#anyway if they're going with this longer-term I wouldn't mind it

[booasaur]

Fantasy Island (2021) - 2x04

[uyuartik]

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

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

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

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

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

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, apology accepted.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

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

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

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

"I'll be there." 

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

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

It is still completely the same.

=== 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think that is safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

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

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Say farewell to your pride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

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

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

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

Your shaky inhale echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

“But at the lake - You were-” 

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

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

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

Then, it is settled. 

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

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

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

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

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

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

What is with him and that special request?

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

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

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

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Auntie!”

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

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obi Wan- please…”

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

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

“As you wish, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing he-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would that be all, Madame?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

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

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

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

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

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

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

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

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

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

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

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

And he's still going over it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Didn't he even take care of himself?

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

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

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

“By all means.” 

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

There he is.

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

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

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

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

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

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

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

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

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

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

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

Like you had any intention to do that.

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

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

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

“Please- darling-“

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

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

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

So cute and so filthy.

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

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

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

Of course not.

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

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

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

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

===

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

Not today, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

So, he has come to yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my God, it is. 

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

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

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

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

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

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

“I think you know it already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Had?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there?” 

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

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

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

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

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

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

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

A very different time. 

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

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

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

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though he has no rush to join you. 

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

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

He'd like to see that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

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

Could he ever refuse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the morning is anything like the night.

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

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

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

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

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

“Darling?” 

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

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

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

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

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.” 

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail. 

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?” 

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

[felinetteagain]

«There is no use whatever trying to help people who do not help themselves»

The most ridiculous request for help.

If I put aside all my suspicions about Felix's insidious plan to use his relationship with Kagami to achieve his own interests (I wrote about this earlier) and just believe in his sincere love for Kagami, I still don’t understand why he needed Ladybug’s help. Let’s look into the details.

Probably each of you noticed that Felix is ​​the person who always achieves his goal, no matter what the method, whether it is deception or betrayal. If he wants something, there is no stopping him.

When Felix had a goal to get the miraculous peacock, he was not afraid to oppose Gabriel, knowing about his abilities and strength (at that time, Gabriel owned the miraculous peacock and butterfly).

(Ep.426)

Gabriel: What do you want, Félix?

Flairmidable: I want the real Peacock Miraculous. And you’re going to give it to me.

Gabriel: I don't know what you're talking about.

But Gabriel refused to recognize himself as the Monarch until Felix threatened Gabriel that he would tell Adrien the secret of his father. And also offered him a deal to exchange miraculous. Felix knew that Gabriel was obsessed with power and would agree to his terms. In the end, the deal was made.

Felix gives Adrien's ring with amok and the remaining miracles from the box, Felix receives the miracle peacock.

(Ep.426)

Gabriel: How do I know that you won't use the Peacock Miraculous against us?

Flairmidable: If I wanted to harm you, uncle, I would've done it a long time ago.

Later, Felix breaks his word to Gabriel and destroys Gabriel at the first opportunity. Thus freeing Adrien from his father's control.

Since the plan for destruction had to be canceled because of one polka-dot lady, Felix no longer pursues the idea of ​​​​freeing his cousin from his father's control. Why? I would like to know.

Because if you believe Felix's feelings, his next goal was a relationship with Kagami, or rather the opportunity to openly love each other. But here's the problem, the newly-minted "Romeo and Juliet" are not allowed to do this by Kagami's mother and evil Uncle Gabriel.

And poor Felix is ​​at a loss what to do now? And nothing else comes to mind except asking for help from the one to whom he caused a lot of harm. But the most important question? How will Ladybug help them freely love each other?

Kill Kagami's mother and Uncle Gabriel? 😱

After all, this is the only way to gain freedom and be together for our lovers.

But I don't think they are that cruel. Their goal was to defeat the Monarch.

Let's imagine this great victory of Ladybug that didn't end with anyone dying. Gabriel is alive, Tsurugi's mother is also in perfect health. Would Gabriel and Tsurugi's mother allow Felix and Kagami to have a relationship? Nonsense! Of course not!

They would also continue to follow their agreements, their children Adrien and Kagami must be together. These are the terms of the contract.

It's silly to say that Monarch's powers are an obstacle in their relationship, because we see how Kagami, with the original ring and without the akumatized villains, continues to obey her mother's orders and can only meet Felix in secret from her.

(Ep. 519)

Felix: The rules of your family no longer have to be created by your ancestors. From now on, they're yours to make.

I would also like to point out that no one cared about Adrien's freedom. Felix and Kagami were not worried about Adrien continuing to obey his father if it weren't for his sudden death. Since Graham de Vanily’s rings would have remained with Gabriel anyway, since these rings are engagement rings and also a family heirloom.

So was it worth asking Ladybug for help, because Felix and Kagami's happiness does not depend on her help. And if Felix was really worried about his relationship with Kagami, wouldn't he have found his own solution to this problem, without resorting to someone else's useless help and, most importantly, without divulging his personal secret to a stranger, on which his life depends.

After all, he always solved his problems himself, risking his own life, and thanks to his intelligence and abilities, he achieved his goals. What prevented him from threatening Gabriel with the same thing, that he would tell the truth about him to Adrien and the whole world if Gabriel did not leave their relationship alone? But no! For some reason, Felix needed a frank conversation with Marinette (Ladybug) and her "help", even if it was useless for his relationship with Kagami.

[poomphuripan]

Given that we're halfway through the series, how well do you think msi is doing ?

hi nonnie

because i'm an overthinker and msi is on my mind 24/7 so i have interpreted this question into three different ways and i'll be answer all three below.

1. how well do you think msi is doing (in terms of portraying the characters and the plot of the original novel, speaking on a personal capacity)?

this series leaves me on the edge of my seat every damn week. everything is WORKING FOR ME. i love the character designs, the adaptational changes, the pacing... my only grievance? occasionally i absolutely detest their hairstyles (whoever hairstyled sol and joe for sol's mv should get fired, real). i also dislike the fact that they usually layer ming's outfits, when i think they should just let him wear one layer of shirt for example in this behind the scene still for that confrontation scene he's just wearing a black shirt but it looks soooo goood, this picture most likely taken when they're rehearsing.

but let's go through bit by bit

character designs: i think like other novel readers, i was a bit wary of the toning down/softening of novel!yanmingxiu, but i think it worked in favor of the series as a visual medium, coupled with them also making joe seemingly more naive than novel!zhouxiang. it balances well to have a not as cruel ming with a puppy-like/happy go luck joe 1.0. i really like in a recent reaction video where up, poom and porsche were reacting to ep.7, poom says he's happy to see so many people curse ming because it meant that he's doing well playing a scum male lead and praised up for playing such a compelling "bad" character because he thinks if it weren't for a such scum ml, his character 'joe' wouldn't come off as pitiful.

adaptational changes: i understand that translating a novel to series is a huge challenge, especially since thai series does not have a tendency to insert inner thoughts as much as japanese series does or the way audiodrama can do so but my stand in is doing so well utilising the flashbacks or blocking/cinematography to showcase the emotions of these characters so i've been loving most changes so far. they're also making changes that i love to see (novel!yan ming xiu throwing a tv remote at zhou xiang when he said something that upset him, reading that i was like bruh was that necessary?!?!!?!?).

pacing: it's really good, with my only grievance being they should make the eps longer in length. contrary to the complaints i'm seeing about how they're making audience wait to long until the huge reveal, i think it's fair and i'd actually like to see ming grovel a bit more before finding out that joe 2.0 is joe 1.0 because or else it wouldn't make sense to me why he would be so invested in getting invovlved with joe 2.0 if he wasn. most eps so far have been condensed from 10 chapters, with the biggest exception being ep 7 being adapted from 16 chapters (chapter 60-75) but i like that they simplified that plot with tharn/novel!tanyin without completely eliminating it. perhaps the only thing i regret being left out is ming crying out to joe's name after having sex with joe 2.0 but since the series went with ming not having sex with joe 2.0 in ep 7 yet so we didn't get it. anyway, ready for more ming/blind master shenanigans this week.

2. how well do you think msi is doing (with chinese fans/novel fans)?

so just recently, the weibo supertopic of my stand in hit 23,000 followers and the douban score for my stand in hit 8.8 (it debuted with a 6.8 score in the first ep btw). while douban scores for bl/foreign dramas tend to bit higher than the average scores for cdramas, this is still a huge feat considering how it's being adapted from a popular danmei novel and how bad the initial reception to the casting announcement was. it is HUGE!

after last week's episode the scores really skyrocketed due to the two scenes, the hotel verbal fight scene and the back reveal. it's also a relief to see how both scenes are well received because they're very different from how they were executed in the novel, so i think this is a good sign of how novel fans have warmed up to the adaptation changes (if anyone is interested, feel free to read chap 73 for that confrontation and chap 74+75 for the back reveal).

also cfans seem to really be into up poompat's portrayal of yan ming xiu these days, most are ready to forgive him while simultaneously still want to watch him suffer for the rest of the series. everyone and their mother loves poom as joe/zhou xiang but they have been loving and praising poom since ep 1 so that's not really new.

3. how well do you think msi is doing (in terms of trending, general viewership and popularity)

i think my stand in is doing crazy well considering its genre (dogblood drama featuring a scum male lead). regarding trending, the number of tweets is increasing weekly and it's stable at 4th/5th place like every week and considering is up against TWO QL series of two popular established branded pairings (EngLot with Love Bully, GemFourth with My Love Mix Up TH) and the hottest lakorn series of the year (Dhevaprom), I think it's already achieving the best possible results in terms of trending (cfans are also wishing that my stand in would be more popular considering how dramatically dogblood and lakorn-coded MSI is ಥ_ಥ)

But I think it's more important for iQIYI that it's ranking #1 worldwide iQIYI consecutively for the last seven weeks since its their "first" Thai original (i actually thought My Dear Gangster Oppa is their first, turns out not 😅). Being up against all those beautiful costume/historical cdramas and still ranking #1??????

also i can't speak on behalf of other fans but the sole fact that the main topic on my twitter timeline every weekend is how pitiful joe is/how terrible ming is/how up and poom are DELIVERING the breakthrough performances of their careers? i think regardless of the end result of this series, it's definitely a remarkable BL series of 2024 and i'd honestly call it the dark horse among the 2024 BL releases considering how lowkey and underwhelmed the initial hype it had.

i hope some of this answers your question 😭😭😭😭 if i had misunderstood your question though, feel free to send another ask. I LOVEEEEE talking about my stand in.

[footballffbarbiex]

Good morning :) I'm trying to get back into writing so I thought I'd give you a little update where I am. I'm currently finishing my patreon requests so that's one section ticked off and I forgot how good some of these are 😩

In terms of those requests we have:

Antoine Griezmann - her teasing of his comparisons to Charles Leclerc leads to sex like no other and he's determined to make sure he's never compared in her mind again.

Dominik Szoboszlai - learning Scouse is different to learning English but she's there to help him learn - fluff

Dušan Vlahović - he's always been open about his sexuality and what he likes in bed but what he's not expecting is to enjoy no longer being in control.

Jack Grealish - she's the Man City women's GK. being plus sized, she thought friendship is the only thing Jack would want or need from her, but when they're forced into the same facilities, the needs always come out.

Leon Goretzka - her team kicked Leon's out of the champions league. when he refuses to let it slide, he's going to have to take matters into his own hands.

Mats Hummels - they're in the same book club. he's insufferable and he knows it. bookworms to lovers.

Mikel Arteta - lads locker room talk about squirting leads Mikel on a mission to separate the fiction from reality.

Paulo Dybala - they've been away from each other for far too long and the meeting between the sheets is needed - if they can make it that far

Rodrigo De Paul - he buys her new lingerie and though he's fantasised about seeing her in it, he now can't wait to take it off her

Rodrigo Riquelme - she's the teams SM manager and they've been hooking up secretly. a quick one before training wouldn't hurt….would it?

I think we have a good mix of players to read and so these will be posted one a week until they've all been uploaded - please note these will not be coming here.

Then I will work on the series, and a few more normal request one shots. If you've got the teaser link, you'll be able to check how it's going. The first of the series I'll be completing is the next few chapters of So....Teach Me.

A few non requests I'll be working on is the Devil!Domi fic, and a switch around where she's the devil and a player will give anything if it means he gets his career to take off. I'm just trying to think who I want this player to be.

I'm also going to write a self indulgent mini series about the Atletico Madrid boys which will be smutty. I'm thinking Anto, De Paul, Jan, Correa, Gimenez, Hermoso, Llorente and possibly Riquelme. Thoughts?

Anyway, that's enough of a writing update, I hope you're all ok and hopefully I'll be bringing something to your screens soon that you'll enjoy :)

[overly-verbose]

I take back my previous threats of violence as my foolish self had not scampered through your art book in all its glory.

Chapter 8 has the reference that is to be used in general, correct?

No worries, I actually chuckled a bit reading that lmao - I didn't expect a reference for SIkuna being in high enough demand for me to be threatened at watergun-point 😂

(the previous Ask with the 'threats of violence' in question for context purposes;

😂)

I'll probably try to draw something of an actual approximation of a 'reference sheet' with the little differences (I was actually planning to do that for the Ask but uh that'd take much longer than this), but to explain it quickly (well, for me quickly which isn't at all);

Chapter 8 of Visuals has actually moreso to do with a perhaps-hypothetical scenario in which later down the timeline SIkuna gets Somehow separated from Yuji and gains a body of his own

- and that allows him to switch between Normal Form

which is basically how he looked whilst possessing Yuji, except probably quite a bit taller (it's already a bit stifling in comparison to the Big Form so he wouldn't make himself even shorter just to keep to Yuji's height lol), a bit older

(he looks a bit older whilst possessing Yuji anyway but yeah),

with some (usually) black earrings and two slits in his left eyebrow to connect it to the Big Form visually

The version with the earrings and slitted eyebrow can f.e. be seen in Chapter 11 lol, just with pink hair for that last one

And Big Form/True Form

which is about 9~feet / 3~ meters tall (I based it off of that one short manga flashback moment rather than some other seemingly smaller depictions?), has four arms and such + mostly wears the outfit from Chapter 8/14 but would also wear different things just like he would in Normal Form

- and I follow the logic of the clothes Somehow changing to fit whenever he suddenly shrinks or grows rather than having to have specifics outfits, but the four-arms thing still kinda demands a different wardrobe anyway for most cases lol

(+ he does have the stomach mouth in the Big Form, and sometimes he'll prefer to leave it uncovered so another outfit difference then,

like maybe an open robe in place of a shirt, something cropped, or occasionally just forgoing a shirt altogether lol)

I think a better reference for the height comparison between him and other characters in that form is moreso Chapter 11 and 14, but it doesn't matter That much

But like, in terms of outfit it doesn't have to be exactly what I've drawn before lol

- he's more of a comfy/casual guy but I'm 1000% certain that Nobara + perhaps other kids would take him shopping sometimes (she or they can't let this particular Older Familial Figure go unfashionable constantly!) and he'd probably want to occasionally wear something more Wowowo so he'd likely have something other than a dozen sweatshirts (and robes and comfy pants and such) somewhere in his wardrobe too 😂

(some Hello Kitty™ merch is also a must, For The Meme!!!)

And I've mentioned it a few times before but, especially if separate from Yuji unless he'd also agree to painted nails which he just might, he's likely to have painted claws/nails sometimes lol - they're a nice big canvas for Nobara to practice her skills on y'know, and he definitely wouldn't mind

.

In terms of how he looks inside the Domain, it's mostly just Canon-kuna's look lol

The kimono/kosode(? I have yet to understand what the exact difference is but heard it may be the second) is the same, the scarf and blue(?) accents on the sides of the main robe and stuff

with the anime-only addition bow to the back of the sash/idk material belt because yes, and because it's something to fiddle with whenever SIkuna gets ungodly bored lmao (the equivalent of fiddling with a sweatshirt's zipper or hoodie string lol)

I've interpreted whatever Canon-kuna wears on his legs as some sort of simple black pants that run down until a bit after the socks beneath the sandals(?) start or something like that??

I don't think he wears anything under the upper part of the kimono(?) but maybe there is some sorta ancient Japanese equivalent of a t-shirt I dunno about lol, besides that it's the same with the wide sleeves and everything

The sandals(?) are the same as in Canon, I've seen somewhere that they could have a small false heel (like a cut underneath that doesn't actually raise the heel of the foot idk how to explain it better) but it's an utter detail lol

As aforementioned, the scarf-thing around his neck is the same too, it's definitely an addition SIkuna appreciates heh - it's comfy 👍

(the Inner/Innate Domain examples I've drawn in Chapters 1, 4, 5, most of 10, 1st bonus drawing in 11, a cropped out glimpse in 13 and second drawing of 14 is ok lol - I just forgot about some things earlier/got better at it with time maybe)

.

In terms of physical differences, in or outside the Domain, the biggest one is probably the eyes

His usual/regular look involves the pupil/most inner part of the eye being white, then having a ring of darker red, then much lighter/brighter red

Meanwhile, whenever he's feeling particularly murderous/spooky/overall more OG-kuna-like (f.e. in Part 4 after a bit of 'experimenting' on the Special Grade), the sequence becomes [very light/bright red, much darker red, a bit lighter/brighter red]

(I mostly draw the eyes in a more oval shape, but that's just my stylistic choice lol - I don't mind it being the same but don't mind otherwise ofc

Same with the colours, they don't have to be Exactly those)

Like this;

And the fact that he actually has a whole Four eyes be eyes and usually all open - the secondary eyes are smaller, but are full eyes with colour and stuff rather than the sometimes barely-there look they had with Canon-kuna

(I'm not yet 100% certain if the difference in colouring is seen in-universe, though 🤔 - but for drawings yeah)

Another thing that isn't usually consistent in the manga/anime (from what I can remember) is the way Canon-kuna sometimes has moreso claws Or fingernails - SIkuna basically always has claws (they sharp!)

I'm kinda contemplating including slightly pointed at the tips ears to the list but it's not an 'official' characteristic lol

.

I've... Uh. Gone off on a tangent?? As per usual lmfAO-

But hope you get at least a little useful info from this?? 😂

(I don't mind clarifying questions lmfao (though my apologies if I take some time to respond))

Also, I'm not that much of a stickler for detail just fyi - even if the interpretation were to differ in some way from this rambly excuse for a guide I'd still love and adore any and all art created for my story because hOLY MAC A R O N I- *implodes from pure joy*

(Assuming, of course, that that's what 'for scientific purposes' meant 😂)

[arcadiabaytornado]

please tell me that i wasn't the only one being uncomfortable about chloe and david's relationship in lis 2.

like, i'm not saying their relationship is inappropriate, or that i don't think chloe would reach out if she found out he was alive, or that they wouldn't manage to form an emotional bond (being two of arcadia bay's only survivors and both losing joyce price do that to you) especially considering the fact that chloe is still grateful david saved max from jefferson and stuff.

i'm saying that i'm CONVINCED chloe would never see david as a father figure. imo they exagerrated their bond in lis 2. like, c'mon, the guy is calling her ''her daughter'', not to mention he said something like ''your old man doesn't fear the cold'' or whatever in the phone call. like— bro's acting like her actual father. and while i can totally see david desperate for chloe to consider him that way (i think we'd seen a hint of that in bts) i can't see chloe going that far. she can probably have a great relationship with him (after a lot of talking, mind me), but she's not gonna call him ''dad'' either.

(anyway that was longer than i thought lmao sorry for the ranting)

I have such complicated feelings on David and Chloe's Lis 2 relationship, and a lot of my thoughts line up with yours!

I'm not actually opposed to Chloe and David being on speaking terms after the storm. If you combine the facts that: A: They aren't living in the same house anymore and Joyce isn't around to enable David. Therefore, David has lost all the power he had over her. B: They were both one of the few survivors of the storm. I think it makes sense that they would reach out to each other after something so traumatic. C: They both share a grief for Joyce. D: Chloe seemed a little more open to David after she learned he saved Max. E: David seems to have pulled his shit together. Then...yeah I see why they would be in each others lives.

However, their relationship was a little much (at least in my opinion), considering a big issue in BTS and LIS is David trying to force himself into a Father role. That is a role Chloe has always been shown to hold for William, and while step-parents can be 100% a parental figure, the child in the situation needs to be open to that. And Chloe always been hesitant about the idea.

Personally, I would have preferred them to talk, but with David being more of an uncle figure than a father figure if that makes sense?? Like yeah, they're closer now, and they're a part of each other's lives, but David still isn't the Father figure he tried to force himself to be. I think it would have really shown his growth if he could have accepted that and rebuilt his relationship with Chloe outside of the "Dad" box.

That isn't what we got, but it's what I would have preferred! So, yeah, a lot of my thoughts align with yours. I'm not opposed to them speaking, but I do wish their dynamic was toned down a bit.

[moku-youbi]

think about this (I AM THINKING ABOUT THIS SO HARD)

in klive context (especially with your find your way home series in mind)

ahahaha. Gonna admit this is tough on me, because I DO ship Five/Lila, and I have basically from the moment she showed up...but any time I try to think of scenarios for potential fic, my brain just NOPES out because Klive is OTP, and I can't stand the thought of Five without his Klaus. (which is why I eventually was like okay, Klaus/Five/Lila...and then because I felt sad leaving Diego out, and because I ship Klaus/Diego and Five/Diego, my brain went WHY NOT ALL FOUR?!)

Let's be clear about a few things though! If this were an established Klive scenario, Five wouldn't have stopped for a second. He probably would've died pretty fast if not for Lila forcing a slowdown, because he would not pause to eat or sleep or drink and he'd get sloppy and delirious fast. This is supposing he'd end up on that subway without Klaus in the first place, though, which would have *never* happened. He wouldn't have allowed Klaus to get shot, or to run off to who knows where in the middle of an emergency situation, and he wouldn't feel the need to distract Klaus or pass him off to Ribbons the Babysitter. They'd be glued at the hip, so you'd either get all three of them on the subway, or just Klive. (to be clear, if it was all 3 of them, I'm totally down with ot3. Klaus would be such a great buffer in there, being so gentle with them both, comforting them, caring for them *le sigh* If Blackman was going to piss everyone off anyway, why not go for broke with incest 3way lmao! Then you could also do away with the AWFUL pointless Klaus storyline full of unnecessary trauma). All that being said, if he'd been in an established relationship with Klaus and somehow they HADN'T been together in the subway? Yeah, never in a million years would he have cheated on Klaus.

I think for me, the disconnect is that he wants to stay there with her, not that he falls in love with her. I don't have trouble believing that. They're already so alike and there's clear affection and a spark of chemistry there. And I think a lot of people miss that 1.) he'd already 'broken up with' Delores in s1 when he returns her to the store and 2.) he's stuck in another apocalypse scenario, and we know his coping mechanisms. + 3.) she was in an unhappy and unfulfilling marriage and 4.) her aggressive positivity and not speaking about her children is *her* coping mechanism. My poly-minded brain is okay with this. He can love her and Klaus and Delores and whoever. She can love him and Diego and whoever.

And I can even see him needing a break. That's what he told Klaus he wanted in s3 after all. He had a few year's downtime, and then suddenly gets put back in this nightmare situation with no end in sight. He's 70. He's tired of just running and fighting *constantly* It makes sense to want to go someplace safe and comfortable and take a breath.

For me the part that doesn't work is as soon as he finds the book. Like it just doesn't work for his character no matter what. I can see him taking a couple of days to come to terms with the fact he's going to lose Lila, but I don't see it lasting *months* That's where the Klive shipper (and Hargreeves OTSiblings) in me is all hell naw! Not only is it unbelievable that he'd abandon his siblings to the apocalypse (like, sure, wanting to get away from the endless chain of end of the world scenarios, fine, but he'd go bring his family BACK with them, then), but we saw with Delores that he let her go because he knew it was what was right and what she needed. He would *never* keep Lila from her children 5 months longer out of selfishness, knowing her anguish over being apart from them for so long, no matter how much he loves her. In fact, it's because he loves her so much that he wouldn't.

And that's what it comes down to, a fundamental misunderstanding of how Five loves, from the writers. It's an interesting blend of selfishness and selflessness, but no matter the cost to him personally, he'll do what is best for his loved ones.

[moreespressoformydepresso]

hi brownie! i just broke my heart over your treaper fics and those boys are in desperate need for a happy ending so i have some time travel fix it ideas-

reaper wakes up on the train with a clear mind and memories of being sang to sleep (to death) by a boy who he had only met in a cage of the capitol's making. it was a hazy blur, something that might have been a dream or nightmare, until he sees the boy again.

treech, reaper knows, and when their eyes meet upon seeing each other in that cramped truck transporting them to the zoo enclosure, he thinks that treech knows him, too.

treech had waken alongside lamina, who he'd missed, who he'd mourned, and thinks he's hallucinating. it wasn't reaper, but he grabbed it with desperate hands, no longer stained with blood as they had been moments before. it takes him a bit longer to work out that he's back to relive the horrors again, but the relief he'd felt seeing reaper, realizing he wouldn't be alone in this repetition, in what could be a second chance, is overwhelming.

so, after a bit of time to comfort each other, they get to talking aobut what to do. treech isn't leaving lamina behind, and reaper doesn't want to abandon dill either, so they're trying to work out something to get the four of them out- except it's not a very big enclosure so someone overhearing their escape plan quickly spirals into all of the tributes plotting to get the heck out. treech and reaper know what's to come, it's just a matter of working out a plan to escape & what point in time would give them the best chance of success.

maybe it's intervening early to keep brandy alive (and verbally tearing arachne a new one while they're at it). maybe it's getting closer to their mentors to get some actual support for their situation. maybe it's during the arena bombing and using that chance to book it out of there. maybe it's just collectively deciding that they're not going to kill each other in the arena bc if the capitol wants to prove they're monsters, then they're going to raise the mirror back at them. if it's that last one, then maybe they all just get a chance to be kids having a found family arc :)

(anyways, love all your fics and fix its! thanks for writing them <3)

Hiii!!

>:D

Oh My God I saw your comments and they made me so happy!! For one because someone actually read it and commented and for two because mission accomplished. I'm glad I broke your heart with the rarepair I created and am the only shipper of :p.

Honestly yeah this would be an amazing explanation for how any given fix-it starts. Two dumbasses in love don't wanna lose each other or their friends again and it spirals. Aside from the obvious coming to terms with all this, the happiness at seeing their lost ones alive again and the brief panic at having to relive this all over again, I bring you a new fix-it AU:

Star Crossed Lovers save the world, but several decades earlier and a whole lot more gay

Treech and Reaper have their reunion and decide it's obvious what they're here to do: Save all the tributes (and unbeknownst to them the whole of Panem). They bring their partners into this and a few other tributes overhear and join. While they briefly discuss escaping, it quickly becomes clear there are simply too many things that could go wrong and too many factors out of their control for it to be viable. Such a large group of kids simply doesn't have the luck for any plan to succeed, and while they'd usually try it anyway... They have a better idea. After all, they have a massive trump card in the knowledge of what this all is about. These games are supposed to be entertaining, and they're a way for the Capitol to convince itself that its better than the districts. Well what better way to shake that up than to play out a love story and make people sympathise with them?

So the two lay the ground works for their "growing romance" so it doesn't feel out of the blue while Lucy Gray steals hearts in the zoo. When Brandy is about to attack Arachne, Treech calls out to her and gives her half of the loaf of bread he just got from juggling, ignoring the Capitol visitors' eyes on him as he gives Arachne a look somewhere between disappointed and disturbed. Then he looks at the rest of his food and sighs slightly before giving it to the tributes that need it the most. That evening they bring the other tributes into it and explain the big events that will definitely happen despite their interference with the timeline. The interviews, the bombing, and the Plinth Prize motivation for the mentors. Oh also Sejanus being trustworthy. They decide to try and show their mentors that the districts are people too in hopes of planting a seed of doubt large enough to get them out of the games in the long run because they're smart enough to realize they don't have actual power here. Just the ability to try and influence those who do. Now, Treech was very uncharitable to Vipsania in the last timeline for very valid reason, but he's had a while to come to terms with it and those minutes (maybe even hours, he's not sure. It's a blur) after Reaper's death gave him some perspective in hindsight. She wasn't great, but a part of her did care. Besides, reliving that week before the games reminded him that it isn't her fault. She was indoctrinated and raised to believe what she did, so while he can hate her for how she treated him he can't exactly fault her. Besides, she did send that drone that saved him from rabbid Reaper's attack in the last few minutes of the actual games. This time, he'll just be a little nicer from the start and see if anything changes or not. Reaper also gives Clemensia a chance, though he still doesn't say much to her and dislikes her. All the other tributes do their best to not be too harsh, but they haven't been through this already so it's a lot more difficult for them.

This set of dominoes wildly impacts the rest of the timeline. For one, Treech giving his food to Brandy made him even more popular than he was originally in the rankings, and it happened far earlier than before too. This means there's a lot more attention on him than last time, which is great because that means his little romance arc with Reaper will be far more known-about. Vipsania is satisfied with this until the first interview between tributes and mentors. She's pleased he knows how to use an ax but when she tells him not to help the "competition" anymore since he's already got the attention he gets upset with her because they deserve kindness and he won't add to their misery. This throws Vipsania for a loop because it destroys everything she's ever thought about the districts. He refuses to answer the questionaire at first but then they properly get talking and oh no he's wormed his way into her heart while being clearly upset with her. Now what? How can she fix this? Clemensia has a similar experience, receiving very little from Reaper at first but inevitably reaching the conclusion that he's a kid who doesn't wanna hurt people and he's right to distrust her. They talk to the other mentors and this means all mentors start paying attention to their tributes, realizing they're just kids and starting to care for them. Naturally this ends up causing a conflict because they all wanna save their tribute but that means the others have to die and they can see that that would emotionally destroy their friends.

They talk to non-mentor students about it too and from there it just starts to spread. Vipsania and Clemensia are particularly worried about the Treaper arc happening, but the two lovebirds continue because they know through the grapevine (people talking outside the enclosure) that they're front page news. They succesfully help avoid casualties during the bombing, saving their mentors from death in the process and causing the two mentors to care even more deeply about them. So much so that they and the other mentors who were saved by their tributes (like Apollo and Diana) talk about it to the news. More front page news!! Gaul is ripping her hair out.

During the interviews, the two steal hearts with their cute love story and then break hearts when Treech starts crying at the mention of the games. just before the end of the interview, Lucky asks Treech how he plans on killing Reaper, since he'll have to if he wants to win, and Treech has been perfectly composed, cheerful and friendly and charming throughout the entire interview but... He still remembers waving away the warning signs just to spend more time with the boy he wasn't allowed to love. He remembers falling down the beams and running through the tunnels, hiding in the booth and tumbling down from the stands. Worse, he remembers Reaper's confused cries, the blade, the blood soaking through his pants and that all-consuming cold spreading through his body. And he knows he has to answer, he knows he has to keep up his charming stage persona and make people love him but for just a moment he can feel the rapidly cooling blood on his hands again, drenching them. No matter how hard he tries, Treech can't stop the tears from falling as he chokes on his words, trying in vain to form sentences before giving up and sobbing brokenly into his hands. Reaper tries to charge onto the stage to comfort him but the peacekeepers stop him. Once Treech is led off-stage and close enough Reaper wraps his boyfriend into a hug and comforts him as best he can. When it's his turn and Lucky asks the same question he asked Treech, Reaper doesn't cry. No, he remains completely calm as he bluntly states he won't.

"Oh? But a confrontation is very possible. What do you plan to do if it's just the two of you left standing?"

"Easy." Reaper said. "I'll kill myself."

Despite not being near a microphone, Treech screams out loud enough for everyone to be able to hear his heartwrenching "No!" from where he's seated with Lamina. Lucky decides to push Reaper and tells him he's being irrational, but the boy is unimpressed and coldly states he'd rather let the Capitol torture him to death than be the reason Treech's family gets him back in a coffin. Lucky tells the audience they'll have to wait and see how true that statement is and they move on to the next interview. When the games come, the tributes are all scared but determined. They've already decided they'll refuse to attack one another, but it's still a very scary situation for all of them. For the first time, they'll be plunged into entirely unknown territory. Until that point they had a general idea of what would happen, but they're gonna interfere with the games so much by not fighting that there's no way to know what will happen. Treech and Reaper make sure to warn everyone that if a big black box comes down from the sky they have to get off the ground or into the tunnels because there will be snakes in it and they won't be friendly. Reaper and Treech continue their little romance to the point of actually staying together by the time day five rolls around. The day they originally spent together, all alone in an empty arena until that fateful last fight. Reaper has to hold his boyfriend through his memories and fears of what's to come.

Meanwhile, all the other tributes also interact with each other hesitantly, trading food and water and stories or even just a small acknowledgement before moving on. At the end of day 5, just as the sun starts to set, the tank drops. Thanks to Treech and Reaper's warning the snakes can't reach any of the tributes, but they do have an effect. Not inside the arena, but outside. The utter lack of deaths has caused the Capitol to implode with debate over the games, and Gaul dropping the tank to "remind these rebel scum of their place" seals the deal. For 10 years they've allowed themselves to believe these kids were killing each other, but Gaul proved that the only thing killing the kids in there is the Capitol. The backlash towards the government becomes so massive and the pressure from the mentors and their allies so great that the Capitol is forced to end the games and get the kids out. When this is broadcast over the speakers in the arena during golden hour, the camera focuses on Reaper and Treech on top of the beams as they stare at each other lovingly before finally kissing.

[dravidssideblog]

"Do I really HAVE to reform them? This is such a pain." "It would be a lot easier if you had kept their soul together." "They're PREY, I don't bother holding onto my food's soul." "Okay, if you're going to live here, you seriously need a lesson on vore etiquette." "Etiquette? I'm a predator, I eat people, there's no etiquette for eating people." "There is here, and it's the reason why prey is so easy to catch. It's also the reason why there's no consequences, so unless you want this to be a repeat of what happened back at your home town, you're going to learn it." "Ugh, fine, whatever, I just gotta reform any prey I eat, right?" "Yes, absolutely, but there's more than just that. For one, you can't hurt prey while eating them, so next time watch it with the teeth and claws." "What?! That's ridiculous, how am I supposed to subdue my meal?" "You don't have to, because the prey can't hurt you either." "… Okay…" "Second, you can't keep prey for any longer than a week. Doesn't matter if you digest them or just keep them inside, after a week, you gotta reform them or let them go." "Eh, that's fine, I guess. Not much of a long-term guy anyhow." "You can't eat someone with a prey in their belly." "Wait a sec, that means that if I catch a prey, no one can eat me? That sounds pretty nice! Hanging out with other preds was always too risky before…" "If you eat a prey who's with a group, you have to offer to eat the rest of the group too." "Wait what? Offer? This one does make sense…" "Well, if a group of friends are hanging out together, it'd be rude to separate one from the rest. You can still eat them, of course, but if the others want to join their buddy in your belly, you have to eat them too." "If they… want to? That's common enough that there's an etiquette rule about it?" "Yeah. Reformation is guaranteed, remember? Makes prey a lot less opposed to getting eaten." "Huh… And to be clear, even if they don't want to, I can still eat the whole group anyway right?" "Right. Another thing, you can't break into someone's home to eat them. Well, you shouldn't break into people's homes in general, that's rude, but I felt like I should specify to you. Homes are a safe zone." "A safe zone, huh? Sounds annoying… What if they invite me in? That's not breaking in, right?" "Yeah, if you invite a pred into your house you're kinda accepting the risk of getting eaten. But if you're just relaxing in your house, you shouldn't have to worry about someone sneaking in to eat you." "… Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice. Okay, what else?" "Uh… Oh, some prey and preds here have committed relationships." "What, like, preys dating preds!?" "Kinda, except instead of dating its dinner." "Dinner dates." "Yeah. Anyway, you can't eat someone's committed prey without the pred's permission. The pred also can't eat other prey without their prey's permission, but I doubt that'll ever come up for you." "Couldn't a prey just lie and say 'oh yeah I totally have a predfriend, they're from another town, you wouldn't know them, but yeah I'm taken sorry!'" "How did you know they're called 'predfriends'?" "Wait that's actually what they're called? Dude I was joking!" "Well, anyway, a prey lying about that would also be a break of etiquette. If you really think they're lying, I guess you can call their bluff and eat them anyway, but don't be surprised when their pred comes to punch your lights out." "Yeesh, alright, fine. Hey, you mentioned before that prey aren't allowed to hurt preds trying to eat them? Are there any other rules like that?" "Yeah! You mentioned, like, lacing clothes with chemicals or something to stop preds from eating you by making you taste bad? That kinda stuff isn't allowed." "Niiice." "There's also rules about when it's acceptable for a prey to force themself down a pred's throat, but-" "There are prey that do that!? That's awesome!" "Yeah I figured you wouldn't mind that."

[worrywrite]

I've started this post like four times now. But it always felt too mean or like I was rambling. I'd like to do this properly.

I read the entirety of The Merciful Crow. It was much longer than I expected, and was in my opinion too long given everything that transpires in the story and how little world building the reader receives. I was extremely excited by the premise, which was bird based caste system, bone magic, and adventure. And I kind of got that. But what I've realized is that the marketing I decided through the social media grapevine and from semi-official sources was just really trash.

It might sound like I hate this book. I don't. I think it could have been a lot better, sure; but I think that about most books. I really think if this book had been advertised properly it would have gone a long way in the direction of improving the book. And this is how I'd do it.

The Merciful Crow is a story of suffering, prejudice, duty, and love. It is less about living in a bird based caste system in a fantasy world and more about dealing with being fantasy black in fantasy America. That might sound derisive, but it is done pretty well for an author that is not in fact black. It is about being sick and tired of being sick and tired. It is a book wherein the main character is treated like complete trash while lugging a tactical nuke around in a bag and constantly resisting the urge to use it to end it all. It is, perhaps in the most ideal perspective, a story about optimism for a society so drenched in racism it should have by all accounts already collapsed.

It is not the book I was told it would be. And that's fine. I still like it plenty, I'm wouldn't spend so many words on it in so many drafts if I didn't. I would still like to read the book I thought it was, and maybe it's out there.

But more people should read this book (if only so I have more people to talk to it about).

I can nitpick lots of things about it, of course. But I'm going to put them under the cut because these things are superficial and don't really change much.

1) bones are not teeth. This seems to be a recurring misconception in modern fantasy/fiction. They just super are not bones. They are enamel and dentin. First giveaway when you're ever contemplating calling something a bone should be "does it have marrow?" And if the answer is no then the thing is probably not a bone (there are exceptions).

Anyway. When someone gets called a bone thief of a bone witch, I wholly expect them to have a whole human ribcage corset. Maybe I've been spoiled by The Locked Tomb, but still.

2) every author fears they're using that one word too much. But that is actually the case with the term "ken" (as in "to know") in this book. And, sure, it's a consistent replacement for the spoken dialect. It is also distracting from the story enough that I just wouldn't have used it. Especially with the amount of modern English in the spoken dialects that clashes.

3) there is a sex scene (kind of). Which wouldn't bother me except it introduces possibly one of the best ever ways to have sexes as a thing that could in fact happen and then very distinctly decides not to do that.

3.b) this is a little spoilery. The really cool thing, in my opinion, is that if the main character touches a living person's bones (teeth) while the bone is still part of the person's body she can essentially read their mind. And I know it isn't for everyone, but reading your partner's mind during sex would be amazing. It could be either extremely validating if they're into it, or extremely clarifying if they aren't. In the former case, yes I absolutely want to hear that long train of internal happy thoughts. In the latter case, I absolutely want to be sure that my partner is in to it and has given genuine consent and what I can do to improve things for them if that's possible.

Anyway lots of kissing happens, the main character sees that touching teeth by accident is revealing that their partner is super into her and gets to feel a doubled up positive experience for a brief glimpse. She then decides that she absolutely does not want to experience that and says "no teeth".

And on the one hand, you can absolutely find a reason to do that. It could be an invasion of privacy, it could be overwhelming, it could be a drain on her magic. But it never gives a reason.

3.c) the ability to read someone mind by grabbing on to their teeth is absolutely never used for anything useful ever. Even when it could have been extremely useful multiple times. Probably because it invalidates like two whole other schools of magic in the book's setting.

4) main character is like 17 (which already makes the sex part of point 3 gross). It is implied that they started having sex "a long time ago." And with a generally abusive partner she was raised alongside. Personally wasn't super comfortable with that. Could have been omitted or the main character could have just been generally aged up and things would have been less bad imo.

5) it is not a bird based caste system. It is a magic based caste system with bird names tacked on for thematic effect. No matter what order these were written out in during planning, magic or bird chosen first for a group, there's nothing tying birds to the narrative or setting lore. It really feels like an afterthought so the main character could be part of a group with an edgy and cool name. That and a grab at the people who just randomly really like birds as an aesthetic (me).

[bellarkeandclintashaandsuch]

Be My Favorite Episode 4 Thoughts

Max is so patient with Kawi, letting him withhold the name of the person crushing on him. Also, Kawi looks so tiny here with his feet up on the bar, compared to Max's feet firmly on the ground. Max is great for him though, making him realize that he runs away from relationship problems.

I want to know why Kawi is so desperate to keep Max from going abroad. Does he know something bad happens to him? Or does he just assume he was running away and, therefore, unhappy? But I'm happy Kawi apologized and made clear that he wasn't upset that people assume they're dating. And his line about their separation feeling longer than 4/5 months? ❤️‍🩹 Kawi was pining for Pear all this time, but he was also missing his dad and his best friend so so much.

Speaking of his dad. I love that Kawi didn't keep pressing about him following up with the doctor and went for a different tactic that naturally led to his dad to making the appointment anyway.

I feel like Kawi has really settled into the time travel thing now, at least as much as he'll be able to. The first few episodes it was brand new, and so with getting the invite to Pisaeng and Pearmai's wedding and going to the pre-wedding party, that was the thing front and center in his mind. The wedding must've made all his pining and regrets regarding Pear come back in full force. Whereas he was re-confronted with his dad's death and the dissolution of his friendship with Max after starting the time travel. The pain of those things wouldn't be gone in the present, but I think that's why Pear is #1 on his priorities list. When he thought he was dreaming, the regret regarding Pear was fresh, so he focused on that. Until he got a call from his dad. And until he saw Max again. And now he's come to terms with it being real, and Pear is still first on his list, but it feels like he's being more intentional now and really trying to make amends and fix what he regrets both for himself and because it's what Max and his dad deserve.

Anywoo.

I found this exchange interesting between Pisaeng and Kawi. Because they just had that big fight, so I think that Pisaeng is trying to see if Kawi will walk back his words like he did after their initial fight in the classroom. He's clearly angry and rightfully so. But he seems disappointed by Kawi's answer. But I also thought he words were enough like their "oh do you like me?" back and forth that Kawi could've outright said no to his "do you want me to go?" and it wouldn't have been cruel. Just their normal thing. But Kawi couldn't quite bring himself to do that. And I don't know if it's because of guilt over their last interaction or because he deep down does want Pisaeng to come. Probably a little of both. Pisaeng is the only friend he has on the trip really. So he'd probably be more comfortable if he's there too.

I felt about these seniors how I felt about Kwan in episode 1. Oh, that's a nice surprise. You have to drink, but you can pick alcohol or juice. Oh, that's nice, Kwan is telling the others not to pressure Kawi into drinking. Only to be disappointed by the seniors making the men drink alcohol and Kwan calling Kawi boring because he didn't want to dance with everyone. (I'm still lukewarm on you because of this Kwan.) And then poor Kawi feels pressured to drink on the bus. He's used to closing himself off, so now, trying to immerse himself in the "uni experience," he doesn't know where or how to draw the line for himself. That's tough.

Was this a coincidence? Or did everyone in their faculty see Pisaeng and Kawi hang out like three times and decide they must be best friends? Very interested to know an outsiders perspective of what's going on with them. And then Kawi tries to convince himself he's glad Pisaeng isn't there. Keep trying, Kawi!

[ninjakk]

Hi

This is more of fanon question but what do you think of stright boy wwx, who everyone knows he’s gay but him, doesn’t know his feelings even though he’s having sex with lwj.

And lwj still does shave sex with him even though he does think wwx is stright and won’t have feelings for him.

Hi Anon,

Wow, is this really a thing!? 🤔

I think they're reading a different book 🤣

Well my honest opinion would be that whoever thinks this really does not have much of an understanding of the characters in MDZS, or the plot for that matter. Whether this is something that some truly see in the novel or something they put in fanfic, it's just bizarre.

Firstly, only a few people made assumptions with regards to WWX's feelings towards LWJ. Really it was only the juniors who noticed something between them. JC was in denial the whole time (across both WWXs lives) until he couldn't deny it any longer - and even then he tried! Personally I think WQ noticed WWX acted differently around LWJ and at some point WN picked up on something between them as well. But bar that, most people wrongly thought the pair hated each other! So that's just wrong right from the start!

WWX is extremely emotionally intelligent, he understands people very well and that includes himself as well. Yes, he lies to himself and pushes his true feelings down at times - but this is a coping mechanism. He feels so deeply, his only way to cope about certain emotions that might bring him pain, is to play them down or convince himself they are different to what they are.

WWX is just trying to protect his heart. He lies to himself about his feelings for LWJ because to him, the latter wasn't interested. Yet WWX was still drawn towards him every time they met, because LWJ is the only one he's ever truly wanted. By the time WWX and LWJ have sex, WWX is more than sure of his feelings for LWJ! In fact just before all of this, WWX is so sure of his feelings he's absolutely terrified LWJ might not feel the same way.

So I think any idea of a fanon or fanfic WWX that is as emotionally dense as 'straight boy' WWX is, is just so far from the actual character, I don't see the point in them reading the novel, being a fan or writing fic using WWXs name if this is their take on him, as it's clearly not the character MXTX created.

As for LWJ having sex with this warped version of WWX, he simply wouldn't. As much as LWJ loves WWX, he would not have meaningless sex with him just because the latter 'doesn't mind'. Just looking at the end of chapter 95 and chapter 96, where WWX thinks LWJ has only just sobered up and is upset that they had sex. This scene should be enough to show anyone that this is not in LWJs character. WWX desperately tries to salvage their relationship because he loves LWJ so much he wants to be with him anyway he can. So he makes it out it was just something friends do! LWJ is so distraught at the possibility WWX didn't have romantic feelings for him, yet shared an extremely intimate moment with him anyway. How can anyone think he would just have sex with WWX if he thought WWX wasn't interested in him. It just wouldn't happen.

So again, I think that this fanon idea or whatever it is, is just so far from the truth it's just strange! Anyone who wants this to be canon should just go find another novel to read quite frankly!

It can take time to understand your sexuality and shaming a character who actually realised it pretty fast considering the circumstances, is just shallow and ironically makes them the "oblivious" ones they so often like to accuse WWX of being. It's obvious WWX would have realised his sexuality a lot sooner if LWJ had given him a little hint back when they were teens. Which isn't LWJ's fault of course, because people seem to forget he was coming to terms with his own feelings at the time as well! But if he'd given WWX a sign, he'd have been spurred on and pursued LWJ until they were a couple.

In WWX's own words:

"...If he doesn’t want me, I’ll bother him to the point that he does.”

Chapter 125 - Lotus Seed Pod extra, ExR

Although he wasn't fully prepared to accept what context the above proclamation was in, he still meant it! 🥰

I'm guessing you feel the same way about this obnoxious interpretation as well Anon, since you used the term fanon 😉 so that's a relief! Have a lovely day and enjoy the canon version of WWX and LWJ in all their true glory ❤️

[unethicalmorals]

The fucking color drafts...... the fucking colors drafts

Lucky's talking to Starling I'm assuming, since they're the only other character depicted wearing blue so far besides Jay

Fucking..... "it wouldn't be right" guh. Guh. Guh. Bishop please survive.......... Max please survive.........

Genuinely since like chapter 22 I've been convinced that Bishop is gonna fuckin die at some point and I've been avoiding saying it cuz I didn't wanna like will it into existence but hghhhhvvsn... sjhdhshajajakks. Bishop please survive Bishop please please Bishop I'll cry Bishop hey Bishop please survive

Lucky hating orange. The color orange holds so many bad memories. God the color orange is tied to so many bad things. Robin wore orange, it was her color too. But now she's dead. Do you think Lucky remembers her death in detail? Or maybe it's all just one blur to him considering how much happened

Wrench wears orange. Wrench puts so much emphasis on the fact that they're both orange. It's all it is with Wrench. Orange orange orange orange orange. No wonder Lucky would start hating it

Orange, the color he wore during each and every single encounter. Orange is such a bright contrast to the darkness of those facilities, it's so much easier for the monsters to see him. His suit is practically a target that he feels like he can't escape

Lucky changing to blue.... the exact opposite of orange.... the smallest attempt to get everything together, a small step to healing himself. First he'll start outwards, then working inwards.

Also Lucky and Bishop potentially going from Orange x Green ship to Blue x Green. No longer contrasting in colors and instead complimenting one another because Bishop and Lucky aren't all that different from each other really, even their 1st monster is the same

Something something Earth and sky symbolism I'm running out of thoughts

What if I like died right now lol what if I collapsed. Morals. Morals I'm gonna kill you Morals. Morals I'm gonna cry Morals. Lucky means so much to me,,,,,,,, I'm ill I'm ill Morals why would you do this to me Morals. Morals. Hey. Hey Morals. Morals. Oh my god. Jesus Christ oh my God.

Watch me research color theory over this I have never once cared about color theory before (honestly I probably should as an aspiring artist/writer but uhm uhm erm I'm eepy always :33333) these homosexuals are driving me mental I'm peeling off my skin

-Watcher

Yes! Lucky's talking to Starling (can't wait till we get to introduce Starling and the others!)

I hope Bishop survives 🙏 I hope Max survives 🙏 Ohgod oh god-- Why would Lucky say it like that,, what happened,,, 🥺

I'm sure Bishop will be totally fine! I mean, the crew only works for The Company! Such a great company to work for too 👏😌 Who doesn't love The Company?

Of course no spoilers but I am staring at every single word you've written and I am vibrating right now!!! 💖🩷💖🩷💖🩷💖

BUT ORANGE AND GREEN TO BLUE AND GREEN!! WE LOVE IT YESYESYESYESYESY!

Now, on a different (but not as exciting as Lucky and Bishop) note:

"Your favourite colour's orange, right?"

"Uh, wouldn't say it's my favourite, but it's definitely up there in terms of.. uhm, colours."

"You talk about it a lot for a colour that's not your favourite."

"Maybe I do," Wrench shrugged. "What's it to you?"

"Just.. curious is all. What with your history and all that."

"History?"

"Orange guys stick together, no?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't remember?"

"..."

"Well, it has been a while but, surely you wouldn't forget so soon, would you? I mean, it's all you could talk about to your favourite person!"

"I'm not answering that. What does that have to do with my favourite colour anyway?"

"Quite a lot, I think. A lot more than you are willing to admit anyway. You like to lie about little things for some reason, why is that?"

"What, is this some sort of therapy thing now? You tryna' psycho-analysise my mind or something?"

"I only want to f-"

"Nope. Nuh uh. Not happening. I'm leaving."

[oneshotcafe]

Welcome to the Cafe!

We don’t see new faces around often, but everyone is welcome here!

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

THIS BLOG IS NO LONGER ON HIATUS

This is a Non-Canon Oneshot (the game) RP / Ask Blog where I roleplay as myself (@ncsasp) If I existed within the game and worked in the cafe. I occasionally RP as ling instead though, if anyone would rather talk to Ling over me.

In terms of timeline? WE ARE NOW POST SOLSTICE. this was not the case for a while, but after a bit of a story arc, we're now out of the normal oneshot timeline, although I don't mind the timeline getting wacky at all, or engaging with Alternate Universes.

The tags I currently use for stuff are as follows:

#cafeposting : an in-context post from the cafe

#reblog : any reblog regardless of context

#weekly specials : the 'weekly specials' of the Cafe that I've recently stopped doing due to lack of creativity. (please send in suggestions i've been told it's really cool)

#ling's posts : Any post made by Ling, not Me.

Other tags you may see such as #oneshot cafe championship, or #vacation arc, are for random little events i've decided to put on over a certain amount of time. Sometimes they're one and done, other times, they're repeated. For example, as long as this account stays on tumblr, I plan on making the baking championship a yearly event.

Finally, this account IS open to any interactions with other rp blogs, regardless of who they are rping as. I did recently realize that by "going on a vacation in the glen" i can make the blog more accessible for other characters to join in. (After all, it wouldn't necessarily make sense to see alula/calamus in a pre-solstice refuge)

On top of the previous paragraph, THIS BLOG IS NOT LIMITED TO ONLY ONESHOT. If you have a RP blog for some other media I may know, whether that be a game, tv show, movie, ect, feel free to interact with the blog! I already made the joke on This Post but I'm completely open to the idea of a multiverse cafe.

C:// drive this got long, but I hope this answered some questions people may have about the blog, and if it didn't? feel free to ask!

Anyways, can I get you started with something to drink?

[anotheruserwithnoname]

This is a bit of a "throwing cold water" post. I've been seeing a lot of Doctor Who fandom infighting over the future of the show the last week or two after the underperformance of its 60th anniversary and Christmas specials in terms of ratings (you're free to believe 7 million is a good number if you like). One argument i've seen is it doesn't matter now it's on Disney+ and being supported by Disney and anyway they're already filming the upcoming season (I guess it's Series 2 now?) that's expected to air in 2025, never mind the one filmed a year ago that is scheduled to air in the spring, so we should stop worrying. The show is safe, right?

This article is from August of last year. Since then we have also heard about Paramount Plus cancelling Star Trek: Prodigy despite its second season having been completed (a Star Trek series). There was also the case of Warners cancelling the streaming release of its completed Batgirl movie. And there are others (two Disney examples of complete series being binned: The Spiderwick Chronicles and the Nautilus series about Captain Nemo). Most concerning are how many of these shows are being thrown away as "cost-savings measures" especially at Disney, which according to news reports been losing money hand over teacup the last couple of years due to back-to-back bombs at the box office and the popularity collapse of the MCU movies.

And it's not even a case of "well, they'll just give a show time to find an audience" which certainly worked well with The CW and was in theory one of the attractions of streaming. The Willow series was not only cancelled but according to rumours rendered "lost media" by Disney (similar to those many Doctor Who episodes of the 1960s) so soon after it was released, I don't know if Warwick Davis' paycheque had time to clear. If someone said shows were being cancelled after a single episode on streaming (google the TV series "Turn On" for an infamous network example), I wouldn't be surprised.

I'm not going into discussion on Doctor Who the show itself; current quality and storyline debates are for another thread. But I am seeing people swearing on a stack of TARDIS instruction manuals that it's safe because of yadda yadda yadda, when it isn't. On the BBC, people should be watching on night-of, not waiting 2 weeks, a month, or 3 months because their viewership numbers do not matter (yes it's an outdated way of doing things - in theory they should be able to tell whenever anyone opens up an MP4 file on their home computer and yes, that's scary, but as long as they continue to report ratings based on whatever system they use to gauge, it's how things work). And if your only option is Disney+ and you haven't gotten around to watching the Christmas special yet, maybe planning to save it till the season proper starts, I think that's a bad idea. Watch it now so Disney has current numbers to go by (remember Willow. I know people who wanted to see it but planned to save it for later, like holidays, but by then it was too late).

I'm not going to be a hypocrite; I only started watching Loki, the MCU series, over the holidays and it's one of the best shows I've seen in the last 5 years. Too bad I didn't stream it back when Disney was considering whether to keep it going or not. By myself, no, I make no difference. But if a lot of other people held off like me (I never expected there to be a Blu-ray release of Season 1), the collective adds up.

An irony is The Avengers (the one with John Steed) was still popular in the UK when its American network dropped it in 1969, resulting in the UK studio cancelling it. It would be ironic if the same fate befell another series created by Sydney Newman, eh?