.

“Slow… Fast. It doesn't matter,” you say, and the words come breathier than planned. “I will keep going until the knot holds secure. The moment it slips off, so do I…And I will leave, no matter how close … no matter how desperate.”

Each word brushes your lips on the sensitive spot between the junction of his neck and shoulder. Fabric prevents you from burying yourself deeply around his cock and moving until his hips bruise

Alastor leans backward to chase a greedy kiss, but you lean away with a smile. “..Dearest.”

“But we’re going to be late,” you tell him. “Afterall, reservations were mad--”

Shadow tentacles slither around your body, trailing across your waist and up your breasts. Darkness crawls between them, massaging the soft tissue. It trails higher and higher until it reaches your neck.

 “Oh darling…don’t you know?” Alastor says, and the tentacles pull your head lower until you feel the clothed tip pressing on your lips.

There isn’t much else to do but press your lips, giving his cock the smallest of kisses.

“I’m an Overlord.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Tell me what you guys think! I'm not really used to writing such suggestive pieces lol Sooo some feedback would be nice.

[kitscutie]

Hi, I wanted you to make a fanfic about Rafe (obx) in which he dates a pogue, he is very ashamed of her for being poor, I wanted something with a lot of anguish and maybe a happy ending?

favourite crime (rafe cameron x fem!reader)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: starts with smut, middle is angst, happy ending!

summary: you and rafe are dating but keeping it secret so that his family doesn't stop him from seeing you since you're a pogue. at least that's what he told you.

a/n: requests are open!

word count: 2.7k

join my taglist here.

"Fuck baby." Rafe said as he sat below you shirtless, your hips grinding down into his rhythmically. The two of you had been together for four months now. Boyfriend and girlfriend.

You were no longer just his friendly hook up whenever Ward pissed him off or Barry wouldn't give him his fix of coke, you were his.

His hands gripped your waist tightly, knuckles turning white from pleasure even when you were both still clothed from the wait down, well you both had underwear on at least.

"Get these off." He grunted, lifting you up onto your knees as you straddled him to wean your underwear down lour legs and into his pocket. He had a collection at Tanny Hill now. Not for him but as a way of keeping some of you here which was useful since you spent ninety nine percent of your nights here.

"You eager or something?" You joked knowing you were in fact the desperate one. You had been working at the Country Club all day and you could only put up with so many stuck up bitches before a tether within you snapped.

"Mhm, believe whatever you want princess." He mumbled, occupied in pulling his own boxers off. "My desperate girl." He smirked as his hand caressed your face, your own body settling down onto his as your bare skin finally met.

"You gonna get to it, or keep me waiting?" You asked, leaning down to bit the very tip of his thumb in a way that always drove him slightly crazy.

With that he chuckled, eyes darkening as he flipped you over, him now on top of you. Two of his fingers circled you clit slowly, too slowly making you more desperate than you were to begin with.

"Rafe." You whined, hips bucking in an attempt to increase the speed of his digits.

"Patience, pretty girl. I always give you what you want, huh?" You nodded in response, eyes closing as you gripped his hair when he slipped them inside with ease. You were already dripping and needy for him, he knew that. He loved it.

"Mhm, I do. So you're gonna be good for me, alright?" He once again asked, knowing you couldn't respond even if you wanted do though he enjoyed watching you squirm. "Think you've earned this?" He questioned, hand leaving you to pump at himself much quicker than he had touched you.

Your hand reached to pull his own away and towards your face, growing impatient. "Please?" You asked, giving him the eyes you knew no man could resist.

"Okay, baby." He finally gave in, lining himself up at your truly dipping entrance. This was all you had wanted all day and it was finally coming true, no longer just a figment of your day dreams.

You sighed out in both relief and pleasure as he pushed his cock into you. He pinned your hands down above you head with his own, fingers interlocked. It was subtle reassurance that no matter how wrapped up in the moment you both were it was just the two of you together.

"Fuck." He moaned, hips pushing into yours like they did each time you fucked, skilfully and measured. If Rafe was good at one thing, it was sex.

You bit your lip to contain your moans, no one was home and they never were when you came over seeing as your relationship was completely secret until he overcame the fear of what Ward would say.

He despised Pogues, as did Rafe but you slowly came to learn it wasn't the general idea of Pogues it was specific ones like John B and his friends, mostly JJ.

Rafe didn't hate you, he couldn't even if he tried.

"Love having you under me like this, so needy." He teased watching as tears dripped from beneath your eyelashes the harder he fucked into you. "Look so beautiful, my girl."

"I love you so much." You finally spoke though it was whispered and strained. With that Rafe knew you were close and so his skilled fingers once again found your clit drawing tight hard circles into the skin.

"Love you too baby." He grunted as he reached his own climax alongside yours. He kept going, even as he grew tired letting you ride out your high that he knew you needed.

Once it was over and you winced with sensitivity he pulled out slowly, allowing your body to adjust to the empty feeling which made you whimper just as much as being overstimulated.

He flopped onto the bed beside you, pulling you close to your chest even though the two of you were damp with sweat, hair stuck to your skin.

"You're it for me, you know that right?" He said into the silence and darkness as he gently stroked your hair.

"And you me." You responded placing a feather light kiss to his chest, even though he would never ask, that reassurance was like a weight lifted off of his shoulders.

You were his, no matter what.

The next day you left him early with a kiss to his forehead and an 'I love you' whispered into the dark room.

You had to work and though you wished you could spend every second of everyday in that room with that boy you didn't have the money to do so, you never wanted Rafe to feel pressured to support you, especially not when you were still both so young.

You had currently been at the Country Club for almost six hours when a new table came in, one which you recognised all too soon. It was Rafe joined by Kelce and Topper. You weren't sure whether or not they knew about you but you felt safe to assume Rafe wouldn't mind you introducing yourself. They wouldn't tell Ward, not if he didn't want them to.

"Hi!" You smiled, walking over with a pep in your step, happy to see your boyfriend especially after expecting to be separated all day.

"Uh, hello." Chuckled Kelce, never having encountered such a happy and forward worker at the Club. Usually it was full of moody Pogues.

You saw the red growing in Rafe's cheeks and the way his eyes refused to meet your own and yet you assumed innocently that he was simply nervous.

"I'm Y/N, Rafe's-" You cut yourself off, expecting the previously mentioned to finish your sentence though he never did. Simply glaring at you as though you were scum.

"The fuck..." Topper muttered clearly surprised. He wasn't dumb, he knew how that sentence should have ended and he also noticed that Rafe never did finish it.

"You're fucking a Pogue man? She need the money or something?" Kelce added and you felt your heart drop, eyes immediately turning glassy with tears. You were a sensitive girl, you knew that but a comment so harsh was unnecessary and it stung twice as hard when Rafe remained silent.

"I-I'm sorry...what?" You stuttered, though the three stayed silent. "Rafe?" You turned to him hoping for comfort, reassurance, anger at Kelce literally anything but you received nothing, not even a look.

"I'm sorry, what's your name again?" He asked, voice strained with what you assumed to be guilt but it didn't matter what he felt because those very wards felt like a stab to the heart, made even worse as Kelce and Topper laughed, heads flying back.

They praised him and shook his hand, impressed by his ability to be so memorable to one of his 'hookups' yet not even knowing your name back. It must've been common for them.

"Okay then." You said, pulling your apron off as the tears flowed freely. "Fuck you." You spat at the sun-kissed blonde before you walked hastily out of the Country Club, you didn't care about your job in that moment, you only cared that the one person you had ever let hold y our heart had just squished it between his fingers with no regard for you at all.

Your mind flashed through every memory of you together, trying to rationalize why this could have happened, was it you, did you do something wrong, say something wrong?

No, you concluded, this wasn't you. Rafe Cameron could never love and you were foolish to think you would be the one to change him.

Lying in your bed, head buried in one of Rafe's sweatshirts had become your new norm, your knew comfort. You hadn't spoken to him since that day which was only around seventy six hours ago but you had never gone one day without him never mind three.

You heard his car park up outside though he never ventured inside, not until now. He had a spare key and so you expected it at some point though not so soon, you thought he didn't like you, didn't love you, that it was over.

His footsteps echoed throughout the empty house, your parents at work. They matched the rhythm of your heavy heart, it felt hollow now without him there to fill it up, this was your life now, how would you cope?

The door to your room opened slowly, almost hesitantly.

"Hi baby." He whispered as he sat down beside your head, hand reaching out to stroke your head and you knew you shouldn't but you leant into his warm touch, desperate for anything.

"I uh- I'm sorry for the other day, I'm such a dick and I just panicked 'cause I didn't know how the guys would react-" He spoke but you cut him off.

"To you dating a filthy, good for nothing, gold digging Pogue right?" You said coldly and he noted that your voice lacked its usual emotion.

"That's not true," He tried but once again, you wouldn't let him lie.

"No. It is Rafe. It is true and you know it." With that you sat up to face him. Your eyes were red and puffy, your face pale and the mascara from that very day was still streaked all over your cheeks. "I know it." Your voice faltered as the tears began to flow again.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, truly I'm sorry. I know it's not okay, I know I'm stupid and that I hurt you and all I want to do is make you feel better again. I- I um, told them about you, everything from start to end. My family too. Realised I can't hide the biggest thing in my life from them. The best thing in my life." He added and you perked up at this, now intregued.

"What'd they say?" You spoke, voice still quiet from the sadness instilled within you.

"Well, Top and Kelce are sorry though I know that doesn't mean much right now. My family took it better than I thought they would, they want to meet you." He said and it was clear he was filled with relief by their responses.

"And what about you? Do you want me to be with you? To meet them? For everyone to know your with me?" You asked insecurely, hands twisting in the blanket that was over you out of anxiety.

"Fuck." He sighed, ashamed of himself, of the way he had made you feel. He pulled your head gently into his chest, choking up at the tears you released.

"I thought that was it. That we were done and that you had fucked me over yet all I could think about was you. That I loved you and had I hurt you in a way that made you do this. I just wanted you there for me, holding me." You whimpered, the hurt in your chest making it's way up your throat making you sound small and weak.

"Never baby, I meant what I said. You're my forever, my everything I wanna marry you with some big stupid fuckin' ring one day, I just- I was scared of my dad of what he might do it's not you it never was. I love you with everything within me, you're my girl 'till the day I drop dead." He said and you almost felt full again, the words that had once fuelled your nightmares being replaced by his sweet ones, stitching your broken spirit back up.

"You promise?" You asked leaning up to place a kiss on his lips.

"Promise." He replied leaning his forehead against your own.

Rafe Cameron never broke promises, especially not when it came to you.

[ellecdc]

Hello dearest, how are you?

Congratulations for the exams🥳 hope you get better(because I know exams can get us mad LOL)

CBBH

Do you think Draco would ever pull the “you are not even my real mother” to Vix, and if he did what would be the others reaction

hi sweets! thanks for your sweet words and also your request - I've not been spending much time in my CBBH universe but I know this is how most of you found me, so here's your request!!

Sirius Black x Vixen!reader who deal with a tempertantrum from Draco

CW: brief mention of the war, brief mention of character death, adopted child worries, parental struggles, fluff, hurt/comfort

Sirius barely had time to throw up a silencing charm down the hallway to the baby’s room before he heard the door slam and heavy foot falls head towards the kitchen. 

“Draco Malfoy!” He heard you call sternly; Sirius winced at the use of the full name. “Do not walk away from me when I am talking to you.”

“You’re not talking to me, you’re shouting at me.” The ten-year-old argued back.

“I would not have to shout if you would- I’m not arguing with you.” You corrected yourself, finally following Draco into the kitchen where Sirius could see his son’s red and frustrated face whilst yours looked frustrated and exhausted. “I have specifically told you again and again to not fly your brooms south of the manor!”

“I know!”

“Then tell me why I had to come chasing you lot all the way to the Jones’ farm  lest you be seen by muggles, or worse, hit the power lines! You know I don’t just tell you not to go there to be boring, right? To be bossy? It’s to keep you safe, Draco.” You insisted severely. 

Draco had the audacity to scoff at you for that. “Why are you only shouting at me about this? Why not yell at Harry, huh? He was there too!”

You stuck your tongue in your cheek as you raised your eyebrow at the boy. “Because Harry is not mine, Draco. It is my job as your mum to-”

“BUT YOU’RE NOT MY MUM!” Draco screamed, causing the room to fall painfully silent. 

You and Sirius had never tag-teamed in your parenting; there’d never really been a need to. Draco had always been a super easy child, and both of you trusted the other to handle it, or, to let the other know when you needed back up. 

But this, this was uncharted territory, and Sirius wasn’t completely proud of the fierce protectiveness he felt roar to life inside of him as you let out a disbelieving breath. After the war - your death disappearance, finally finding you again only to have you snatched out from under his nose, and then to finally be able to care for you the way you so deserved to be cared for - this felt like an assault on Sirius’ favourite person; son-or-not, Draco had crossed a line. 

“If Harry’s not your son, I’m not your son either! So sod off with your lecture!”

“Draco.” Sirius barked, causing you to hold out a hand in your direction.

“Sirius, don’t.”

“Love, he-” He started.

“Go to your room, Draco.” You ordered; a determination in your eyes Sirius wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from you before.

It didn’t appear Draco had either, if the slight wavering in his glare was any indication. But it appeared his frustration and stubbornness won out as he continued to stare at you defiantly.

“Go to your room, now.” You repeated quietly.

The boy finally turned and stomped his way down the hall before slamming his bedroom door behind him; Sirius wanted to smack him upside the head for that alone, let alone what he’d just said to you. 

“What the hells has gotten into him?” Sirius asked in disbelief, seeming to startle you out of your shock as you moved to grab a glass of juice from the cool storage.

“He’s just frustrated.” You muttered quietly.

“We don’t talk to each other like that.” Sirius argued, earning him a tired sigh from you.

“Well, apparently we do now.” You said as you sat at the table across from him. 

Now that you were stationary, Sirius could clearly see the reflection of the manor grounds from your glassy eyes as you stared unseeingly out the window.

“You okay, my love?” He asked quietly, reaching a hand out across the table to yours. You sniffled and took his hand quickly; your muscles relaxing slightly as he rubbed soothing circles across your wrist with his thumb. 

“I’m fine.” 

And there may have been a period of time where Sirius would have believed that, but the two of you were nine years into your parenting game, and fourteen years into your relationship, so Sirius liked to think he knew better.  “I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Don’t.” You spat; your hand creating a death grip around Sirius’ hand forcing him to return his arse to the seat. “He’s upset, Pads.” You offered more gently. “Let him cool down.”

“How many times have you told James the same of me?” Sirius teased, eliciting a sad smile from you, though it was a smile nonetheless. 

“He’s just like his dad.” You whispered, looking close to tears again. 

“He didn’t mean it, my love.” He implored, causing you to shake your head. 

“Doesn’t make it not true.”

“Vix…”

“She would be doing such a better job than me, Siri.” You let out through a choked sob. “She should be here with him; he deserves his mother.”

“He has his mother.” Sirius argued; feeling the protective anger bubbling up again in his oesophagus. 

“Sirius.”

“He deserves his mother, but he was gifted with you, Vix; we all were.” Sirius pressed severely. “He is unbelievably lucky to have a mum like you.”

You took a shuddering breath and let it out with a sigh. “I just wish I knew I was doing a good job with him.”

“You are.” Regulus said in a bored tone, causing the two of you to jump nearly a foot in the air.

“Buggering fuck- how long have you been there!?” Sirius shrilled.

“We were literally mid-conversation before your wife and child stormed in, Sirius.” Regulus drawled. 

“Fucking hells.” 

“Children are bastards.” Regulus continued as if the two of you weren’t currently trying to restart your hearts. “And just because you’re doing a great job with him doesn’t mean Draco’s any less of a bastard.”

“Okay, well, I don’t know that you should be calling my son a bastard?” You argued in the form of a question.

“Well he’s sort of acting like one.” Sirius muttered petulantly, earning him a kick in the shin under the table.

“Narcissa trusted you with him, Y/N.” Regulus pressed; grey eyes boring into yours as memories of the final months of the war that only the two of you were privy to passed through your understanding. “And she was right to.”

And like the creepy fuck he is, Regulus turned and silently left the room; floating like a victorian ghost haunting the halls of Potter Manor.

“He’s a weird bloke.” Sirius proclaimed, earning him another kick in the shin. Luckily for Sirius, he knew the kick was coming and caught your ankle with his hand, holding your foot hostage under the table. “But he’s right, my love. You’re the best mum.”

“As good as Effie?” You asked quietly.

Sirius felt his left eye twitch; he wanted to say yes, because you’re you and you’re his and you’re perfect, but he also felt he couldn’t because…well…Effie was the greatest mother in the whole wide world?

Thankfully, you simply chuckled and reached a hand across the table to caress Sirius’ face. “Thank you, my love.”

He quickly turned his face to kiss the palm of your hand before he stood up.

“Okay, I’m going to go talk to our bastard of a child.”

“Sirius!” You scolded, but he was already half way down the hall. 

Sirius knocked twice before he propped the door to Draco’s bedroom open, where he saw the little squirt laying face down on his bed with his face shoved into his pillow.

Sirius took a steadying breath as he closed the door behind him and moved into his oldest child’s room.

Patience didn’t always come easily to Sirius; that is to say, patience and grace was not his automatic response. 

But he refused to be like his parents; he wanted to be better.

So, he thought of Effie, and Monty, and Hope Lupin, and you, and he sat on the edge of his little boy's bed and placed a gentle hand on his back.

“Hey buddy.” He said quietly, rubbing circles onto his back. The only sign Sirius got that Draco had heard him was a small sob into the boy’s pillow. “What was that about? Hm?” He continued gently.

Draco let in a (quite disgusting, if you asked Sirius) sniffle and sat up on his bed; face wet and red, littered with tear track stains.

It always felt like everytime Sirius blinked, his children were bigger than he remembered them. But right now, Draco seemed so small; sitting in front of Sirius was the sad and scared one and a half year old boy who had just watched his birth mother die whilst protecting him as his adopted mum shielded him with her body. 

And in that sad, scared, distraught little boy's face - with eyes so much like his own - Sirius saw himself, too. 

“What’s the matter, Draco?”

“Does she hate me now?” The boy let out in a sob. 

“Does who hate you now?” Sirius asked disbelievingly. 

“Mum.” 

“Oh, buddy, no.” Sirius replied emphatically, pulling his son into his lap and cradling his head to his chest. “Mum could never hate you, my love; she adores you.”

“I don’t know why I said what I said.” Draco admitted.

Sirius let out a sigh as he rocked the two of them back and forth. “It’s because you’re a Black, buddy; our words cut deep. But we have to be better than that, Draco. We need to say what we mean and mean what we say; we never know what tomorrow brings.”

“I love mum, I really do.” He insisted. “I was just so mad at being scolded and…”

“And maybe a little embarrassed being caught doing something you weren’t supposed to?” Sirius offered.

Draco let out a shuddering breath and nodded his head.

“Your mum loves you so much, and it scares her when she thinks you might get hurt. She made a very important promise nearly nine years ago that she would protect you with her life, buddy. She takes that promise very seriously.”

“I’m sorry.” Draco whispered as he sat up in Sirius’ lap. The boy wiped at his face and looked at his father imploringly. 

“I’m not the one who needs an apology, buddy.” Sirius whispered back, pushing a lock of blond hair away from his son’s face and making a mental note that Draco was due for a haircut. 

“What if she doesn’t forgive me?” He asked timidly. 

Sirius leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead. “Your mother has forgiven me for far worse, my love. Come on, let’s go talk to her, hm?” He offered. 

And Draco quickly nodded and slid from his dad’s lap, reaching a hand behind him to grasp Sirius’ before they made their way back to the kitchen to make amends with Draco’s mum.

[joonsytip]

The Selfish Dilemma || Jeonghan - Part 1

Pairings: Jeonghan x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It was love at first sight ever since you laid eyes on Jeonghan. To him, you are the annoying co-worker who keeps asking him out. No one is new to your courting agenda which only pisses off Jeonghan but what happens when you stop, all at once....

Word Count: 6k

Warnings (specific to this part): this part is SFW, pinning, unrequited love, lots of office jargons, profanity, tears, mention of alcohol consumption, aloof Jeonghan, reader is a love sick puppy, second lead Seokmin, wholesome co-workers Wonwoo, Soonyoung, Jihoon and Joshua, wholesome bestfriend Myeongho (lmk if I missed any)

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

A/N: To be added to the taglist for the next part please send an ask or comment under this or the announcement post.

Please heart, comment and reblog, it would really help to keep me going <3

[Svt Main Masterlist] [Svt Flick - Fic Masterlist]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Epilogue

The cubicles are neat, the marble floors are shining brighter than crystals even after getting padded every now then. The fruity smell of the room refresher is strong enough to go on for days but the continuous clicking of keyboards sound loud enough to give a year worth migraines.

You duly wait by the office entrance, your daily routine, holding a takeaway paper cup which contains Iced Cinnamon Cappuccino.

A familiar car passes by towards the parking and you know that the person you're waiting for is gonna grace you with his presence soon.

Just in cue, that person walks by ignoring you and passes through the security check. You line up behind him, instantly feeling better just by seeing his face.

"How do you always manage to look so gorgeous?", you ask him giddily knowing very well that you won't be getting a response from him.

The security at the check smiles when you direct your requesting gaze at her. She let's you pass by and you're doing large strides in your heels.

"Here..", you are handing him the beverage cup, "Have a great day, Hannie!", you wish him and he doesn't even bat an eyelash as he saunters over to avail the elevator.

You stand there watching him as your lips curl up because your gazes meet for the first time for the day before the elevator door closes.

When you had switched to the current company you're working for two years ago as a Senior Developer you had never thought in your wildest dreams that you'd be turning into a lovesick puppy for the technical analyst of the team you had gotten assigned to.

Yoon Jeonghan got you enchanted the moment you had your eyes on him. You could vividly remember, it was your first day after getting assigned to a project and your manager was introducing you to your teammates.

Everyone seemed nice and greeted you with enthusiasm except one. Yoon Jeonghan was stoic throughout and for you, that heart within your chest thumped vigorously, eyes glued to him while the surroundings seemed to freeze.

Love at first sight was just a funny concept until Jeonghan made you experience it.

You would admit it unabashed that working in corporate world had given you chance to meet a lot of person but no one could ever do justice to suits more then Jeonghan.

Always been a spontaneous person and upon getting a confirmation that he's single your journey of courting him kickstarted.

It's been two years since then.

Everytime you ask him out, Jeonghan rejects you even without sparing a moment of thought.

You are currently working on debugging a piece of code which every other member of your team failed to solve and it ultimately fell into your court.

"I'm gonna run by the canteen, do you need anything?"

You lift your head to see Seokmin hovering over the partition of your desk.

"One strong black coffee, thanks Min.", you quickly say before focusing on the screen again.

You don't see the empathetic smile Seokmin throws at you.

It's almost afternoon and your prying eyes are stuck on the door of the cabin, adjacent to your desk.

Soon Jeonghan comes out of his cabin which prompts you to follow him to have lunch to together.

It's same everyday, Jeonghan not intending to let you sit with him but you do it anyways.

"Did the bug get resolved?", he asks, eyes set on the plate, "I think we have been stuck on this on for long, need to get it resolved asap."

You chew on the salad filling in your mouth to quickly gulp it and answer him, "I got the chance to look at it today. Hopefully, I wouldn't be spending much time on it."

Jeonghan nods making a brief eye contact with you.

So you proceed with the most important part of your daily ritual.

"Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?", you ask.

"No", comes his recorded response.

You smile mischievously, "Why? I thought I should be rewarded for fixing the code?"

Jeonghan scoffs, "You're knocking on the wrong door. Ask your manager to reward you. If he doesn't, go to the HR department and discuss the matter."

"But they're not you, Hannie.", you slip out the nickname on purpose knowing it irks him, "You're the one I want."

Jeonghan blatantly ignores you and when he's done eating, he cleans the corner of his lips with the tissues and then walks out of the canteen grabbing a water bottle.

Even his back profile should have a seperate fandom of its own, you ponder dreamily.

"Snap out of it, you're drooling."

You crane your neck to see that the seat beside you already occupied by Seokmin.

"Another rejection?" he asks and you nod.

The two of you continue to eat silently before Seokmin brings up the topic again, "Join our team Y/N, Wonwoo is moving out."

You give him a pointed look wishing it was as easy as it sounded. When you started working in the team, you worked under Jeonghan and within this span, everyone moved out or transferred except you. To work closer to Jeonghan and out of sentimentality, you stayed.

"It'll be a lot less hectic", Seokmin assures and points at your face, "Your concealor is doing a very bad job at hiding those dark circles."

You gasp and hit his arm, "Atleast Pandas got a competition even though they're cute and I'm just..."

"Beautiful." Seokmin says in a beat, "You are beautiful Y/N and Jeonghan is blind for not appreciating a woman like you."

He says with so much sincerity that you have to cower your gaze away.

"How long until you stop pursuing him?", he asks.

So that I can start courting you, he doesn't say.

"Until he accepts or...", you sing along, "the day I run out of my patience and the rejection finally settles in my bones."

Red might be your favourite colour but currently you're seeing green.

"Who's she, Wonwoo?", you hiss, lamenting on how you have to witness such a sight.

Apparently a woman whom you've never seen before is standing too close to Jeonghan, much to your disliking and the man in the picture seems unbothered with her hogging over and he's smiling.

He's smiling at whatever nonsense she's uttering!

"She's Seonji, my replacement.", Wonwoo speaks calmly, "Since it's my last week, I'll be giving her KTs before my departure."

"You don't care about me or Seokmin, do you?", you say sadly, "How would I function at all without your inputs?"

Wonwoo is another efficient co-worker who works with Seokmin and is a very good friend of yours.

"Not everyone will be a fool to stall their growth because of sentiments Y/N.", he retorts, meaning no malice.

Your throat closes up for a moment but you somehow manage to speak, "We're not having this conversation now, Woo."

"I know this won't go anywhere but there's a limit to everything. How long until you see it's not Jeonghan but someone else who deserves you.", Wonwoo thinks it's time he rats out Seokmin's name because he himself would never.

"What do you mean by someone else?", you counter back confused.

"It's been two years Y/N, people can go through whole lot of loving in this span, don't you think he's behaviour towards you should have been different if he cared even a bit?", Wonwoo is ruthless because he knows he needs to be the one to tell you because no one else would, "Has he ever smiled at you like that?"

"Woo please stop...", your eyes are teary, voice cracking, "You think I don't know that?"

Then you are walking away, wiping your tears. When there's something on your mind you always go to the rooftop to clear your mind out, of course not alone, you always find a lot of others, some shedding tears, some smoking cigarettes or some staring at the abyss.

You don't realise how much time has passed because you don't have your phone with you. Just as you are mentally preparing yourself to indulge into work you hear the call of your name from a very familiar voice.

"Do you think this company is paying you for slacking off?", Jeonghan says nonchalantly as he stands in front of you, "I can't even reach you on your phone."

Your lips curl up instantly, tiredness disappearing from your eyes, "Did you miss me Hannie?"

Jeonghan turns back & walks towards the door. You follow.

"When you're done fixing the bug, bring it to me for review.", he continues, "The clients have scheduled a meeting with us at 7pm. Be there."

"Aye aye captain!", you say from behind, "Can I ask you a question?"

You don't wait for Jeonghan to respond and ask right away, "Do you hate me?"

"Yes.", comes another of his recorded response.

You wonder how many more yes you can take for an answer.

The meeting ends at 10 and you're quickly collecting your belongings and almost parading so that you could avail the last bus since your car is given up for servicing.

You are sure that availing the bus is far fetched so you're taking out your phone to book a cab when you hear honking.

The familiar car stops by the road where you're standing and Jeonghan rolls down the window.

"Get in, I'll drop you.", he's looking at the way ahead and you are instantly getting in the passenger's seat.

"Wanna go to a restaurant for dinner?", you ask robotically, your tone dry. Jeonghan notices and sweeps a glance at you.

You look exhausted and he hopes it's only because of work.

"No", he says, "Put your address on the system's GPS.", as if it's not already instilled in the system.

You do as asked and Jeonghan sees you putting a different address.

"Did you change places?", he asks.

"A friend's address.", you don't explain further and it doesn't resonate well with him.

You thank him when he drops you at the doorsteps and watch him drive away until the car disappears from your sight.

The product deployment is scheduled for next month meaning work's gonna get more hectic than it already is.

You are knocking on the door and upon hearing a 'come in' you enter the cabin.

Jeonghan is seated on the revolving chair, the coat is hung on the headrest meaning that his only white shirt clad body is making you salivate. His head is laid back and you want nothing more than to stroke those luscious locks with your fingers. But for now, you push away your thoughts.

"I have mailed you a scheduler for the new product release.", you inform, "I think it's best if you arrange a meeting for all the teams involved and I'll give them a walkthrough on deployment and checkout procedures."

Jeonghan immediately straightens and checks the calender before scheduling a meeting for the next day.

"Tomorrow, 5 PM.", he stretches his arms out, "Anything else?"

The sight of viens protruding through his arms almost has you choked and you think it's best for your eyes to be up, "Y-Yeah? Oh well, I'll run by the Batch Ops department, do you have anything you want me to relay to them?"

Jeonghan searches for some files and takes out one from the stack and gives it to you, "Give it to Jihoon and tell him to send me the report by EOD."

You nod and ask, "There's this movie I have been meaning to watch, do you wanna go with me?"

"No.", he responds right away and you're already turning to exit the room when Seonji enters.

"Hannie!", she's intentionally loud and emphasizing and you are almost biting your tongue when you hear the nickname you've given him, to be called by her.

Not wanting to breathe in the same room as her, you are just taking a step ahead but you freeze on hearing her next words.

"The restaurant you took me to on Tuesday after work, I recommended it to my friends and they also loved it. Let's visit again sometime!"

You head whips to look at Jeonghan, to find him already staring at you.

It hurts your pride so you walk out of the room.

You're currently in the Batch Ops department, waiting for Jihoon. The said man is always busy, running on his heels and termed as the workaholic assistant supervisor of the department.

"Hey Y/N, did Jeonghan send the file?", you nod handing him the file and remind him to send the report.

"So how's your courting agenda going on?", he always asks and is even amused by the fact that how persistent you are to get Jeonghan when he doesn't show an ounce of interest in you.

You are generally joking with him on this but today you don't throw a banter and Jihoon is quick to understand that you're having a bad day so he doesn't pry further.

And on the way back you meet Seokmin who asks you to accompany him to the designated tent bar you both often go to. You agree instantly.

That night the owners of that tent bar knew how much you hate a woman named Seonji. They already know about your love for Jeonghan, since your alcohol tolerance is terrific, you cry river worth tears for that man everytime you're wasted and they feel pity for Seokmin who has to always clean up after you.

The product release approaches and everyone is pulling late nights or all nighters. Those who working in higher posts have to almost use office as a makeshift home mainly because they are dealing directly with the foreign clients and the time zones differ.

Though you are tired tattered, you make sure a cup of coffee of his preference always awaits him when Jeonghan enters his cabin. You also arrange the files, putting sticky notes in each section so he doesn't have to waste time searching for something. You make sure the cabin smells good and the place is neat. The towels are kept warm in the bathroom attached to the cabin and his favourite fragrance is filling the air inside cabin, so even if he's spending time at office, your efforts makes him think it's home.

When the rest ask how you do this, why do you do this, your answer is simple.

Isn't this what love is, to keep giving and not expecting anything in return.

"I think it's time you move on, Y/N.", your best friend Myeongho says after he shows up at your apartment one day.

Before you could retaliate his arms are up in his defence as he continues, "You know I'm never the type to judge or disregard anything casually. But this has been going on for long and it might hurt you but it's stagnant. You both made no progress. Two years, definitely a very long time and you can appear all happy and unfazed but I know every rejection must be hurting as hell."

You don't need words, the tears those stream down your facr speak volumes. Myeongho's presence is itself soothing and maybe that's why you are not loosing yourself in pits of sorrow for the moment.

What are supposed to do, you're so in love with Jeonghan, you're so used to him, so dedicated to him.

Myeongho pats your back while he's talking to his wife on his phone. You ponder over how Myeongho met her a year ago and now they are happily married with a baby on the way.

No one's story is comparable to other, each having it's own circumstances and pace but as your best friend said yours is totally different.

Unrequited and stagnant.

The product release is a success and now the work load is a lot lesser.

And as expected you're in Jeonghan's cabin.

"Are you free today?", you ask, "Wanna go to dinner? Not as a date, some people from our & Batch Ops team would be present as well."

Jeonghan is unabashed as usual, "I'm busy today."

He isn't explaining himself, it's his way of defining things. He's implying that on other days he's rejecting your advances without a reason and today he's doing it with a reason.

This time your face falls.

"Do you hate me?", you ask.

"Yes, you're annoying."

"Would you miss me if I leave?"

"No, a good riddance."

This time your heart hurts.

You are currently in a restaurant with Seokmin, Jihoon, Chaein and Joshua both working in your team, Soonyoung of Support Team and you've managed to pull Wonwoo in this eat out.

Wonwoo is currently making a disgusted face at Seokmin, who's doing some questionable mimicking of Jihoon, the man being mimicked being totally vested in eating whatever is there on his plate.

"Isn't that Jeonghan?"

Five pair of eyes follows Soonyoung's gaze and lands on Jeonghan.

"Wait that's Yoora with--"

Seokmin is late in slapping his hand over Soonyoung mouth because you have heard the name and it rings in your ear.

Kwon Yoora, Jeonghan's ex-girlfriend. The woman accompanying him tonight.

You have heard a lot about her from your colleagues because she used to work in the company you're working in. Well you're her replacement in terms of the position when you joined in. She worked with and under Jeonghan before you did.

This is the first time you're seeing her.

"I heard they had mutual breakup, seems they're still good friends.", Joshua comments.

Your eyes are glued to the table space where Jeonghan's hand is atop Yoora's. And he's smiling as he says something to her.

He never smiles at you like that.

"You guys continue eating.", Seokmin is already up grabbing his coat, "I'll get our food packed."

When Seokmin leaves, the rest four look at you worried and you feel pity for yourself. How could you not guess, Jeonghan had never lead you on, always being indifferent, constantly rejecting all your approaches for the last two year.

He didn't like you at all, he has been saying it all along but you were to stubborn to admit and accept. But now you do.

For you, it has been always him.

For him, it would be anyone but you.

You are grabbing your belongings, "Tell Seokmin, I'll be waiting by his car."

Then you sprint out. It's only when Wonwoo calls out your name, Jeonghan notices you.

He sees you running towards the exit, only if he didn't know better, he watches as you wipe your tears while do so.

Tonight it's not only you who's suffering from heartbreak, Seokmin's heart breaks yet again seeing those tear stained cheeks, hearing those wrenching sobs. He puts you to bed and sets the food on your table so that in the middle of night when you wake up hungry, you don't have to look around for food. He runs the bath for you, sets the towels and knowing that you'd be having a terrible headache later, he keeps the glass filled with water and the medicines on the nightstand. He does more and all while wiping his own tears.

Because like you, he too knows nothing breaks like a heart.

Next day Jeonghan doesn't see you at the office entrance. You don't greet him when he walks by your desk to his cabin. It's almost afternoon and you haven't walked through the cabin door even once. At lunch you don't sit with him, you're happily chatting away with Chaein while eating.

Jeonghan thinks something is wrong with him. Everytime he hears faint sound of footsteps his eyes perks at the cabin door. He doesn't like the coffee Seonji makes him. He doesn't like it when some random guy sits in front of him at lunch and while his eyes stray at you almost every second, you don't spare him a glance.

It's around 5 in the evening when you knock on his door.

Jeonghan can't describe the sensation his feeling right now, as if he has waiting for this moment lifelong.

You place a file on his table and say, "The Scheduler team wants to know about all the applications which are planned to retire from our system before the next monthly cycle. I have made a list for same, please have a look once and let me know in case of any concerns."

"Okay.", he says and you give him a nod.

"Don't you have anything to say?", he asks and you look at him confused, "No, I think this is the priority task at the moment, I'll let you know if anything else comes up, Jeonghan."

His own name feels foreign to his ears. By the time he's about to say something again, you are already out of his cabin.

This goes on for the whole week and Jeonghan feels he can't function anymore. He makes unnecessary trips within the office premise everytime walking by your desk just in hopes of getting called by you. You never do.

He waits for you at lunch but you're always gone. He never sees you smiling at him again. You never ask him out now. The coffee doesn't help to keep his stress away, the office doesn't feel homier anymore.

Isn't this all he wanted, Jeonghan asks himself. Aren't you the annoying co-worker who was always getting on his nerves?

And he's scared to listen to the answer his heart has to echo.

It's Monday, the first working day of a very new week and Jeonghan still looks at the entrance expectantly just to see you this time. He double takes to make sure he's not hallucinating and a smile tugs on his lips.

His face regains the seriousness as he approaches you and much to his dismay you don't notice him. He clears his throat to have your attention.

"Morning, Jeonghan.", you greet him curtly.

"Morning", he asks, eyes glancing over your hands to see if they have any takeaway coffee cup in them but they are empty, "Aren't you going in?"

"I'm waiting for someone.", comes your dry response.

Ain't that someone me?

"Okay....", he has no reason to linger anymore.

You are exhausted, sleep deprived blame the late night marathons of your favourite shows you've been pulling.

Reason, to keep your mind occupied with something which is not Jeonghan but the ache in your heart never dulls. Even though you have choosen peace with the fact that he'll never be yours, it's so new and difficult for you act indifferent towards him when you have been in love with him for two whole years.

When you're phones notifies you of a text, it has you rubbing your eyes just to make you're seeing it correct. You have got a text from Jeonghan reading-

Please make me coffee, it's a request.

When the Yoon Jeonghan who never texts you, never bothers to type back a response to your greetings or queries other anything related to work sends you a text, you're shocked.

Jeonghan feels like he can finally get the productive cells of body to work when he sees you entering holding a cup of coffee.

"You don't look good.", you say placing the cup on his table, "Are you okay?"

When he doesn't respond, you continue, "If you're not feeling well, please take the day off, I'll notify you of any urgent matters from our team prospective."

Jeonghan thinks it's the only chance he'd get to clear the misunderstandings so he speaks, "Me and Yoora are still good friends, that night at the restaurant she treated me because of a promotion she got at her company."

"Great to know. Good wishes on my behalf.", you are poised when you say, "From next time please refrain from sharing anything other from work related matters. I have no interest in your personal life and I think we are not close at all to be sharing updates on same."

Either he's mishearing or you're possessed, he's sure it's either. This ain't the you he wants. This ain't the you he needs.

Your tone emits grief when you speak further, "I deeply regret for the inconvenience I've caused you for the past years. I'm really sorry. But rest assured I won't be causing any more trouble, I'll out soon."

"What do you mean by that?", he's off his seat and in front of you instantly, "Did something happen?"

"Indeed.", You nod while smiling, "I accepted that you won't go out with me. I also accepted that you hate me. So there's no more pestering you from my side."

Jeonghan never thought his words would come back to him biting in his ass which he's not capable of taking.

"You can't do this...", he's not even sure of the words he's uttering, "Are you giving up on me?"

"Yes, I'm giving you what you wanted by giving up on you."

Jeonghan realises how much that he has gotten used to you. You're like the good parasite that clogs his mind whenever you're around and even if you're not. His mornings used to start with your messages, you used to magnetize yourself on him during the office hours and the last notification he got before sleeping was also from you.

So now he doesn't like the lack of attention from you at all and he'd do anything to have it back. He'd do anything to have you back.

He tries to be in your shoes for the next days. He waits for you at the entrance holding four cups of takeaway coffee cups because he doesn't you what like. Everyone who passes throws him a questioning gaze. Everyone except you. You walk pass by him, unfazed and unbothered.

"Y/N wait!", when you don't stop, he is following you, "I bought these for you and also if you could tell me what you like so that I can buy that."

You give him an incredulous look, "What are trying to do?"

"Just trying to get you morning coffee..."

You scoff and walk away.

When you go for lunch, Jeonghan pops up out of nowhere and not only he's tailing you, he's even occupying the seat beside you. He's suddenly texting you good mornings and good nights and throughout the day something or other but there's no progress.

Roles reversed, you don't even bat an eyelash at him now.

It makes him realise how ass of a person he has been to you and how angel of a human you were to tolerate all this and still love him with your all.

"What's wrong with Jeonghan nowadays?", Joshua asks genuinely curious. You all are gathered for a coffee break, as he stands opposite to where Jeonghan is stood from accross the room, he constantly notices him throwing glances, "He keeps looking at you Y/N."

"Jeonghan is that thick brain who realises what he had and lost when it's too late.", Jihoon snorts as he takes a sip casually, "What the hell, who put sugar in my coffee?"

Joshua is suddenly walking away and you laugh which makes Jihoon aware of the culprit.

Next he's chasing Joshua.

You are still smiling, gaze lingering on those two when you notice Jeonghan approaching you from the periphery of your vision. Not wanting to waste any energy on him you think of leaving the hall when someone bumps into you.

It's Seonji.

"Heard you stopped chasing Jeonghan?", she taunts, "Good that your brain's finally working."

"I want to you know if this concerns you anyway and why?", you ask and quickly turn to check if Jeonghan is in hearing vicinity. He is.

"I thought it's obvious? That we're close and might be together soon.", she says confidently, "You've noticed how behaves towards you is completely opposite of how his behaviour is towards me."

"Congratulations", you pat on her arm and incline closer to her as you whisper in her ear , "Let's see if Jeonghan is aware of this as well?"

Seonji's freezes for a moment when she realises that Jeonghan has been present there all along and have listened to the conversation that just happened.

"Congratulations to you too Jeonghan.", you wish him, "I can see, a match made of likes."

"There's nothing going on between us Y/N", he pleads as his hands itches to grab you so that you don't slip away before he finishes but out of professionalism and respect he doesn't, "She's just a junior from my university."

'You don't have to explain, I'm not interested.", you tell him before walking out.

Jeonghan is furious and Seonji thinks his glare is enough to make her evaporate without any trace.

"Jo Seonji", his voice is dangerously low and threatening, "I was being nice to you just because we're acquaintances from before but I realised how wrong it was."

"Han--"

"It's Jeonghan for you. If I hear you uttering such nonsense one more time, I'll report you to the committee for harassing me.", he's practically glowering, "And I want the database for all the transactions that occurred between us and our oldest clients with the analysis document by EOD."

"But that's too much of data Jeonghan, how would I be able to--"

"That's for you to sort out.", he says, "If I don't get the design model, I'll report it to your manager and she'll handle it from there."

Seonji is all sweaty and faltering when she hears, "I see you anywhere near Y/N without any official need, I'll make sure you're stepping down your position."

To those who thought Jeonghan has changed, they just witnessed the infamous scary Yoon Jeonghan again today.

They also realised that Jeonghan is still the same authoritative, strict and stoic faced coordinator for all.

He has changed, just for you.

"When are you gonna tell her?", Soonyoung asks wrapping his arm around Seokmin's shoulder as they gather on the rooftop during the lunch break.

Seokmin is torn.

"She's coping up with the pent ups because of Jeonghan and I don't wanna add to her stress.", he laments.

"I hate to admit that you're correct but I'm worried because I think if you don't shot your shoot now then it'll be gone.", Soonyoung's concern is evident in his tone.

"I can't just tell Y/N that I love her all of a sudden when she's in love with someone else for a long time.", it pains him to speak it out, "Because I know how painful unrequited love can be..."

Soonyoung sighs, as he frames his next question carefully, "When will be the right time, Seokmin?

There's never a right time, he thinks.

Jeonghan doesn't avail the elevator, he's climbing down the stairs hurriedly.

When he decided to go the rooftop to cool off after the Seonji episode he again unintendedly overhears the conversation between Soonyoung and Seokmin, the two men obviously staying oblivious about his presence.

His anger from before morphs into a mix of shock and scare. Shock because it didn't occur to him ever that Seokmin could be in love with you. Scared because, well he is yet to figure out the reason.

Walking through the hoistway door leads his chance encounter with Mr. Choi, your manager.

"Jeonghan", he calls him, "I have been meaning to meet you."

"Anything urgent Mr. Choi?"

Mr. Choi smiles, "It might be, for your concern. Y/N has requested for transfer, she wants to move out the team."

Jeonghan stiffens, all the strength in his body dwindles.

Carefully studying his face, his unfocused eyes and a lack of response urges Mr. Choi to speak further, "Since you're her immediate senior and she has been working under you for these years, your say would matter because I know no one would want to loose an efficient member like her. If the team has enough effort excluding her then I'd approve her request "

"Thanks for letting me know Mr. Choi. Please put it aside for now, I'll talk to her and get to back to you.", Jeonghan requests and the older man obliges.

You are currently working on reconciliation of a piece of code with all your concentration when there's a knock on your desk. You look up to find Jeonghan who's mutters a serious 'in my cabin now' when your gazes meet before walking into the said room.

You think of everything and anything you could have done to cause any trouble but nothing comes up, so you are immediately off your seat and entering the cabin.

Jeonghan has never felt this exhausted in his entire life, never because of you. When you used to clinge to him it had became a normality, though he never admited it was the only fun and good part of the office hours. You made him feel the belongingness, when everyone was scared of him, you were brave enough to step up and court him.

And now when he sees the indifference in you towards him, learns about Seokmin's feelings for you, he's beyond frustrated.

Another mistake, he channels it in a wrong way and at a wrong time.

"Jeonghan?"

Your call of his name breaks his reverie.

He looks you dead in yours eyes and asks, "You requested a tranfer?"

You knew your manager would be informing Jeonghan and the only obstacle in that request to get approved would be him, the reason you wanted the transfer in first place.

Before you could assert an answer Jeonghan scowls, "Are you really going to bring your personal life to your workspace? Suddenly one day you decide you'll stop liking me or whatever and then you're requesting to be assigned to a different project? Is that what you call professionalism Y/N?"

You are rendered speechless. You don't let those tears pooling in your eyes fall even though you are hurt.

"I thought two years is long enough to know someone", you inhale sharply, "But you don't know me at all. I wasted two years of my life for the guy who just now disregarded my love for him by calling it liking or whatever."

Jeonghan bites his tongue hard when he traces back on the words he had uttered.

"When I had asked you that if it would matter to you if I leave, you had casually slipped out a good riddance. So I'm doing us a favour and you should be happy but you're not.", you are hot in anger and rage, as your gaze tows upon the man infront of you, "You're not happy because no one's buying you coffee, no one's keeping you company, you don't have your files organised, you don't have anyone to take shit from you without retorting. Have you been always this selfish?"

It's his turn to be speechless. He has seemingly fueled every occurance for the past years to work against him currently.

"This is professionalism Yoon Jeonghan.", you tell him, "Me not stalling my growth anymore and letting in space for productivity and skills showcasing for myself is my professionalism. I stayed because of you but I won't do that anymore."

"I'm sorry, please let me clarify things", Jeonghan is eyeing you alarmingly as he walks towards you.

You hold out your arm and his feet instantly roots to the ground.

"Thanks for assuring me that I've made the right decision. You aren't worthy of my love, you never were. I'll stop loving you one day and I'll make sure that day comes soon."

A tear falls down your cheek and then they are streaming altogether. You fail to choke the sobs and Jeonghan says nothing, knowing that the only way he can help you is by keeping his silence.

And when you sprint out of the cabin, he wants nothing but to stop you and engulf you in his embrace. Although he's physically frozen but his mind deducts several conclusions.

He senses by hurting you, he hurts himself tenfold.

He laments on the fact that office is just all work and nothing to look forward to anymore because he misses you.

He likes his personal space invaded only if it's by you.

Maybe it's late but he's sure that his heart is constricting in pain within his chest because it's broken.

This time he's choking a sob, legs giving up as he falls to the ground when he finally accepts that he got his heartbroken even before he realised that he's in love.

That he's in love with you.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[reverie-starlight]

{peace - atsumu}

would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

putting this down as fem!reader, only because there are some specific nicknames I wanted to use (pretty girl, sweet girl, etc) no physical descriptions though!!

very soft fluff, like disgustingly soft. this is loosely based on one of my absolute favourite songs <3

“I feel so safe with you…” you mumble one night while resting against his chest.

it’s been a busy evening- going to one of his games and then to your work party immediately after. needless to say, the both of you are very tired. so tired that when you got home an hour ago, just past midnight. he had to help you get your pyjamas on and drag you to the bathroom before you flopped into bed and cuddled close to one another. you’ve been recharging with each other and focusing on some quality time you missed out on during the day.

atsumu feels his heart squeeze at the sound of your sleepy voice, soft and quiet and matching the persona you often take on when you’re exhausted.

he sighs in content and strokes the cheek not pressed against his chest with his thumb. slow and gentle. “yeah, pretty girl?”

you nod a little, nuzzling further into his skin. “you’re so peaceful.”

he freezes a little out of pure shock.

atsumu has never considered himself a peaceful person.

he’s seen his fans online lovingly describe him as chaotic, heard his teammates refer to him as energetic and sometimes hard to keep up with. he’s gotten abrasive, overexcited, intense… and what’s more, the lifestyle that comes with being a pro athlete is anything less than peaceful to begin with.

he still doesn’t see those as inherently bad qualities, even now that he’s older and doesn’t let his ego run the show anymore.

however he’s got it stuck in his mind that he could never give you peace. would it be enough for you? would you stay with him ten years down the line, even with all the flaws that he believes he is? he’s not easy to love, he knows it, but is he enough to make you stay?

and then sometimes you say things like that, making him question everything, things that change his own perception of himself.

“peaceful, huh? weren’t ya running your mouth this morning calling me a freak for putting my milk in before my cereal?” he tries to joke.

you giggle a little and he holds you tighter out of adoration. “well you still are, but you’re also very peaceful.”

he’s silent for a moment but he can’t help but ask, “how do ya figure?”

you do your best to word it properly. he loves the way your face scrunches up as you think of what to say. “I always feel so calm around you. more calm than I’ve ever felt around anyone else. and so extremely safe. I can be myself with you and I don’t have to worry about anything when you’re around because I know you’ll be there to help me if something does happen.”

he doesn’t know what to say, but you solve that issue for the both of you with what you say next.

“you offer me a special type of peace I didn’t think was possible, ‘tsum. you’re my angel.”

you make it seem so simple, like there’s nothing in the world that could ever dispute it.

he can’t stop his eyes from welling with tears. he’s always been an emotional person- he knows, he’s been berated for it since childhood, both teased and defended against others by osamu for it. he wears his heart on his sleeve and it wasn’t until meeting you that he considered it an admirable quality. he feels things deeply, and this hits him deeper than anything else ever has.

but you’re just as emotional as he is, so when you look up and notice him trying not to cry, you immediately tear up too. “don’t cry,” you sniffle, trying to wipe his tears while a few run down your own face. “I love you so much, atsumu.”

he sniffles as well, voice thick and full of love. “I love you, too, baby. how’d I end up with such a sweet girl, huh?”

you shake your head. “I’m not, I’m just telling the truth.”

he laughs through his tears. “and being sweet while doin’ it.”

he presses kisses to your forehead, mumbling small thank you’s against your skin. “for the record, I feel the exact same about you. my angel.”

you crawl up a bit so you could be face to face with him. you kiss him properly and taste the saltiness of your mixed tears.

“I didn’t think I could ever offer that to anyone. I’m not used to hearing it, so I stopped believin’ it.”

your heart breaks a little but you’re quick to reassure him. “well believe me. you offer me more than I deserve.”

“that’s not true,” he’s always so quick to defend you. “you deserve way more than I could ever give you.”

you smile a little bashfully and then pull a face he recognizes as the one you make when you’re trying not to yawn. “alright, sweetheart, we should get some sleep.”

he strokes your cheek and gently rolls you off of him so your head rests against your pillow. he chuckles when you immediately choose to rest it against his chest again instead. he loosely wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the top of your head.

you listen to his heartbeat and drift off. your breathing evens out almost immediately and atsumu thinks back to a time when you used to struggle to sleep around him.

he smiles to himself, wiping the last of his tears and whispers something you just barely manage to catch before sleep fully pulls you under.

“sweet dreams, baby. I love you.”

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

peace is one of my favourite songs ever, I very much relate to it. and I think atsumu would too. I wrote this at like 1 am so if there’s mistakes, or if it seems very all over the place, blame it on sleep deprivation and devastating brain rot for the boy </3

hope you enjoyed :)

some tags :3

@emmyrosee @dira333 @luvring

[marysdonuts]

Turning Tables

wants to be chased!Jeonghan x had enough of chasing!reader

Synopsis: requested in this two part ask

WC: 1.6K

Warnings: not much, making Jeonghan jealous, crack, implied oral (f)

a/n: both parts combined to one post. first half - your pov, second - Jeonghan's

masterlist / requests / taglist

Oh the almighty Jeonghan. Sent from above specifically to torture you. The popular guy who has six ladies lined up on each finger hoping to get their turn. Funny, easy on the eye but that personality? Ugh, you've seen better.

You made your interest in him more than clear, still.. to this day no definite answer. Only insufferable amount of teasing. You weren't one to play the game of push n' pull. It was getting on your nerves. Especially the constant flirting with anything that moved - just for sport. Or maybe not for sport per sé but to get you jealous. Making sure you saw him making move on somebody. There was even a moment when he jokingly almost kissed you only to pull away at the last moment, smug as hell. So full of himself.

Fuck it. Does he think he is the only one who has options? Isn't the last man on Earth for sure. The hell. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

//

And so you danced. You danced with every man who showed even drop of interest that night. Sending Jeonghan clear message - this is what you are missing by acting like a little bitch. Drowning one drink after another. Price? Didn't matter. They were paying.

When a friend of yours, equally as drunk, suggested to climb on the bar, you thought it an excellent idea. Both of you moving to the rhythm of some latino song with questionable, extremely toxic lyrics. Drink in hand, Great Gatsby style, you cheered the growing attendance at your feet. People going feral.

"I think you've had enough fun for today," Jeonghan's cold hand grasping your ankle "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" seemingly asking the audience a rhetorical question, crushing his fingers with your heel

"Your boyfriend~" squirming in pain

"My boyfriend?? Stop pissing me off Jeonghan. I had enough of your shit. It's not difficult to find somebody better than yo-"

Fuck, am I falling?

All the drinks from before picked the worst moment to take effect. Dizzy head, weak legs, heels plus slippery bar? Unfortunate combination. You were indeed about to hit the floor.

Next thing you know shawty got low low low - Music in the background mocking your life decisions

"Aaaaaaa" crashing down, drink spilled, body aching, pride hurt

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again." patting it lovingly

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" Noticing Jeonghan squished under you, also lovingly patting your bum in unison

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" intoxication not letting you fishing your sentence, making you wobble, once again ending up in Jeonghan's arms

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

This fucking bitch keeps playing with me!! You wanted to punch hole into his beautiful face. Body working faster than the mouth, clenched fist flew towards douchebag's face.

KAPOW!!!

Sadly, your fist was not at all clenched, flying much further from his face, finally landing on his chest. You weren't sure if his shirt was always this unbuttoned but what was staring at you currently - pair of *shiny* man-tiddies.

"wow" blinded by the sight

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan caressed your hand moving it over his heart "do you really want to know my feelings that much?" Mischievous eyes trying to meet the hazy ones.

"yea" gaze still kinda stuck on his tiddies

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The first time Jeonghan kissed you was in backseat of taxi on the way to his apartment. It wasn't just a kiss. More like he was feeding off your growing excitement. Producing such obscene sounds the driver had to rise the radio volume.

//

Reaching the destination, the moment the door closed shut, you found yourself pinned against them. Jeonghan's urgent lips tracing the curve of your neck.

"You really made a number on me today, you know that?" sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving mark behind

"Oh? Allow me to laugh. The Jeonghan hot and bothered? Hard to believe." tauntingly, grasping the hair

"Tell me 'bout it..," defeated exhale tickling your ear "seeing you with all those men...didn't expect to feel like that. Made me want to jump every single one of them."

"Did it, now?" placing thumb on his bottom lip "little boy got upset when his toy was taken away?" full of irony

"I was never good at sharing" allowing the entire length of your finger feel the softness of his mouth, sucking it almost apologetically

"Forgive me?" Big brown eyes praying for redemption

Not sure if it was the residual alcohol but this time his words felt sincere. Seeing him sucking on your thumb like that, all docile and at your mercy..? Ufff, you were running too hot

"Want me to forgive you, huh, " making him sink to his knees under your authoritarian tone.

"you know what to do." parted legs offering not so subtle invitation to the sinner beneath you.

.

.

.

"At your service, my lady~"

Jeonghan's pov

Yes- he loved to tease you even after you confessed your feelings. He played games to make sure you were really up for the challenge. Testing your character and morals. Enjoyed torturing you a bit too much. However when it came to his feelings.. Jeonghan thought himself to be the only one worthy of your affections. He intended to show his interest soon enough, just wanted to frolic for a moment longer. Tragically that was exactly where he miscalculated.

And there you were, in all your glory, dancing with bunch of worthless peasants.

Jeonghan could literally feel the blood in his veins boiling. How dare they put their filthy, sweaty little hands on your holy vessel? Were they really so dense to think someone like YOU would be interested in them?

"Pathetic losers." Furiously gulping down his drink only to smash the glass on the floor. Making any bystander jump away in fear.

Tangible darkness emitting from Jeonghan's pitch black stare in direction of the unfortunate dude you were dancing with. Poor guy shivering, cold sweat running down his spine. He got the message and promptly took his leave.

"That's what I thought" Jeonghan scoffed, raking thru his hair

After not so subtly, striking terror into all the suitors, new drink in hand and in high spirits, he was watching your bar show. How your hair sparkled in the light, how you moved to the seductive latino rhythm - not a care in the world. He watched you cheer the crowd, queen in the castle.

"It's about time I made my move." few long steps, grasp on your ankle

"I think you've had enough fun for today," lifting his gaze, half entertained half worried you might come crashing down "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" the way you proudly pushed your chest out, the delicate curve of your décolleté, made it's way straight to his pants heart

"Your boyfriend~" damn, stepping on my fingers now? Guess I deserve that

"Aaaaaaa"

Jeonghan saw you falling in slow motion, drink spilled all over him, catching you at the last moment

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again."

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" rubbing your bum lovingly, it was very nice bum

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" There you were once again falling into his open arms. Jeonghan could hardly contain his enjoyment, pulling you closer

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

Angry palm flying in his direction made him chuckle. Such tiny hand managed to destroy four buttons on his shirt. He could see your eyes glued to the bare chest. Like what you see?

"Well, well, well, do you really want to know my feelings that much?"

"yea"

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The moment taxi started moving all the repressed feelings came rushing to his head, famished animal, so so desperate, his lips on yours were searching for sustenance. You were so beautiful and his. After he's done with you tonight he will shout it to the whole world but right now he will at least let this old man behind the wheel know what's up.

He fucked up and was willing to do anything to make it up to you.

//

Once he had his hands on you he couldn't let go. Well, he could but didn't want to. Holding you so tight, no distance left between the two of you, it was almost unbearable. Every part screaming into the void of his aching heart.

He just wanted to make you feel good. To show you how much he really liked you. Spoil you rotten. Never let another guy touch an inch of your body.

"Forgive me?" Falling to his knees, just a sinner asking for redemption in front of your heavenly gates

"Want me to forgive you, huh," "you know what to do."

Oh, he knew

"At your service, my lady~" After finally receiving his absolution Jeonghan prayed more than dutifully

[parisoonic]

How the hell do you manage to superimpose the hilariously exagerated proportions of the tf2 mercs into a cohesive 2d style? I always struggle SO much with like, the way the mercs' models have huge hands, the way they have relatively low-poly definition on things like arms, shoulders, and legs... and Especially the way like, the models are kinda janky when you pose them for art purposes- when using movement tools, things like armpits and seams between body parts get all deformed... Which makes the study of form and silhouette rather difficult.

I assume that a lot of your ability to translate the concept of the mercs from their original mediums into your own works of art comes to you quite naturally- through experience you have with drawing and art style stuff, as well as through intuition. I was simply wondering if I could poke at your mind and get some insight into your process, any thoughts you have about the proportions and silhouettes of the mercs, any quirks you've found while drawing the mercs, or simply what you enjoy drawing about them. Like, don't be afraid to infodump about something just because you think people wouldn't find it interesting- I am here, I am sitting, and I am listening- if you so choose to speak.

I am utterly fascinated and enraptured by the more behind-the-scenes aspect of art. The mundane things that come second nature to great artists yet seem so revolutionary to less experienced artists.

I love your work, I look forward to seeing more of it, and I hope you have a nice day :]

Sorry for the late reply! I've been a little…stuck on how to answer this but that's mainly because to me, drawing is composed of SO many different little skills - you have form, anatomy, shape language, silhouette, appeal, rhythm, acting and posing…not to mention everything AFTER your raw draughtmanship like line style, rendering and colour theory. Trying to distill a multiude of small skills into some pithy advice is overwhelming to my brain. So I'll take the invitation to ramble instead :))

I don't think I have any new or revolutionary insight into the tf2 guys specifically - more I'm using them as work horses to excercise general silhouette/posing/shape-language and further my skills when it comes to drawing characters!

I do agree though the proportions are rather silly when you stop and think about them realistically…they can be kinda tricky if you follow their 'actual' proportions. what looks great individually was maybe never meant to be directly compared (ie: Heavy's hand size against Spy's lol). It would've been funny if the TV show exsisted and we had more content to review…would the animators have had rules like Spy and Heavy can never shake hands? Would they cheated the proportions for shots? Or would they have said WHATVER it's gonna look weird and embraced it? (Like Kingpin in Spiderverse lol)

Paul Lasaine for 'Into the Spiderverse' This is AWESOME. But it's also one of the silliest designs I've ever seen comitted to screen. The varied scales of the characters work because of the unifying treatment (lighting, rendering, consistant hand anatomy, consistant clothing fold treatment etc) and because they are sort of proportional within themselves. A common mantra is that hands should be about as large as a characters face....which they all are here!

Human brains are very flexible and forgiving though. It's totally fine for you to put a character with huge hands and head next to a teeny tiny character! Vanellope and Ralph from Wreck-It Ralph look grand next to each other! And in that film you even have varying levels of stylisation sitting against each other (unified by the look dev treatment of the shaders and lighting). I think as long as the chracter is proportional within themselves it sort of works out. IE: a general rule is that a hand should be as large as the face so…you can have some large arse hands as long as their placed on a body with a big arse head. Unifying characters with the same treatment (ie: lineart brush, colouring style will also help them look cohesive next to each other :) )

I don't actually reference the 3D models/animations very much at all and instead draw their proportions based on my tastes for stylisation following their general vibes/silhouette profiles. I don't stick THAT close to their in-game looks and there are artists who do that are so so so much better than me (Creedei and Flapjack come to mind). I'm not amazing at body-type differentation and TBH they're all wearing chunky clothes all the time so I usually draw the guys as one-of-three body shapes: Heavy is the uniquely wide guy; Sniper/Scout/Spy are all tall and slim and Demo/Soldier/Medic/Engie have a little more of the generic 'hero' bodytype with varying tallness and broadness of the shoulders

Something like this! You can vary all these individual elements in terms of size, thickness, taper amount etc to create different characters. If you ARE going to reference the 3d works though you'll need to apply some anatomy knowledge to overcome the weird shoulders, armpits and knees which desperately need blendshapes to correct the 3D volumes and approach it a little more like an animation supervisor. There's a reason why you see in making-ofs and art-ofs character designers, character leads or animation supes doing drawovers of the models. These are character models that have had great effort put into their 'base' silhouette but it still needs to be reinforced in every frame for maximum appeal.

Shiyoon Kim for 'Raya' This sort of thing will occur at multiple stages during the animation process. Shiyoon Kim's notes are post final model but pre-animation. Most likely for internal rig tests, exploring what blend shapes and alt shapes are needed for the rigs etc. If your production has time, this will continue all the way to final anim. IF! But it's interesting to see how he emphasises the shapes and enhances the character acting of the 3d model.

As for 'mundane things' - I wouldn't say they're second nature! (If that makes you feel better!) I have to actively really persue certain advice and try to figure out how to best apply it. This can sometimes involve redrawing and redrawing an element of the drawing until I've grasped the nettle of whatever I'm after or…..until I get frustrated and either delete the drawing or just call it done lol

Here, I'm looking for a really specific flow of the head that sells both the acting and a subtle head tilt. I'm also trying to apply the general mantra regarding faces that converging lines (set by the eyebrows and mouth) are more appealing than parallel. It's tough! I also tend to use a drawing I've already done as a template/reference on the page too. Oh! This page is an amazing example of why I'm not an animator or storyboarder…consistancy? Who is she? 💅

Converging lines (that form tapered shapes) are always more appealing than parallel. Using this logic you can loft the facial features across converging lines to create dynamic appealing espressions. Combining this with anatomy, perspective and rotation is the tough part though. I'm still learning o7

The things I probably think about MOST are always flats vs curves, simple vs complex and general line of action/flow...and then eliminting tangents. Each of these can be a dedicated visual-essay on their own - hence my stumbling as to answer your question. Anyhow, not sure if it's ever come up on this blog but I looove dinosaurs :)) so i'm using a wee piece to demostrate these ideas! (but also to demostrate these concepts apply to everything from humans characters to animals, props and background design)

Okay, I'm getting self-aware that this is getting really long :') I have a wee tutorial tag for my blog if anyone wants to comb through my garbled art-thoughts. Learning, studying, repetition and practice will always be the greatest teachers! I'm glad you like my art- thank you so much for the lovely comments - I feel like such a noob still and not qualified to give people advice but we're in it together learning! High-five! 🙌

[directdogman]

Super stoked for the Roger DLC and WILL be playing it on release, but something that’s been bugging me ever since the first few teasers was Peter, his personality feels quite different to me and my Peter obsessed friend, is there a reason for his personality change or was it completely unintentional?

He feels a lot more hot headed now, not completely the same as but similar to Steven, which feels like a complete 180 for Peter, I always remember enjoying him more in DSaF 2 because he was the more relaxed Phoney who when he had geniunely serious moments, it was incredibly impactful and gut wrenching when Peter would yell at me. 😔

Also, will Steven ever be real in dialtown please sir I miss my wif-

The comparison just always bothered me slightly.

Different universes. I should note that while Peter IS chiller in DSaF 2, if the restaurant goes under, the main consequence is that the company will get mortally wounded and he might die. The other employees will (for the most part) be fine. Peter cares. He cares if you hurt employees, he cares if you fuck up but is also willing to look the other way a few times if the fuckup isn't bad enough (without letting it slide, because he still cares what you do at work too.) I'd say his attitude at work namely stems from that, rather than the other way around. Steven does NOT care. He is literally willing to throw you under the bus to save himself and his sole goal is keeping the place open specifically so he can save his own hide, and his hot-headedness comes from that.

In DT, Peter is at the end of his rope and has had to deal with a LOT up until this point, arguably even more than his DSaF counterpart in terms of his day to day job, as shocking as that may sound. There's also WAY more on the line this time. He isn't the one that's going to face the worst of what'll happen if things continue at their current trajectory (unlike Peter or Steven in their original games.) He explains this pretty early into the DLC, which may explain why he's testier than you remember him, namely what's on the line. He's trying his damndest to fix it but is failing. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place with Roger, recognizing his bad leadership is sinking the plant but caring too much about the guy to effectively deal with it until this point.

His guard is up because it has to be, but he does have a few nice moments where it's clear how much he cares and if you listen to Roger's dialogue carefully, you'll see just how much Peter has put up with that would've made any sane person walk away. He's also noticeably nicer to Gingi if you don't waste his time and seem to actually care about Roger, and he acts closer to how he does in the DSaF 2 screenshot you showed off, though perhaps with slightly less energy (since he is, like I said, at the end of his rope.) There's even a scene in the evil route where you can identify this and use it against him in a pretty sinister way.

To mention another thing that even Gingi sees as far back as his original scene in DT: He's a natural manager who's playing second-fiddle to someone who clearly doesn't know what he's doing.

I didn't just wanna do more of the same, so I played with the dynamics a lil. Peter is in a very different role here, one that he's not exactly suited to. He's out of his element. He's inundated with work and in this scene, is thinking about the lives of the employees who are going to be laid-off in a week or so time if things don't change FAST, and while this is happening, his boss is bantering with a weird cryptid on the street and talking about random garbage.

There are times in DSaF 2, like you said, where you do see him get like this. It's not as much that his character is different in my eyes, but that the context is. This is a version of Peter who is one bad day away from having to make a difficult decision. Literally. I'll gladly talk more about it when the DLC's out (namely I could compare + contrast certain decisions he makes!) For now, I don't wanna spoil anything that isn't explicitly stated in the first major scene he has.

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side. 

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

 “God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts. 

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for. 

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips. 

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors. 

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue. 

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds. 

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of. 

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?” 

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. 

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard. 

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly. 

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling. 

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss. 

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other. 

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all. 

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him. 

It’s too meticulous. 

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock. 

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface. 

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance. 

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer. 

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans. 

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does. 

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring. 

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety.  “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like. 

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod, 

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in. 

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle. 

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

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