#i feel like the final area is more forgiving in this one. also the fact that it has an easy mode

[dormiloncito]

YAYYYY i beat funger 2 😋. and so, my collection of endings begins again.

i highkey feel bad, by playing with my favorite characters i doomed them to die LMAO 😭 (marina is also a fav, but i swapped her for daan last minute)

[jayteacups]

It's A Wrap!

Working on Attack on Titan as a makeup artist has irreversibly changed your life. As the end rapidly approaches, you find that letting go is harder than you’d thought. After years of harbouring feelings for Levi that you can’t divulge, his final day on set arrives. You know it’s time to say goodbye to him and part ways—but maybe you don’t have to. 

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader 

Tags & warnings: Actor!Levi, Makeup artist!Reader, fluff, confessions, friends/idiots to lovers, alcohol consumption, briefly implied sexual content, AOT finale spoilers

Word count: 6.9k words

A/N: I’m back, happy Levi month everyone! I wrote this over the last month to cope with the fact AOT was ending and also life stuff. This is incredibly self indulgent, also I would love to tell more stories and scenarios in this AU, so this probably won’t be the last one-shot I write for actor!Levi and MUA!Reader hehehe. Disclaimer that I don't work in film or TV or makeup, sorry if there are any inaccuracies. Also please forgive me for the uncreative title, lol. Hope you enjoy the fic!

Levi’s last day on set is bittersweet. 

For the final time, you lean against the wall and count down the seconds on your watch. The trailer door swings open to reveal the man of the hour. On par for the course, Levi arrives fifteen minutes on the dot before his scheduled arrival time. He’s holding his usual steaming flask of tea in one hand, with a nondescript rucksack (save for a Badtz-Maru keychain gifted to him from the Sanrio collaboration) slung over his shoulder. 

“Hey,” you greet him, pushing off from the wall, moving towards him like a moth to flame. He sets down his things in the sitting area and meets you halfway, letting you pull him into your arms. After years of working alongside each other, you’ve both grown accustomed to greeting each other like this in private, especially after the stress the two of you had put yourselves under during the Season 3 shoots. 

“How are you feeling? It’s your last day.” You ask him as the two of you part. To your dismay, you’re already missing the warmth of his embrace. 

“I’m fine. I’m not going to get all sappy about it.” His face is placid.

“That’s what Hange said when they filmed their death scene, and we saw how that ended,” you say lightheartedly. Hange had sworn to remain jovial and upbeat throughout their last day, but after seeing the several other actors cry at their phenomenal acting, they had promptly broken down. “And I bet you anything that Eren’s going to say that when he and Mikasa do the cabin scene next week, and we all know he’ll be the first to start crying and the last to stop.” 

Levi rolls his eyes before he enters the wardrobe area, but you know he’s not serious. “If you think I’m going to break down in tears like Hange and the kids did, you’re dead wrong,” he continues, out of sight. 

You smile. “Sure. It’s alright, you know, if you do end up crying. It’s an end of an era, we’re all going to get emotional.” 

A few moments later, Levi emerges in costume, sans the bandages. He sits down in front of the mirror at the vanity table. “Yes, but I’m satisfied with what I’ve done here, and I have no regrets,” he muses out loud, continuing on from before. “And it’s not like I’m done with the show. There’s the wrap party, then the press tour and all that. So don’t expect me to get all worked up today. I’m not saying goodbye to Attack on Titan just yet.” His voice softens towards the end. 

But it is goodbye for us, you wish to say. And I don’t want it to be. You haven’t been contracted for any of their press events. After you finish with Attack on Titan, you’ll have a handful of weeks before your upcoming contract for a new show begins. It’s a wonderful opportunity; the show is airing on a major streaming service and requires you to push your SFX skills to the limit. Sasha had been cast in one of the main roles and both Onyankopon and Nifa will make appearances too, so you’ll see some familiar faces on this new project. But selfishly, you aren’t ready to let go and move forward. Selfishly, you aren’t ready to part ways with Levi. 

Sure, the two of you will make an effort to talk every now and then. You know him far better than to assume he’ll stop talking to you the moment Attack on Titan is finished; despite him being standoffish at first, it’s clear Levi cares deeply about everybody he’s ever worked with, cast or crew alike. But the chances of your demanding schedules ever lining up again are close to zero, and sooner or later, your frequent messages will fizzle out into a conversation lost to the ages. You’ll drift, until the two of you are strangers once more. It’s inevitable; you’ve seen it happen before with your actor friends from old projects. No doubt it’ll happen again. 

You consider addressing the elephant in the room, wondering if it lingers on his mind, too. But instead, you hum in agreement and pass him a headband to hold his hair out of the way. He puts it on, clearly content to not bring it up just yet. 

Levi chews on the inside of his cheek as you sort out your equipment on the vanity table. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his lips, which are a little more chapped than usual. It’s clear there is something else that’s bothering him, but you decide to let it go for now. Sometimes Levi just needs to sit with his thoughts for a moment. You’ve learned that being pushed just makes him close himself off even more. A life in the limelight can be unforgiving. Kuchel Ackerman had been the brightest star of her generation, but behind the scenes, her personal life was far from glamorous. It doesn’t surprise you that her son keeps his heart and feelings well-guarded. 

As he sits and stews, you apply chapstick and some basic ‘barely-there’ makeup on his face, before creating the illusion of a hard-fought battle by adding a light layer of grime to his face. You’ll add more after the scar and bandages. As you work, Levi takes out a folder from his bag, which is embellished with a small cat sticker that Hange had stuck on years ago. From it, he takes his copy of the script, nary a crease in the sheets. Brow furrowed, he reads it over and over, mouthing his lines with the fervour of a prayer. 

Now, that is odd. 

“There is something on your mind, isn’t there?” You’ve also read the script for today’s scene. The director had decided to save Levi’s most poignant scene—where his character salutes the ghosts of his fallen comrades—for the very end of his shoot. (Levi’s epilogue scene had been shot a week prior.) This would be his most challenging scene yet, for it would be the first time he and his character will ever cry on screen. “You can tell me if you want. Anything you need to help you focus. There’s still time.” You give him a quick squeeze on his shoulder. 

Stormy eyes glance up at his reflection, than up at yours. He puts down the script and sighs, voice subdued. “I just want to do the Captain’s ending justice, and I don’t think I can.” 

“I think you can,” you murmur. You gesture for him to close his eyes, and pick up your finest brush. Willing your hand and heart into steadiness, you bring the brush up to his forehead, where the largest scar begins. You’ll never get used to how infuriatingly gorgeous he is. “No. I know you can. There is no doubting just how much you care about portraying him correctly.” 

He swallows. “Well, I’ve never cried on camera before.” He stops, giving you a moment to work. 

With the utmost care, you begin to draw the main line of the largest scar, the one that passes through his eye and lips. As the brush passes over his eyelid, it twitches ever so slightly, his long lashes tickling your hand. Smiling, you brush away a stray lash that had fallen onto his cheek. As you extend the line down his cheek, you try to reassure him. Levi’s usually so steadfast, but it makes sense that something like this would grow heavy on his mind. 

“You’ve been practicing it with your coach, though, right? I mean, I’ve had to cover up your swollen eyes a number of times this season.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The brush reaches his lips. He opens his eyes, looking up at you through lowered lashes. Your heart aflutter, you staunchly ignore any and all thoughts of kissing him. Doing so has become more and more difficult with every passing day. Especially when every now and then, you think you see him glancing down at your lips whenever you lean in close to examine a detail of your work. 

It’s more than likely that you’re imagining it, though. 

Finally, the brush reaches his chin, finishing the outline of the first scar. You lean back to admire your work. After many instances of painstakingly painting on the scars and agonising over continuity, you don’t have to look at your old reference pictures to know the exact shape and curve of them, down to the millimetre. But you do so anyway, and smile in satisfaction when you compare today’s line to the pictures from the first time you drew them on him for practice. A perfect match. 

“I know you’ve been working hard at it,” you continue assuring him, putting down the reference photos. “You’ve definitely come a long way.” 

“Yeah, but I’m shit at it, actually. All those times we joked about how Eren would take forever to conjure a single tear every time he needed to cry, and now here I am in the exact same position. He’s going to rub this in my face should he ever find out.” He chews the inside of his cheek again, looking down. “Damn it. Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m not… I don’t get nervous. I don’t show up to work feeling unprepared. That isn’t me. But today, it is.” 

It’s unsettling, to see him so unsure of himself. His nerves are understandable, as he came into the show with more of a stuntman background and little actual acting experience. But anybody who’s worked alongside him could easily tell you just how dedicated he is to improving his craft, and that nobody else could play the Captain with the same quiet subtleties that Levi brings to the screen. 

You hope your smile is somewhat reassuring to him. “And that’s okay. You know, crying on command really isn’t easy. I’ve worked with countless actors and many also find it difficult.” In your experience, most actors need a while to work themselves up to cry. The most obvious exception is Armin, who has the unnerving ability to turn it on and off like a light switch. “For you, all you need to do is make one tear out of one eye. You’ve managed to do that before, right?” 

He nods, but the firm clench of his jaw and the crease between his brows don’t fade.

“So, it’s nothing that you haven’t practiced. And on the off chance that you can’t do it today, that’s perfectly fine. I have eyedrops in my bag.” 

“Yeah, but…” He shakes his head in frustration. “This is going to sound dumb, but it… I don’t know, that feels like cheating. I know you’re thinking I’m being an idiot, and I probably am. I know eyedrops are common practice. It’s just… This is my character’s last moment before the epilogue, and I want it to be real. I don’t want to take the easy way out.” 

“No, it’s not stupid. There’s no shame in needing to use eyedrops if you end up not being able to cry today, but it’s really admirable that you want to do it as authentically as possible. I think that since this is your final scene, and so many people are returning this morning, it’ll be easier than usual to muster up those tears.” Reaching for a set of different brushes and paint, you instruct him, “here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to just listen whilst I do the rest of your scars. I don’t want you to get trapped in your head about this, okay? Overthinking will just make it harder to get into character. Isn’t that what you said to Mikasa all those years back? It worked wonders for her. I often forget that this show was her first ever gig, with how good she’s become.” 

He scoffs. “Really? You’re using my own words against me?”

“Well, what use is your own advice if you can’t follow it yourself?” 

After a moment of hesitation, Levi sighs in defeat and closes his eyes again. “Shit, you’re relentless. Fine, then. I’ll trust you.” 

You get to work, drawing the outlines of the second scar parallel to the first, then the smaller ones on his other cheek. As you add in the details, such as the texture of the stitches, you remind Levi of another story that he himself told you. He’d never worked with horses before being cast in this show, and yet was one of the quickest learners. Unsurprisingly so, since he’s incredibly kinaesthetically intelligent. To this day, the cast insists he looks the most at ease atop a horse, only second to Erwin, who actually used to ride in his childhood. You remind him that every single time, his hard work has more than paid off.

Somewhere down the line, you go off topic. Levi makes no move to stop you. In fact, he seems content just to listen to you talk about anything, everything. As the wounds take shape on his face, you reminisce on anecdotes from set, on the time the two of you spent together. With fondness, you recall your first meeting. Back then, you were an lowly assistant on the SFX team, transforming an unassuming man into the wounded soldier who, in his dying moments, listened to the Captain’s vow to eradicate the titans and bring meaning to his sacrifice. You talk about how the two of you grew closer during the filming of the second season, when Levi had a lot more free time to talk. How difficult the third season had been to film due to both of you being spread thin by additional responsibilities.

You skim over that time Levi mentioned you in an interview when asked about a favourite memory on set, and how warm it made you feel. You don’t talk about how you’d genuinely teared up after watching the final cut of the scene where Hange discovers a half-dead Levi by the riverbank, despite knowing that his ‘injuries’ were nothing more than your own handiwork.

And, with your heart clenching painfully, you certainly don’t dare to bring up the almost-kiss at last year’s cast and crew Halloween party.

——— 

“Cut! Perfect! Aaand that’s a wrap for Levi!” 

The set erupts into thunderous applause. You clap heartily alongside the rest of the cast and crew. A deafening symphony of whoops and cheers fills the air, and if not for the growing lump in your throat, you’d join in too. 

A standing ovation. Levi deserves it and more. Just as you expected, every angle the director wanted to capture had needed one take each, not a single one more. No eyedrops needed. 

From your position, you can see Levi still sitting by the rock. Strangely, he makes no move to get up. Curious as to why, you peer past some crew members that had moved in the way, but you’re greeted with a sight that pulls at your heartstrings. Your eyes sting with new tears. 

Curled up by the rock, Levi has his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving with quiet sobs. 

Something in your chest aches. You knew that he would get emotional at the end—there was no way he wouldn’t, especially considering that his character cried too—but you didn’t expect him to feel so overwhelmed. 

On instinct, your feet propel you towards him, but you’re promptly cut off by a few other crew members moving around. Through your rapidly blurring vision, you can only watch as several of the returning cast members rush forward from the smoke. Hange reaches him first, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Erwin is second, kneeling next to the duo and rubbing Levi’s back comfortingly. 

Sniffling, you quickly wipe away your tears, remembering suddenly that you still have something to do. Unnoticed, you slip away from set.

There is a tradition amongst the cast that whenever a character dies, the actor receives a bouquet of flowers from the cast and crew. (A size limit had to be enforced after a very emotional Gabi had presented Sasha with a bouquet so large it couldn’t fit through the trailer door.) For this final season, the tradition has expanded to gifting the actor a bouquet when they wrap, for the characters that survive all the way to the very end. 

The door to Connie’s trailer is unlocked when you arrive, just as he said it would be. Inside, you find a vase full of vibrantly coloured flowers on the kitchenette counter in the exact spot where you’d left it earlier this morning. Several weeks ago, the cast and crew had all nominated you to put in the order for the bouquet and present it to Levi on his final day, and Connie had offered to help you hide it from Levi until it was time. Careful to not drip water all over the floor, you pick up the flowers and jog back to set. 

The fog machines are being carried out by the time you return. You immediately scan the set for Levi, but it seems he has been completely buried under a massive group hug with the veterans cast, no doubt Hange’s doing. You can’t help but smile at the sight. Most of the crew members appear to be taking a break before clean-up, as it is the end of the day. The air is filled with chatter, but a hush descends upon the crowd as you approach. 

The actors peel away from the hug one by one. A smiling Petra helps Levi get to his feet. The bandages on his face are halfway unravelled. With one hand, he yanks them off, leaving both of his eyes to gaze at you unobstructed, ablaze with an intense emotion you can’t quite place. With his other hand, he quickly wipes away the half-dried tears on his cheeks. 

“On behalf of the cast and crew,” you say hoarsely, “I give you these.” You step forward and present him the bouquet. “It’s been an honour. Thank you for everything, Levi.” 

His fingers gently graze yours as he takes the flowers from you. Tenderly, he holds them close to his chest. 

“I was wondering where you went just now,” he says. Of course he’d noticed. “Should’ve known you’d be the one to give me this…” His voice wavers towards the end. He scoffs and wipes at his eyes. “And to think I was done blubbering like a baby. Damn it. You were right.” 

He pulls you into a hug without a second thought. 

——— 

Somehow, you’ve been roped into taking photos for everyone. Levi unwraps the bandages around his hand before he begins. He first takes a photo with the director and producer, who both thanking him dearly. They part with a handshake. Almost immediately after, the cast members of the Alliance, along with Eren and Zeke, all swarm forward for a big group photo. They’d all come to watch in support, even if several of them weren’t scheduled to come in today. Connie confesses that he’d helped hide the bouquet by letting you into his trailer. Levi makes a light-hearted remark that he should’ve figured that out too, considering Connie also helped hide Hange’s bouquet—which Levi himself had been responsible for ordering and retrieving. 

The veteran actors come forward next. Fitting them all into the camera frame was a challenge, but you manage to do it after one of your makeup assistants finds you a stool. Somehow, Erwin manages to persuade Levi into doing the Scout salute with the rest of them. (“I just did it in the scene, though… Fine, I’ll indulge in your corniness for today, you dorks.”) When he presses his fist to his chest one last time, the veterans erupt into cheers. 

Hange and Erwin both stay back for a little longer. The trio pose for more photos, all grinning widely, though you decide to put a stop to the mini-photoshoot when Hange attempts to pick Levi up bridal-style and almost drops him. 

(“When I said ‘put me down’, I didn’t mean for you to drop me with no fucking warning!” 

“I didn’t mean to drop you. Besides, I caught you, didn’t I? You’re fine, see?”) 

After that fiasco, Levi asks to take one with the original Special Ops Squad, as it had been years since they’d managed to meet up. 

Zeke comes back for another photo, slipping one arm around Levi’s shoulders. As you meet the taller man’s eyes over the top of his phone, he winks mischievously, holding two fingers up in bunny ears above Levi’s unsuspecting head. Say nothing, he mouths to you. With a herculean effort, you suppress your laugh. Zeke has made it his personal mission to photobomb every main cast member from the finale. After months of shooting, Levi is the last one standing, and it’s incredibly entertaining how hard Zeke tries to finish his mission, even now. 

“Hand down, Zeke.” 

“Damn it, how did you know?” 

“You’re about as subtle as Reiner is when he pretends he hasn’t broken a prop.” 

Zeke laughs. “Nothing gets past you, Levi, does it?”

As the two continue to playfully bicker, more jokes than actual verbal barbs, you open the photo you’d managed to take split seconds before Levi called Zeke out. “Mission accomplished,” you say, and a delighted Zeke reaches over Levi’s head to high-five you. Looking mildly betrayed, Levi whips his head back around to face you. 

You grin sheepishly as you pass Zeke’s phone back to him, the photo on display. “Sorry. I had to help him.” 

“Why are you two like this?” Levi says, shaking his head, barely holding back a smile. He and Zeke part after a hug and a promise to get drinks soon.

Levi’s promptly joined by Falco and Gabi, and after their photo is taken, he ruffles their hair affectionately, which makes Gabi yelp. He really has stepped into the ‘cast dad’ role, a development that you find endlessly endearing. Soon after, their parents arrive to take them home— the kids have quite an early start tomorrow to film their scenes with Annie and Kiyomi on the boat. 

Jean and Connie take the chance to snatch a couple of selfies with him, before the latter asks if he could join them to film a TikTok for the show’s official account. To Levi’s utmost relief, it isn’t a dance challenge. Connie instead asks him a few questions about how he feels about the show ending, and what the show means to him—he’s putting together a montage of every cast member’s responses. 

On the sidelines, just out of view, you watch Levi give his answers. An ember of warmth kindles in your chest. 

Soon after, Levi’s approached by the stunt team, headed by an old friend of Levi’s from his stuntman days. She’d made a cameo in the third season as Kenny’s lieutenant. You happily take a group photo for them. 

After you hand Caven’s phone back to her, Hange taps you on the shoulder, having finished catching up with the other cast members. You smile as they hug you tight, swaying on the spot; today is the first time you’ve seen them since they filmed their death scene a few months back. 

“It’s so good to see you!” They say, linking arms with yours. “Sorry it took so long to come and find you.” 

“Don’t worry! It’s lovely having you back. How are you finding your return?” 

“It’s great! I’ve really been missing this, even though it hasn’t been that long.” They pout. 

“Oh, we’ve all missed you too, Hange,” you say, smiling. “Have you been up to much since you left?” 

“Well, I visited my dad for a bit, then I sent in an audition tape for this thriller movie that my agent thinks I’ll be a good pick for. I also got a few other offers, but I’m a little on the fence. I’ll consider those if I don’t get that thriller role, but who knows when I’ll hear back from them?” 

“I bet you’ll get it. Thrillers are right up your alley.” 

“You flatter me, dear,” They grin. “Anyways, I am here to say that you are the only one left who has not taken a picture with Levi. And that needs to change. The two of you need something to remember this day by!” You realise they’ve been guiding you towards the rock, where Levi, Mikasa, Armin and Eren are deep in conversation. The younger actors are laughing boisterously at something Levi had said, heads tilted back, sporting wide grins. Levi’s still cradling his bouquet carefully, a soft smile as he speaks, looking up at his younger cast mates with endearment. Your heart warms at the sight. 

The quartet look up as you approach. The younger actors wave goodbye, disappearing into the crowd. Hange quickly ushers you and Levi together, their phone already out of their pocket. “Alrighty, here we go!” They cheer. “Oi, look lively now, Levi. It’s the last photo!” 

“Was about time we did this,” you whisper to him as you come close. At first, you settle into your usual stance whenever you take a photo with a cast member, but Levi is not just any cast member. Not to you. Gnawing on your lip, you grapple with yourself for a fleeting moment. Your professional side barely puts up a resistance, and so you lean in to whisper a question. Briefly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss the delicate shell of his ear. You banish the traitorous thought, best as you can. 

“Hey, can I put my arm around you for this?” As close as you and Levi have grown over the years, the two of you save your brief hugs for behind the scenes, in private. Physical affection is rare with him otherwise—whilst the cast tend to be very touchy with one another, Levi is usually seen on the sides, watching them with a quiet fondness in his eyes. That hug from earlier—it had to be a fluke, right? 

And yet, he sighs, and bridges the small gap between you. His free arm moves behind you, a warm, firm hand comes to rest at your back. “You don’t have to ask, you know,” he murmurs in return. “I hugged you earlier, didn't I? Quit worrying. Go ahead.” 

Warmth blooming inside you, you lean sideways towards him on impulse. You slide your own arm behind him, and Levi leans into your touch. “Just so you know,” he continues, “it was an honour working with you too.” 

Hange starts to count down from three. A wave of emotion hits you, almost sweeps you off your feet. This is it. Your last day of working with him.

Still so much left unsaid. 

Straining to keep your composure, you offer a wide, bright smile for the camera. 

——— 

The next few hours are spent tidying and cleaning up. Most of the actors have gone home, but Levi stays behind to help out the crew, as he always does without fail. With how emotionally taxing the day had been, it’s a wonder he didn’t go back to his trailer immediately to crash. As if you couldn’t admire him any more. 

Your eyelids are heavy by the time you finish up and arrive at Levi’s trailer. When you enter, he is slumped in a chair in front of the vanity mirror, already changed out of his costume. 

Neither of you say a single word as you carefully wipe away the scars and the grime. Your traitorous hands linger for a split second too long whenever they brush against his smooth skin. In his stormy eyes are that same intense look he’d given you when you first appeared with the bouquet. 

You wonder what it means. 

Sooner or later, one of you will have to break this fragile silence. Levi decides to take the matter into his own hands, catching you off guard. “I guess this is it.”

The sting in your eyes returns with a fierce vengeance. You turn away for a moment, rapidly blinking your oncoming tears away. An invisible vice clamps down, mercilessly clenching your chest. 

You choke on your words, but you get them out somehow. “I’ll miss you.” Not the three words you’ve been yearning to say for the last year, but it will have to do. “I’m going to miss you. So much. It’s been…” You wrack your brain, but there is no singular adjective you know of that could truly describe the past few years working on this show with him. “You know what I mean. Right?” 

“I know what you mean.” Levi stands, turning to face you properly. The troubled crease between his brows return. “Look, I… I have to tell you something. Hear me out?” 

Your heart thunders in your chest. You nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Remember this morning? I said I was satisfied with my work here. That I have no regrets.” 

Barely able to breathe, you can only manage to nod. 

“But that isn’t true. Not really. There is one thing I regret,” he says, slowly, cautiously. 

Voice barely a whisper, you ask. “What is it?” 

“That we never talked about what almost happened at Halloween last year.” 

The world comes to a halt. 

Dimmed lights. Bass reverberates through your bones. The aftertaste of a Bloody Mary lingers on your tongue. Levi is just centimetres away, his chest almost flush with yours. His eyes valiantly fight to stay focused on the intricate titan-shifter makeup on your cheeks, before he gives in and his line of sight drops to your lips. Unconsciously, he leans in slightly, seemingly gravitating towards you.

Devastating. That is the first word that comes to your mind. It is high time you realise that he will be the end of you; he could ask anything of you and you’d do it. Your heart beats for him. 

Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his.

A drunken crew member barges past, jostling your shoulder. You yelp, stumbling to the side, before Levi’s hands—warm, steady, safe—catch you. The spell broken, he lets go the moment you are upright, averting his eyes from yours. Levi takes a step backwards—a small one, because there is barely any space in the corner of the room the two of you are tucked into. But to you, he suddenly feels so distant, that he might as well be on the other side of the universe. 

“I need some air,” he says, stoic mask falling back into place. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, Levi turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, taking all the warmth of the room with him. 

No. This is dangerous territory. Since that night, the two of you had constructed an unspoken agreement to pretend nothing had ever happened. Levi had never made any impression that it was anything other than a drunken lapse in professionalism. For a while, you wondered if he even remembered that moment, or if it had all been in your head, a result of you projecting your own desires onto him. 

Regardless, he had never brought it up. You’d been content to do the same. It was—and still is—impossible to fathom that Levi would ever want you. 

“Tell me,” he says hoarsely, “that I wasn’t imagining things that night, and every day since. Tell me I’m not imagining that you’ve been looking at me like…” 

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Like what?” 

“Like that!” He snaps. His hands tremble in a way you’ve never seen before as he gestures towards you, voice tinged with desperation. “Like how you’re looking at me right now. I-I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. Because if I had… maybe I would’ve…” 

The staggering realisation of what he’s trying to say sinks in. 

Choking back a sob of relief, you reach out for his hands, and he offers them to you with no resistance. A light blush sweeps across his face as he stares at your interlocking fingers with something akin to wonder. 

Breathlessly, you dare to ask. “Do you mean it? That if you had known how I felt, you… you would’ve kissed me?”

“Yes. I would’ve. I wanted to, more than anything.” With that, Levi finally looks up from your joined hands. The burning look he’s been giving you all throughout today—you recognise it, now, plain and simple. 

His earlier words ring in your mind. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. 

“Oh, Levi,” you whisper. 

He continues on. “And if I had known how you felt, I wouldn’t have upped and left you like that. I was being a shitty coward, for running away and pretending it never happened, and never giving you an explanation when you deserved one. I was scared, I think, of ruining what we already had. You didn’t imagine anything on my part, it happened, and you didn’t do anything wrong that night… I’m sorry.”

Smiling, you squeeze his hands; warm, steady, safe. “You aren’t imagining things on my end either. I’m in love with you, and have been for a while now.” You don’t need him to say those precious words back for now—Levi’s endearingly clumsy attempt at confessing means more to you than he’ll ever know. “And I forgive you for running out on me that night. We both thought it didn’t mean anything to the other person. For so long, I thought that even if you did, things would never work out, that today would be goodbye, because I have a new contract on the other side of the country, and you’ll be going back to stunt work, a-and…” Your voice trembles, so you force yourself to stop, and breathe. 

“It will work. I swear it, I’m not saying goodbye to you. I don’t care what’s coming next, we can make it work.” He seems to muster his resolve, tugging you closer. “No more dancing around this like idiots. We have enough lost time to make up for.” 

Smiling so widely your cheeks ache, you playfully poke his cheek. “Well, you can always begin with the kiss you owe me, yeah?” 

“You smart-arse.” Levi chuckles, before gently cupping the back of your head with his hand. In a swift movement, he leans in and captures your lips with his.

It’s nothing short of divine. 

Levi kisses you with years worth of yearning behind it. His other hand moves to cradle your face, thumb brushing against the curve of your cheek, wiping away a stray tear of happiness. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you deepen the kiss. Tongues move in tandem, and it isn’t long before hands begin to roam, exploring the terrains of each other’s bodies with an almost innocent curiosity. Heat simmers underneath your skin, a carnal flame yearning to be stoked, to devour. 

For now, though, you’ll have to temper it. 

Coming up for air, you close your eyes, resting your forehead against his. As much as you desperately want him, you don’t want your first time having sex with Levi to be in a trailer on set, with multiple crew members still milling around outside and packing up for the day. You tell him as such, and he murmurs his agreement after kissing you once more. 

“Glad we’re on the same page about that, so…” Realising what you’re about to say next, you choke back a grin at your own cheesiness. “You wanna go back to your place or mine?” 

Levi rests his forehead on your shoulder and chokes back a laugh. “Fuck, that’s such a cliché line.” 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, but the question still stands.” 

He looks up at you, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Yours, then.” 

The time spent packing up and driving back to your home crawls by agonisingly slowly. The moment the two of you cross the threshold onto your home, he’s closing the gap between the two of you, kissing you breathless, thoughtless, until only your longing for him remains. So much so that you almost forget to stop and get a condom out from your drawer—in fact, Levi has to remind you. 

The rare few times you had allowed yourself to think about it, you’d pictured Levi as a tender lover, gentle despite his coarseness. He is all this and more. At his fingertips, you come alive. As he makes love to you, laughs and sweet nothings fill the air between the deep kisses you share. You should’ve expected just how generous he can be in bed, but it still takes you by surprise, the way he worships your body with a deep-rooted reverence, determined to pleasure you over and over. In turn, you reciprocate eagerly, honoured that Levi trusts you to take care of him in return, that he is so readily vulnerable with you. 

Once the two of you are finally, utterly spent, Levi nudges you awake before you can fully slip into a deep doze, cosy and comfortable in his embrace. “Hey. Gotta clean ourselves up, sleepyhead.” 

You chuckle drowsily, and miraculously muster up the strength to crawl out of his arms, out of the warm sheets. “The bathroom is just down the hall,” you yawn, trudging towards a cupboard not the other side of your room. “You can shower first whilst I change the sheets and find you a towel and some spare clothes, ‘kay?” 

“Or,” Levi says, voice hoarse with the same kind of contented exhaustion that makes you yearn to curl up beneath the sheets in his arms, “you could come with me.” He pulls you back in, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder, which tickle slightly. 

Euphoric, you close your eyes and laugh. “Okay.” 

Showering together is an incredibly sweet, domestic affair. Long after you’ve rinsed off all the lather, you’re both hesitant to leave the warmth of the running water, content to cling onto each other and relish in the feeling of skin against skin. 

After the two of you dry off and change the sheets, you climb into bed. Half awake and basking in each other’s presence, you pull him close, nestling your head on his chest. When was the last time you had felt so cherished, so happy? 

Sleep claims you swiftly, but not before Levi kisses the top of your head and tells you what you already know: 

“I’m in love with you, too.” 

——— 

Several weeks later

The wrap party is well underway by the time you and Levi arrive. 

The lights are dim, and the music reverberates through your bones. Levi’s hand finds a home in the curve of your waist as he guides you through the crowd of drunken cast and crew members. His touch anchors you, and you find yourself smiling giddily. 

After helping yourself to a cocktail, the hours fly by. Apparently, the entire cast plus half of the crew (including all of the makeup assistants under your command) had been rooting for you and Levi to get together. Tonight when you finally revealed you were in a relationship with him to your juniors, you were subjected to an intense barrage of questions. This, however, paled in comparison to Hange’s reaction when Levi held your hand in front of their very eyes—they’d launched an interrogation so brutal you wonder why they didn’t enter law enforcement instead.

Soon after escaping Hange’s interrogation, you two both get another drink. “Everybody seems far too invested in this development than they should be,” you sigh, still frazzled. “How long do you reckon they’ve been shipping us?” 

A look of exasperation flits across Levi’s face. “I don’t know, and I hate that I even know what ‘shipping’ means in this context. Also, I saw Zeke give Erwin money when Hange was drilling us. Fuckers had some kind of bet running on us. Don’t even wanna know how long that had gone on for.”

You tip your head back and laugh. “Colour me unsurprised. That sounds very on-brand for Zeke and Erwin. You know, I think I saw Armin and Connie do the same. Guess Armin’s not as angelic as he looks.” 

“That’s been known, sweetheart. The kid’s a menace in disguise.” He kisses your cheek. “Just like you, actually, now that I think about it.”

Playfully, you swat him away. “Hey, who are you calling a menace?” 

Eventually, the two of you find yourselves catching some air outside, needing a moment to sober up and recalibrate after a whirlwind of social interaction. Levi’s hand returns to your waist and tugs you closer to him, seeking out your warmth. Melting into his touch, you do you best to commit the feeling of his embrace to memory. Soon, you’ll move away for a few months for your next contract, but you no longer fear it. Levi had sworn to you that this would work out, and there is nobody’s word you trust more than his.

Your love for each other has endured for years in the past. A handful more months is nothing.

Levi shifts slightly to get a better look at you, and cups your cheek. Meeting his gaze, your heart stops; his eyes are a breathtaking silver in the moonlight. Easily the most expressive feature he has, you could get lost in them for hours. 

Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his. 

This time, Levi meets you halfway.

Do not repost, modify or claim as your own work.

Masterlist

[acaaai-t]

thinking about…

stranger! xiao whom you encountered through a unexpected bank robbery one sunny afternoon. It definitely was love at first sight for you, especially after he had tackled you— a mere stranger to him at the moment— down to shield you from the stray bullets being fired. It was chaos amidst the environment, but all you could think about was how close he was to you… archons he’s pretty.

stranger! xiao whom you practically had to chase after after the entire ordeal just to get his contact information. He had first denied your approach, but you just seemed far too determined to give up so easily. “Sir please,” you begged. “You quite literally saved my life back there, the least I can do is repay you with something.” … “Fine.”

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！

companion! xiao who has a grumpy face on at all times no matter the situation. You had invited him out for lunch as a way to thank him for his heroic act couple days ago, and this would be your chance to properly introduce yourself to him. The weather was near perfect today with the temperature hanging around in the low 70’s (20°C) and the skies cleared of clouds. His intimidating expression was also enough to make you nervous, but you pushed through. “Hi! My name is [name], what’s yours?” … “… Xiao.”

companion! xiao who you took out on a little amusement park hangout on a bright sunny Saturday afternoon. You hadn’t been to one in forever, and considering the fact that both of you had nothing better to do today, you dragged Xiao out with you.

companion! xiao who went near deaf after agreeing to go on a rollercoaster with you— which was a poor choice. The ride was exhilarating, but if you hadn’t been screaming bloody murder throughout the entire ride, it might’ve been a better experience. “I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, hands clasped together in a praying motion. Xiao didn’t say anything. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. As an add-on to your apology, you treated him to a plate of almond tofu. Yeah no, he forgives you.

companion! xiao who gets an unwanted feeling of annoyance when he sees you occupied with someone else other than him. A stranger had stopped you to ask for direction to the nearest bathroom, and being the kind hearted soul you are, pointed to the map and gave the path to his destination. Too close, he thought. What? Why was he feeling like this? Is this what people called jealousy?

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！！

Xiao is in denial. He’s only known you for a month or two now, and feelings are beginning to worm its way into his heart. Unwarranted feelings that he wants no part of— yet it’s constantly in the back of his mind. You’re always on his mind. He can’t get you out, no matter what.

Your smile, your laugh, your mesmerizing beauty…

Archons, what is he meant to do now?

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！！！

lover! xiao who wrestled with his feelings for weeks on end before finally caving in to it. You were blabbering on about some drama unfolding at your workplace at a cafe he’d invited you out to when all of a sudden he stopped you. He couldn’t even pay attention to your words, for all he could do was stare at your lips moving. “Is there something wrong with my face?” you asked, fingers dragging across your cheeks. Xiao was quick to answer, giving a hasty ‘no’.

lover! xiao who kept stuttering his words when confessing his feelings to you. The sun had begun to set, and you had brought him to a secluded area of the woods, where there was a near perfect view of the sunset. Your heart was pounding so heavily against your chest— it felt like it could burst out at any moment. Although Xiao looked more of a hot mess than you did; his face crimson red.

“I.. I like— archons. Oh fuck it [name] I like you. Not as in just friends if you understand, you know what I mean right? No, it’s totally okay if you don’t like me back like—”

lover! xiao who you had to shut up with a kiss to his lips, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer to you. He seemed to had to take a moment to register what had just happened, and when it did finally process, he kissed back— hard. Is he dreaming?

just lover! xiao being the epitome of you fell first but he fell harder.

— ༉‧₊˚ 🐈‍⬛ ༉‧₊˚. . 。！！！！

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— more xiao content coming soon

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[keesdarlin]

☆// mine, yours (MDNI 18+)

info! 141 / fluff, established relationship (sort of) + gender neutral reader

cw! implied past self hatred, negative self image, mental health recovery, healing vibes

prompt! "i wanna be mine, wanna be yours" Mine / Yours by Wilbur Soot

notes! god i'm Really trying to not make it a habit to use wilbur soot lyrics as prompts but it's hard when they're so good please forgive me. also just as a disclaimer, the whole "you have to love yourself before you can be loved by someone else" thing is bullshit. date who you want when you want. the only thing that matters is that you actually want to get there with yourself

PRICE:

honestly, john is the king of praise and reassurance. he sees how much you struggle sometimes, especially with your faith in your skills. as a solution, he finds ways to give you lots of praise for your hard work on the side. it’s hardly in front of other recruits or, god forbid, the rest of the 141 guys, but only because he doesn’t feel like getting accused of picking favorites (even though everyone already knows anyways). besides, that praise isn’t for everyone else. it’s for you. he never gives you pointers unprompted because he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s rushing you along. he tries his best to give you the room to take things at your own pace. always asks if he can give you an idea to maybe make things easier or if he should explain something in a different way. every once in a while you have a day where whatever you’re doing is just a little bit… more than usual. a little bit more difficult, taking a little bit more time, requiring a little bit more focus than you’re used to. john spends a little bit more time with you on those days, not to babysit you or coddle you, but just to make sure that you’re feeling alright about things. when you finally get it right, he can’t help but break out in a grin with a quiet, “good job, sergeant.”

GAZ:

gaz is huge on compliments. he’s always the first one to tell you how amazing you look every day. it’s easy to struggle with loving the way you look, he knows, so he does his best to try and mitigate that. don’t get him wrong; he’s not complimenting you out of obligation or pity. he compliments you because he believes it and he wants you to believe it too. will compliment anything from your makeup (if you wear any) to your outfit to your new shoes. he just thinks you’re the shit.

kyle also puts a lot of focus on acts of service. although you’re on a journey of self love and learning how to be healthily independent rather than hyper-independent, there’s a lot of skill to build in areas where it comes to when and if you should be leaning on other people. it’s hard, he knows, but he wants to help you practice! so he watches you, surprisingly in tune with your needs, and tries to meet you halfway. it’s not that he doesn’t think that you can do it yourself. in fact, he’s certain that you can. it’s more that this is his way of helping teach you that it’s alright to accept help. he doesn’t always ask first, but he’ll do a little something when he knows you’ve had a rough day. when he sees the exhaustion that hides in the way that you roll your neck, or the way that your shoulders hike up to your ears with anxiety, or the tired sigh that leaves your lips when you finally get a chance to sit down. and it’s not always something big. usually him doing your dishes “on accident” or because he had the extra time, or making a little extra dinner for you so that you don’t have to make your own, or bringing you a glass of water even though you didn’t ask for one. he knows he doesn’t have to, he knows that you’re capable of doing all this stuff yourself, but he wants you to know that you’re not going it alone. not as long as he’s there.

SOAP:

johnny uses a lot of patience and encouragement with you, mostly in moments of frustration, and sometimes a little instruction. an aspect of the self care journey that you find yourself struggling a lot with is remembering to be patient with yourself. you can sometimes find yourself going off the rails a little bit, but soap is here to help reel you back in. without sounding patronizing, he’ll remind you to take a step back from the situation for a second, take a breath, go for a walk, whatever you need to do to zone in, and then come back after.

one day you’re down at the shooting range when the frustration hits. normally, you’re a pretty good shot, but for some reason today you can’t hit near the middle of the target for the life of you. another shot missed and you sigh sharply, barely managing to stifle the groan and curses that threaten to escape you.

“you doing alright?” soap asks from somewhere behind you.

“fine, thanks,” you mutter through clenched teeth. you don’t bother to look back at him, closing one eye as you try to focus your aim.

soap hums. steps forward, sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. you take the hint and lower your gun, huffing as you turn to look at him. “alright. you’re doing pretty well so far, but let’s take a deep breath and try it all again, aye bonnie? i’ll help.”

you roll your eyes but inhale deep anyways. soap nods as he watches your shoulders fall with the exhale. “good job, lamb. now come ‘ere. ‘m gonna help you adjust to this gun.”

GHOST:

simon doesn’t tolerate negative self-talk. you guys talked about it once, how you want to be better about being kind to yourself. sure, sometimes that can mean taking a self care day or going out for a night with some friends or sitting down and taking some time to do something intentional. but those all have the potential to be pretty time consuming. something you can do every day, all the time no matter what you might be up to is saying something nice about yourself. it’s definitely weird the first few times; you didn’t realize before how much shit you talk about yourself every day, so the new hyper-awareness is a little bit anxiety-inducing. but once you adjust to the strangeness of it, it actually starts to feel kind of nice. every time you say something kind about yourself and find yourself meaning it, a spot of pride pulses warmly in your chest. it can still be difficult sometimes. some days, when things feel a little bit darker, a little bit heavier, you find yourself insulting your mistakes and talking down to yourself. but simon is right there with you to remind you. “you wanna try that again?” he asks nonchalantly when he hears you utter a quiet ‘oof, i’m dumb.’

you blush, but nod. “yeah, sorry. uhm… i’m not dumb, i’m just distracted and i’ll do better.”

he never gives a verbal response to your self-compliments, just a nod and, if you’re lucky, a little smile.

[raayllum]

Anyway earlier this month I said I had a lot of feelings about how visual framing is used in Viren and Harrow's relationship so time to talk about it, i.e.

Harrow is almost always framed as being above Viren

Now, some of the meaning behind this is obvious. In spite of their longterm friendship, the fact that Harrow was king and had the final say, and Viren very much did not (and likely went from being Harrow's closest advisor to second fiddle with Sarai, and then back again) is something that Viren concerns himself a great deal with: "My whole life I've been chasing after things I didn't have. Status, influence, power" (4x02). Due to this difference in status, Viren's plans are suggestions, whereas Harrow's word is law, and Viren each time has to present his ideas accordingly, and the framing reflects that:

We see this desire to be close to Harrow and power more generally bleed over into other areas of Viren's life, such as his obsession with the mirror. Viren assumes the proximity to power begets or informs importance/worth, and that because "the mirror was kept closest to where [the Dragon King and Queen] slept, it must be important."

This of course is a mirror (ha) to his image of himself, in which, "I thought you were going to be something special, something important!" (2x02) and exactly why Harrow's words of, "I see the problem now: it's that you believe you are special, above the laws of this kingdom."

His happiest moment with Harrow then arguably, within the text of the show, is when Harrow invites him up to be on equal standing (and also why said portrait is what inspires Viren to offer himself up as Harrow's "equal" - amid a self-importance kink, of course). When they were 'brothers', and why the dissolution of their bond undoes this framing entirely.

It's not surprising, then, that his psyche reenacts the Happy moment with the portrait with an even sweeter, cherry on top of not just Harrow's forgiveness, but his love, acceptance, and admiration, in Viren's dark magic dreams.

Symbolized by Harrow lowering himself in order literally lift Viren up from a kneel, to standing as equals, and into a hug (+ acceptance and a mutual assurance of familial connection/importance).

(Bonus points for Harrow's sword being changed into Viren's staff immediately after their hug, btw.)

But just like 2x05 with the portrait, this moment of reconciliation and happiness even inside Viren's mind cannot last forever, as he's pushed and stumbles into an even lower place than on his knees, and this part of the nightmare is over.

This is also, of course, the most overt framing to display power and control vs feeling powerless or helpless.

That said, while Harrow above and Viren below framing wise is the most consistent framing we see for the two (besides just regular shots with things like pillars and titan hearts in between them) are the ones where Viren is framed above... and it's not usually good.

We see the Standing to Kneeling to be on level with Harrow to Standing again progression as Viren makes his case regarding Zym. Like before, I think this serves a few purposes.

Viren standing at first when Harrow does not reflects their attitudes, specifically Harrow's relief that it's finally over and Viren's suspicion that it's not

Viren then moves to be on Harrow's level and this communicates how he's pleading / trying to have Harrow understand his point of view by bringing himself down to Harrow's level. This, of course, is ironic, because by doing so, Viren is bringing Harrow down to his level in terms of morality

Viren straightening up again indicates assertiveness, being active rather than passive, and perpetuating a path that offers agency, safety, and control, horrible as it is.

And it works, since as we know, Harrow goes along with and agrees to it in spite of his reservations.

However, the most interesting flip of "Viren looking down at Harrow instead" has always been this one at Harrow's funeral in 1x04, as Viren is attempting to rush things along and take his former's friend throne. All the power is there within his grasp as he stares impassively into the fire, and yet it rings hollow and reminds him ("In his final hours, he called me brother") of precisely what lies he's telling not only the populace, but also himself.

Because the only way for Viren to look down on and at Harrow was for him to be dead.

[woozvc]

notice you

1.0 (season finale)

word count - 1.8k ish

you keep your phone down for a while. me and vernon replays in your head. maybe it's the stress from the interview being released or maybe it's something else, suddenly you're laying in bed like a motionless doll staring at the ceiling. events from your meet up with vernon replay in your head.

how when he saw u walk over to him he broke out in the biggest smile ever. how he didn't immediately hand you your wallet, instead took his time to ask how you were and if you had eaten. when you said no he responded

" I know a place nearby let's go"

"oh it's okay we don't have to I've already made u come all the way here just to give me my wallet"

"I want to hang out with you let's go"

I want to hang out with you. he wanted to spend time with you with or without the wallet. but surely it didn't mean much?

you guys stop by a nearby cafe, it's small with no one around. the smell of freshly made ramen fills your nose as u remember you hadn't eaten at all.

both of you sit down and make small talk about life, goals, the future and what not. vernon is genuine in his answers, that's something you admired about him since the first time you both met.

admire, that's the word u use when u see vernon.

admiration fills your eyes when he talks about his love for music and his passion.music has been your life goal since forever, and you wouldn't give up being an idol for anything. it was nice knowing that someone you look upto also feels the same. it felt comforting that he also felt the effect of music.

admire, that's the word you use for vernon when he offers to take a walk around the river after you finish eating.

he's a bit awkward, it's very evident. both of you clueless as to if this is okay, adrenaline pumping in your blood at the thought of being caught. but for some reason you didn't care, not when you're with him.walking around with him felt natural, something about him feels familiar, it feels comfortable.

admire, the word both of you use when you finally say goodbye.

it's around midnight and the river area is getting crowded with college kids having picnics with their friends. that's when you both decide to head home. it's comfortable, but there's a feeling of longing. you want to stay there with him but you know u can't. "I'll see you around" leaves your lips as u walk away, clutching your wallet in your hand.

admire, that's the word vernon used for you when he saw you debut showcase for the first time on his YouTube for you page.

he was bored, he has nothing else to do. autoplay helped though, he heard an unfamiliar melody fill his ears and suddenly he was watching all your videos on your channel for the next 2 hours.

admire, the word vernon uses to hide the fact he didn't just notce you, he admired you.

"sometimes things are better left unsaid" you both think as you turn your phones off, last texts never getting sent.

synopsis - you get invited to your first MAMA awards after debuting as a soloist. a dream come true for u. your fans are ecstatic but they can't help but notice how this one idol keeps stealing glances at u......and you can't ignore it either.

pairing — vernon x gn!reader

genre/s — smau, idol au, fluff, minor angst

warnings — a lot of cursing

send an ask to be added to taglist!

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note — Y'ALL I'M SORRY FOR MAKING THE FINALE SO ANGSTY BUT I PROMISE SEASON 2 WILL BE BETTER PLEASE FORGIVE ME. but yes omg we finally ended season 1!! I didn't know this series would blow up as much as it did and I'm so grateful. this series will be on hold for a while, I'll focus on my other series which is coming up and more one shots but this WILL RETURN!! thank you for loving notice you as much as I do <3

anyways as always id love to know your thoughts on this chapter!

tags —

@spilled-coffee-cup @atinytinaa @matchahyuck @wonwoos-wineparty @kawennote09 @weird-bookworm @idkwwhatimmdoiing

@maiamorrrrrrrrrrrr @thehao8 @blurryriki @atinytinaa @delicatewinterenthusiast @stqrrgirle @cloelinnnnn @sp1ng @venusprada @hellohannie

@ddokye @jeonghansshitester @cienlvrs @vernyangel @thefroggybazaar @wondering-out-loud @mxnhoeuwu @ahuihoeeee

[thechibilitwick]

As an honorary Shidou apologist, I am breaking my silence. I’ve finally decided to go on a rant on why I don't think Kirisaki Shidou is an organ harvester.

(fair warning I like absolutely suck ass at organizing my thoughts, so if some of this is incoherent or if it seems like i'm repeating myself my bad 😭 I mainly wrote this for fun)

So, I'm aware that this theory is the most popular consensus when it comes to Shidou (and tbh, I think part of it is because a lot of people kinda look over him? Like at least a tiny bit more than the others, considering a lot of people also don’t realize how his main victim was probably his son and not his wife, but I digress) (plus I think all milgram characters are looked over to a certain extent). While I do think parts of it are probably accurate in some way, I don't think he was a full-on organ harvester (as in he actively stole from patients through illegal means. emphasis on actively) and that the theory in and of itself is flimsy at best. He's morally questionable, yes, but it’s more in the sense that he’s a somewhat apathetic guy who lacked understanding on how his own set of morals and values (i.e. pushing for organ donation) could be seen as wrong. So if he were an organ harvester, wouldn’t he be aware that it’s illegal? That’s what confuses me whenever people bring it up. I don't actually doubt that he may have done something illegal for his family's sake, it’s just that I still highly doubt it was something he actively did. And that seems to be what a lot of people think when they refer to the theory. (if i’m wrong please forgive me, i just assume organ harvester shidou = people think he did it as a job)

Anyways, more under the cut for those interested (it's a bit lengthy my apologies)

It then kinda trickles down to how his guilt stems more from the consequences of his actions rather than the actual action of taking organs. The root of his guilt comes from the realization that basically asking families to pull the plug and use their loved ones' organs for donation is a very, very hard decision; one that he kept pressuring for. If he was an illegal organ harvester, and was aware that his actions were in fact illegal, why the hell would he feel so guilty to the point that he’d start having suicidal ideations? That’s the key difference between his profession and his possible criminal activities; one is a burden both emotionally and morally, the other is more or less a literal burden. And based off of Shidou's character, he seems to be much more emotionally affected. That's also why I think a lot of people jump to the conclusion that his guilt stems from his actual actions rather than their effects. (does that make sense oh lord i am going ☝️🤓 so hard rn)

I get that some parts of his MV or lyrics seem to be suggesting that, but also it’s important to note that Shidou has a very strong bias against himself and definitely painted himself in a negative light. I mean, that's why he thinks every single preceding patient before the final incident is a victim to him, why he shows himself staying professional in a professional setting as apathetic (minus the pressuring part), and why he literally equates his job to STEALING. Not only that but, imo, it's also a little too unrealistic and might not actually fit the criteria of Milgram. Milgram is for crimes that are in a morally grey area. So if it really was organ harvesting, is it really in a grey area? (though I guess you could say that doing it for family's sake would be, but that's only for his family. He'd have no reason to do it otherwise). Plus, it'd make more sense and fit the theme of touching upon social issues (i.e. abortion, bullying, societal standards, mental health, etc.) if shidou’s entire dilemma was in regards to (albeit questionably done) organ donation, a complicated ethical topic in Japan.

Throw Down actually gives a pretty good rough idea of Shidou's thoughts towards his crime and his feelings in regards to it. He felt like he was blinded by his own values, and that inadvertently caused him to be unaware of the suffering he caused through his job. It really does shock me that he somehow was able to pull-off getting a forgiven verdict in T1 because he certainly comes off as cold and uncaring in regards to his work.

I think the final bridge in Throw Down kinda summarizes his entire mindset, actually.

​​Now slowly close your eye, put your regret on display Wishing you for someone else's sake With the same expression no matter who comes I don’t feel scared because I don’t know

Shidou doesn't quite understand the feelings of his patient's families, and therefore he acts remorseful and sympathetic more than he actually feels. Why? Well, because he didn't know. Up until that point, he never understood the weight of his actions, and focused on his role as a doctor. "This is an upsetting subject, yes, but it's for the greater good, right?” A braindead person has little to no chances of living, so why not use this as an opportunity to donate their organs? Moreover, as a doctor I believe it’s typical to be "emotionally detached” (for lack of a better word) since I’d assume becoming emotionally connected with a patient would make things at least a bit messy.

His mindset comes crumbling down though, presumably because he experienced the same or a similar situation. This part remains muddy for me, since we don't know much about what the actual cause for Shidou's guilt is. There are several possibilities, with the most plausible ones being:

he lost his own family member and had to go through with the same decision,

he tried to save a family member using donated organs, but failed, making it seem like everything he has done as a doctor was in vain

(a secret third option would be him making someone he cares about make that decision but it's very unlikely and also requires too much mental gymnastics)

But no matter what exactly he did, it all trickles down to the validity of his morals. After realizing the pain of losing a loved one, the struggle of trying to save them, and the unfortunate failure which left all efforts practically pointless, Shidou would understand the actual weight of his actions and why all those families were so reluctant to let go of their own.

This is even more evident in his T2 voice drama, Asclepius.

"In order to save the life of someone you don't know, please let me kill your family," I told them. It doesn't even take much thinking to realize how cruel that is, but… I didn't realize it until the very end.

This is the gist of Shidou's crime, or at least part of it (considering he says "Well, about halfway" when Es asks if their judgment was right). Again, this tells us that Shidou's guilt comes from the act of the effects of organ donation rather than the literal action. And this also implies that his "murders" did in fact have to do with being in a medical situation, it's just the way he went about it was at the very least morally questionable.

I will also acknowledge that he says he killed for selfish reasons, which most likely relates to trying to save his own family member. Here he could possibly have actually done something illegal such as tampering with patients or illegally taking their organs (latter is a stretch imo). Plus, his distorted T2 voice trailer line is literally "You're in the way, hurry up and die" which would only make sense in the context of waiting for a patient to die. But it could also just be him continuing to pressure for organ donation, but now with his own selfish motives.

Going back to the "halfway" comment, while I personally believe it might have to do with how Shidou views his crime as more than just taking organs, it more likely implies that something else happened that Shidou would consider murder. That being the actual death of his family member. It's implied through Throw Down that he was trying to save someone but failed, which he was responsible for. Then from there it'd make sense to assume that he would feel some form of guilt for the rest of his patients, either for the reason of failing to actually utilize donated organs even with the opportunity of being able to save them, or for just realizing the what it actually feels like to have to give up on your loved one. (does. does that make any sense.)

So yeah, I don’t think he’s an organ harvester due to what’s known regarding his crime, the reasoning for his guilt, and with the way he is as a character. The most I’d personally believe is that he decided to harvest organs for the sake of his loved one, but even that seems like a stretch to me. Thus, that is why I believe Kirisaki Shidou is not an organ harvester.

Anyways I’ve rambled on long enough, thank you for reading if you did and remember to drink water and vote shidou innocent in trial 3 because i will shit my pants if he doesn't get inno

[eldritch-spouse]

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/745594646225354752/if-i-ran-a-business-in-sloth-id-make-a-type-of?source=share

Hey same anon. so I finally had some time to write this, it's short and it's sfw though so forgive if you wanted something spicy. I tried to make this reader friendly too.

"M-m-madame- Forgive me for bothering you since you're resting right now, but its urgent!" The nervous greed demon stood in front of you looked like he was about to fall apart any second. It's not like him, he's usually calm and collected.

"What is it now, Martin?" I asked with monotone voice. Sitting at my desk, I set aside my drink to save for later. This better be good.

"We have a special guest at the inn, ma'am. A really important guest. And they wish to speak to you."

"Who is it? Tell them my shift is ov-"

"It's the icon of Sloth!" Martin interrupted.

Silence. My eyes widen from what I heard. A royal guest. Here at this small inn of all places. I stood up from my desk and calmy went over to put on my favorite robe. Without saying anything I left my room. Martin followed behind me.

Luckily, it's not busy at this hour at the inn. Some sloth demons with humans they rented passed by. Sometimes other types visit here too. A large buff wrath demon holding a small demon by the scruff of their neck walked towards us.

"Boss, this one tried to kill one of the humans. What do you want me to do with them?" The Wrath demon spoke.

"Your choice, just get rid of them, permanently, Uthin." I just waved my hand and continued walking.

We entered the lobby. I shoo 'ed Martin to return to the front desk. I immediately noticed a huge demon lying down in the waiting area. The air around us smelled sweet, and fragrant. Very strong and soothing. It feels as if you could sleep instantly in one blink. I can feel my energy draining really fast. Any longer my muscles might betray me, and I'll collapse on the floor. That must be the Icon of Sloth.

I approached the Icon. I put on a tired smile as I made a low bow.

"Greetings, your majesty. A thousand pardons for making you wait. Welcome to the Sleep-Inn. How can I help you this evening?"

There was a long silence from the Icon. I can't tell if he's even looking at me with the veil covering his face. My heart was pounding in my chest. Did I say or do something wrong? Maybe if-

"I want to rent you for the night." The icon rumbled in a soft voice.

I just wanted to finish my drink.

------

Notes:

The names I gave to the demons I just pulled out of my ass. Same with the Inn's name.

Hope I didn't make Zizz too ooc. I kinda guess what it'd feel like if you get too close to Zizz.

It's up to others on what happens next. I just wanted to get this short of my chest.

[No, I think you did a fine job with Zizz! 👌 Also, "Sleep-Inn", sleepin'?? Anon your brain is massive.]

Zizz has heard of your little establishment for a decent while before visiting it, most likely. He did his research, and he decided it was worth his time.

Really, you should be flattered for several reasons here- It's rare for King Zizz to personally visit a location instead of ordering people to come to him, so the fact that he showed up in person is already a serious indicator of interest. The fact that he chose you immediately without even sparing the others any mind is also cause for great flattery needless to say.

For all intents and purposes, Zizz is as courteous as an exemplary customer, although he would prefer to bring you to his mansion than remain in your establishment. The King promises you gentle, soothing dreams, his hold of you loving and careful as he sighs his contentment. His veil is lifted, and in the darkness, Zizz places mellowing kisses along your skin. His touch is always slow and prolonged, and while he's very much hard against you, you can deny him sex.

But know that this will repeat itself every single time he rents you. There will come a time where you spend more nights with him than you do with your workers.

Zizz can keep you if he wants. You know this. He knows you do. There'd be nothing and no one to oppose him.

So really, tell him no all you want when his claws flirt with your mons, shift away when his cock presses against the small of your back and turn your lips away from his kisses- You know you'll just end back here again the next night, and your will isn't infinite.

It's certainly not enough to rival Zizz's.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Fixing Gabriel's Writing via a Corruption Arc

Like it or not, Miraculous considers Gabriel Agreste to be a loving father. If he wasn't, then you wouldn't get things like the season five ending or this bit from Queen Wasp:

Gabriel: (guilt-ridden) I don't want to break our promise, but… I can't keep putting our son in danger. Style Queen was supposed to be my masterpiece… but even she failed. I feel like I've done all I possibly could, you know? I'll never be able to fulfill my wish without Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous. (Scene shows Emilie in her coffin) Forgive me, Emilie. I'm giving you up, Nooroo.

But this side of him only shows up in big dramatic moments. When it comes to his more general writing, he's a full out cartoon villain and terrible parent, which is why I've said there's a lot of valid ways to write him. His character is wildly inconsistent. This is a problem that is easily fixed via an actual corruption arc where he goes from somewhat decent parent to monster. There's a couple ways to do this, but here's how I'd do it in the context of keeping canon mostly intact:

Early seasons needed to make Gabriel come across as more openly grief stricken. Really highlight the fact that Emilie's death changed something major about him and his relationship with his son. This is one of the reasons I like a more nuanced Chloe. If you let her and Adrien be actual friends, then you can have her make statements to indicate that Adrien used to be quite close with both of his parents and that Gabriel used to be a good father. You can also have Adrien make statements like this to Plagg, I just like the Chloe angle more as she's more blunt while Adrien is more likely to hide his pain/focus on the positives.

Have Gabriel be unwilling to send akumas to areas where Adrien is. Episodes like Riposte should be impossible as Gabriel will be wholly unwilling to let akumas go after his son. This also lets you justify Adrien being locked up. As is, Gabriel just comes across like a jerk. If he's only banning Adrien from going out in order to keep his son safe? Well, he's still a jerk, but at the very least, he's a jerk who worries about his son's physical well being. Origins saw Adrien sneaking out of the house, so keep that element and make this be the reason he gets caught up in akuma attacks.

As time goes on, Gabriel gets more desperate and more willing to take risks. Lots of things could trigger this such as Ladybug always resetting everything, making him feel less concerned about hurting others. After all, he'll fix everything with his wish and, if he fails, then Ladybug will do it for him. There's really no way to lose here. Style Queen could become a turning point where Gabriel finally willingly put Adrien at risk and he feels awful, but make that also be the closest he's ever come. Have Gabriel decided that risking Adrien is worth the cost if it brings them back Emilie.

After that, things start to go downhill. Gabriel draws away from his son more and more due to guilt, but he's convinced he's in the right because he wants Emilie back so bad. The ends justify the means and all that. This can lead into several different types of endings, but the general feeling of Gabriel's final ending should have an element of pity. He's a villain, but he's a villain many could easily become.

This is the kind of path canon needed to walk if they wanted the season five ending to feel realistic. As is, it's going to read as total nonsense to most fans because they're going to go off of the way Gabriel was played in your standard, monster-of-the-week episode. They're not going to think about those core characterization episodes that were supposed to define Gabriel because those episodes are just too uncommon and too antithetical to the way Gabriel tended to be written.

[xaeoism]

Muichiro and you finally make up Part 1 Part 2

To note : This upper moon is not any of the upper moons that are currently in the show right now. I merely made one up on a whim and I apologize if this is a little disappointing. I would also like to apologize if this was too long hahah.

The two of you dashed through the woods, trying to get to the location as fast as possible before anyone else gets killed. During the whole journey, muichiro kept trying to apologize.

"Hey, I wanted to say sorry, for everything, really.", he slightly shouted whilst running.

You don't respond and you weren't planning to. Perhaps you were just afraid that you might say something you didn't intend to but you ultimately decided to blame it on the fact that you didn't want to bite onto your own tongue instead.

"I'm sorry, really sorry."

There he goes again. Is that all he ever does? Spew out apologies like a broken recorder?

"Would you just shut it? God, your voice is starting to tick me off.", you finally replied, exasperated by his stubbornness to earn your forgiveness.

He keeps quiet before opening his mouth again.

"...Sorry."

Tsk. Could he stop that annoying habit?

"Stop apologizing or I won't even think about listening to you anymore.", you said as you ran faster, leaving him behind.

The two of you made it to the assigned village within an hour. Immediately, the smell of iron flooded your senses, causing you to cringe. You may have been too late to save some people but you refuse to let anyone else get injured.

"This way", muichiro said, as he rushed towards the west of the village. You followed behind him quietly.

It didn't take a lot of effort to find the demon. Or rather, it didn't put any effort in to hide itself. It was blatantly squatting there, tearing a human apart. The deafening crunch of human bones made you close your eyes in disgust.

Muichiro wasted no time, quickly unsheathing his sword to get an attack in on the demon before it could do so first. However, before his sword came into contact with the demon's neck, it vanished.

You instinctively jumped back, sensing something behind you.

The demon could be seen standing at where you once were, it's hand sticking out to where your neck was a few seconds ago.

You shuddered, had you not been any quicker to jump away, you may have just died right there.

You were just about to unsheathe your own weapon when you felt something warm trickling down your neck. You touched it and looked at the dark red liquid smeared on your hand.

You didn't feel any contact but yet you still got injured? How fast was this demon exactly?

Now that it was facing towards you, you could finally make out it's features. The demon was wearing a kimono that perfectly hugged it's petite figure and in it's right hand was a crystallized parasol. Before you could assess it even more, she looked up and scowled at you with such ferocity that it made your hairs stand on end.

Upper Five, huh.

You drew your weapon. It wasn't a normal sword like muichiro's, but a rapier instead.

When you first started training, you were able to use a normal sword as well. As time passed however, you found that having a rapier as a weapon suited you and your breathing style better. Like Shinobu, you also used wisteria poison to help fasten your killing process since trying to cut off the demon's head may take a few slashes from your weapon to effectively do so.

You gripped onto your rapier tightly, running towards the demon, and in one swift moment, you thrusted your sword straight at her neck, only for your attack to be parried by her parasol.

She swung the parasol, causing numerous crystallized shards to cover a large area of the ground. You jumped away, sustaining a few cuts on your arms and legs in the process.

Suddenly, she appeared under you in an instant, parasol closed and ready to pierce through whatever was in its way. You quickly bent backwards, the tip of the parasol scraping pass your chin. Muichiro was positioned behind her, ready to lop her head off before she disappeared once more.

"You're so annoying, can't you just stay still?", you grumbled in frustration as you wiped off the blood from your latest injury.

Muichiro looked at you in concern, some parts of your uniform were starting to turn darker from the injuries you received.

"Hey, are you alright? I'll protect you.", he said gently as he stood in front of you.

"Thanks, Muichiro, but do you think that I'm so weak as to need your protection?", you spoke, eyes boring holes into the back of his head.

"Just focus on protecting yourself.", you said as you pushed him aside.

The demon said nothing, only eyeing the two of you as if choosing who she should attack next. As if on cue, she launched at muichiro, who wasn't on guard at that time and landed a hit on his leg. You watched in shock as the demon's parasol pierced through his flesh. He yelled in pain and swung his sword down at the demon, severing the arm carrying the parasol.

You sprung into action, gathering your thoughts as you hit the demon with a flurry of quick thrusts, tearing tendons in their arms and legs before finishing with a shot to their neck. This time, it successfully went through the demons neck. You held your weapon tightly, anxiously waiting for your poison to take effect. As each second passed you grew more paranoid.

Your poison was not... working?

You immediately tried pulling your weapon out from its neck after coming to that realization. However, it was as if the demon already knew what you were planning to do next and quickly tried to merge with your sword still stuck in her neck. Your hand was still gripping onto the handle of your weapon, trying to tug it out despite it proving to be ineffective a few seconds ago. You watched in terror as the demon's left hand curled up to form a fist and before you knew it, pain bloomed from your stomach as you crashed onto a tree trunk.

The pain in your back was excruciating. You definitely broke many bones from the impact, you thought to yourself as you coughed up large amounts of blood. Your vision was blurry and your ears rang. You looked up to see the demon walk towards you. Every cell in your body was telling you to move, run, to do something rather than just lying on the trunk awaiting your demise. You tried to move but hissed in pain when you tried turning your torso.

The demon was now in front of you. Her arm had regenerated and another parasol grew from her palm. She aimed the tip at your head, preparing to deliver the final blow as you brought your hands up to form a pathetic defense.

However, the final blow never came.

You slowly opened your eyes and saw drops of blood fall onto your clothes. You turned your head up and gasped in horror. There was muichiro, standing in front of you, with the crystallized tip of the parasol stabbing through his stomach.

The demon twisted the parasol before pulling out and muichiro's limp body fell on you. You held his body close, eyes still wide open from what had occurred.

"Muichiro..? Mui- Wake up!", you pleaded as you tried to apply pressure onto his wound with your trembling hands.

Suddenly, you heard something drop. You followed the sound, and saw an eyeball. Then, another eyeball fell. You glanced at the demon, only to be met with the sight of her kneeling down, desperately trying to hold her face together with her hands. You wondered what was happening before something clicked in your head.

Your poison. It was working now.

Adrenaline took over all your senses, your heartbeat and breathing increasing rapidly as you quickly crawled over to grab muichiro's sword that was left at the side when he fell limp. You ignored the searing pain in your stomach and stumbled over to the demon.

Her skin was now melting from her face and it doesn't seem to be getting better for the demon anytime soon. You hold the sword at her neck, your hand visibly shaking due to the adrenaline rush. You pushed the sword through her neck, cutting through it in one clean swipe. Her head fell, turning into ashes before it even made contact with the ground. Her body laid on the ground lifelessly, slowly turning into ashes as well.

You collapsed a few seconds later, your legs finally giving out as the adrenaline began to settle down. You made your way back to muichiro's unconscious body.

"Mui..? Mui, why did you stand in front of me? Why couldn't you just protect yourself instead?", you asked teary-eyed as you cradled him, gently caressing and brushing stray hairs away from his face.

"Oh mui, please be alright... Please, I don't want to lose you..", you mumbled softly before closing your eyes and falling into a deep slumber.

Sunlight filtered into your room through the small cracks between the blinds, causing you to stir from your sleep. You looked at your surroundings groggily, trying to figure out where you were before coming to the conclusion that you were at the Butterfly Mansion.

How long had you been out for? And most importantly, how was muichiro doing?

You thought about paying him a visit before your eyes landed upon your hand intertwined with someone else's. You stared at your hand, before looking at the other hand connected with yours. You turned your head around and saw muichiro lying behind you, sleeping peacefully. Your eyes widened in surprise as you turned in the bed to face him properly. Your hand reached out, gently caressing his face.

"Should I maybe be unconscious more often?", muichiro spoke with a soft laugh as his eyelids fluttered open.

"Muichiro! Why are you even here- Aren't your injuries much worse than mine?", you replied quickly, a little embarrassed that he caught you in the act.

"I woke up a few days ago but you hadn't yet, so I decided to come here to wait for you.", he said.

"You shouldn't have recklessly taken that hit. You could've died if it pierced through your vital organs!", you said with a frown as you felt yourself getting angry again.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't bear seeing you get anymore injured than you were.", he said, voice trailing off weakly as he looked away from you.

You kept quiet, unsure of how to respond to his sincere apology.

"Will you forgive me..?", he asked meekly as he looked back at you.

You pondered for a moment before sighing.

"I will, if you promise to not do something so brash ever again."

Upon hearing this, his eyes lit up.

"Would you.. consider being my lover again?", he asked hesitantly, holding his breath as he waited anxiously for your answer.

"I.. believe my heart had already started beating for you once more when you protected me from that fatal attack.", you replied, looking up at him with a small smile.

He smiled in absolute joy as he hugged you close to him.

"I missed you so much.", he said, happiness evident in his tone.

You slowly wrapped your arms around his back , returning the affection he was giving you.

"I.. missed you too."

I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this last part! Personally, I believe that this post is not on par as compared to the previous two but I still hope that some parts of this post made up for it.

[musicalmoritz]

I love fics that let Aoinene be messy

I know the general attitude towards this ship is “wow cute lesbians, good for them” but it makes me so happy when people actually address the conflict of their dynamic. Aoi wants to open up to Nene but Nene is too consumed by her own problems to notice. She makes Aoi feel invisible, and as a result Aoi keeps her at a distance. They both lie to each other to the point that neither of them really know who the other is. Nene forgives Aoi way too easily for her actions during the Grim Reaper arc because in her eyes, her best friend can do no wrong. Aoi can be very passive-aggressive to Nene sometimes, leading me to believe she harbors a lot of bitterness towards her. These are elements that make the ship more interesting, their conflict gives them more substance than just being the fluffy side ship to Terukane. Speaking of which, it strikes me as odd that the ships involving men are praised for their toxicity whereas the wlw ships either have their problems entirely erased or are hated for not being perfect

This is why most of my Aoinene fics (especially the longer ones) involve miscommunication and arguments. I like seeing them struggle before they get to be happy, putting in a mutual effort to work out their problems. I like fluff twice as much as the next person, but angst with wlw ships just hits different for me. It’s sweet that a lot of fics have Aoi viewing Nene as the solution to all her problems but hear me out…what if she’s not? What if Aoi starts out being more in love with the idea of Nene as her savior, and then has to come to terms with the fact that Nene makes her feel just as lonely as everyone else does? But she still loves her, so she’s stuck on whether to confront Nene about these problems or keep it all inside. And poor Nene knows something is off but she can’t for the life of her figure out what it is and she’s too scared of change to bring it up. It’s not overwhelming amounts of toxicity but they’d have to actually talk shit out before riding off into the sunset together

I personally believe Aoi to be BPD coded in canon and that is how I write her in all my fics, so the concept of Aoinene (and AoiAoi) as an FP dynamic is also interesting to me. Nene is the one person Aoi can stand and those feelings become so strong that they’re almost unbearable. She starts splitting with her when she realizes Nene has been lying, she grows to hate her at times but she still bases so much of her self-worth on what Nene thinks and she’s terrified of losing her. This is another area they need to communicate in but because Aoi is allergic to admitting her true feelings, it’s more-so something Nene has to pick up on herself. She can be a little dense but when she truly loves someone she lets them know it so I like to have her give Aoi the reassurance she needs

This post is a bit self-indulgent and everyone is free to write them however they want but idk, I’d love to see more fics that let them have problems. Especially ones where Aoi finally opens up to Nene and they properly talk out the Grim Reaper arc. And also more fics where they’re both allowed to be flawed!! Let Nene be selfish and let Aoi be bitter!! This kinda goes for every TBHK character because I LOVE fics that explore their flaws without getting ooc. I want to see them be the worst while still being sympathetic

My main point here is that Aoinene is just as deserving of conflict and angsty plots as every tbhk ship and that’s something I’d like to see more of with them. Toxic yuri enjoyers…you know what to do

[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.

[jebewonmorelike]

Chocolate Milk

wc: 4.8k pronouns: none used; n/a -- reader has femme best friend warnings: angstttt, fluffy ending, matthew being mean, swearing, mention of alcohol, matthew is a stranger and reader has to live with him, financial struggle/unemployment, a few inappropriate jokes but nothing explicit (think pg-13), consumption of a concerning amount of chocolate milk over a 6 week period warnings for spicy cut-scene: suggestive/mature themes; minors dni (link is here and will also be in the fic for the appropriate context and placement; fic makes perfect sense without cut scene as well it's just for funsies) summary: a down-on-their-luck reader has to crash on bandmemberandgymrat!matthew's couch for the foreseeable future. a couple problems with this: matthew is incredibly hot and also a major asshole ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ OH MY GOD. IT'S DONE. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO. I DID IT. THIS ONE NEARLY ENDED ME WOW I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED IT. i hope you LOVE it; matthew is for sure more like woohyun in this and he is hot and so mean and cocky and... enjoy this, please i'm begging you. &lt;3

Why me?

You had been screaming this question over and over again in your head for the past twenty minutes. Your friend had texted you this afternoon that she'd finally found a contact who had a place for you to crash for awhile. The address she sent you had been a bit far away from the place you were currently crashing and you didn't have enough money for an Uber, so after an hour on the subway this evening and a thirty minute walk after that, you had finally knocked on the door of the apartment your friend had sent you to.

The boy that had opened the door, though shorter in height was muscular and sported several tattoos-- and you knew this because he had greeted you in a black, fitted tank top and boxers. Albeit, you had been quite a bit later than you said you would be, but the fact that he hadn't said more than ten words to you since you'd arrived with your suitcase in hand wasn't helping you to forgive his too-comfortable appearance.

Standing a few feet behind him in the kitchen area, you watch as the boy opens the refrigerator door. Fishing into one of the drawers, he pulls out a water bottle and tosses it to you.

He fails to warn you of the incoming object, however, and before you can scramble to catch it, it connects with your face.

You stare at each other for a long moment until you feel something tickling the skin beneath your nose.

"You're bleeding," the boy says, still expressionless as he continues to stare at you. "And you suck at catching things."

Bringing your hand up to your face, you run your fingers across the skin that is tingling under your nose. He was right: bright, red blood is coating your fingertips.

"Oh, um," you mumble, looking around for something to wipe your nose with. "Is--... Do you have a--?"

A tissue box hurtling towards your face shuts you up as your hands reach up in a panic to catch it.

"Better that time," the boy says, eyebrows raised ever so slightly in amusement.

Pulling a tissue from the tissue box, you dab it around your nose to remove the blood that is still flowing from it. You swallow nervously, glaring at the boy who has been nothing but rude to you this entire time.

He takes a sip from the glass of chocolate milk sitting beside him before placing it on the island counter that he's leaning against. "Is it broken?"

"What?" You ask, brow furrowing softly.

"Your nose," he responds, meeting your gaze again. "Is it broken?"

You frown. "I doubt it. It doesn't even hurt really."

"Damn," he says, shaking his head. "Disappointing."

Your eyebrows raise incredulously at the boy's words. "Were you trying to break my nose!?"

"Nah, of course not," he denies, turning to look at his right bicep. He prods the muscle before adding, "Just kind of pathetic that I couldn't, you know? Guess I've gotta up my reps from now on."

You're not sure when your jaw started dropping, but it clearly had no intention of stopping any time soon. "You--... You--."

Before you can say anything else, the boy places his empty glass in the sink and walks out of the kitchen area and towards his bedroom-- leaving you entirely speechless. After a moment of internally screaming 'wtf', you turn around to yell at him.

"HEY!" You shout, catching the boy just as he's about to shut the door to his bedroom. "What are you doing!?"

"Closing the door," he answers simply, starting to close the door again.

"Closing the--," you say, tongue pressed to your cheek as you look up to the ceiling and shake your head in disbelief. "This was a terrible mistake. I’m leaving.”

Walking towards the apartment door, you wrap your hand around the handle of your suitcase and pull it behind you. As you reach the door, you turn the knob and throw it open in a huff…

Only to suddenly feel your suitcase gain 100 pounds.

You tug at it uselessly to try to get it to budge, but eventually you are forced to give up and turn back around to see what the problem is.

Finding the suitcase handle, your breath hitches when you see a hand gripping the blue plastic next to yours. You follow that veiny hand up past the arm its connected to until you’re finally looking its owner in the eye.

You swallow hard, not knowing how to properly react as you pull the suitcase harder. “Let go.”

He does, but the sudden lack of equal and opposite force on the suitcase sends you flying back against the door— shutting it closed behind you in the process.

The boy steps towards you, your heart racing in response as your mind runs through all the possible ways he could kill you and dispose of your body.

Click.

His fingers turn the lock on the doorknob.

Clank.

He locks the deadbolt above it.

“PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!” You shout suddenly, no longer able to contain your fear.

He stares at you for a moment, face less than a foot away from yours. Then, he snorts. “I was actually trying to keep you from getting killed. I don’t know if you noticed, but this building isn’t in that great of an area. The guy down the hall got murdered at the vending machine at 10 P.M. just last week actually.”

You blink back at him, wide eyed.

“But if you'd prefer to go out there, I’ll just go ahead and open this door up for you and you can—.”

You turn around, pressing your hands against the door to keep him from opening it. “I’ll just… stay here. But only for tonight.”

“Sure you will.”

You frown, turning back around to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you have nowhere else to go, so,” the boy says, face expressionless. “You wouldn’t be trying to shack up on some rando’s couch for the foreseeable future if you weren’t.”

You sigh. The asshole is unfortunately right.

“I go to the gym early every morning and I have band practice until late at night-- which I missed tonight for you; who decided it was polite and reasonable to be two hours late without even sending a text," he says, walking back towards his room. “But what I'm getting at is: you won't see me unless you're trying to. So I'll know if you're trying to."

Scoffing, you stand there with your suitcase in this bastard of a man’s apartment-- completely helpless to the situation at hand.

“But if I hear so much as a peep out of you while I’m sleeping, you’re out on the street-- do you hear me?”

He doesn't wait for you to answer. Instead, he shuts the door to his room closed; leaving you alone in the combined kitchen and living area in the small one bedroom apartment. Resignedly, you slink towards the couch and sit down; finally pulling out your phone to text your friend after experiencing this utter disaster that she had set you up for.

BITCH WTF

???

this man is the rudest, most insufferable human being in the world. why did u tell me to go live with him

Matthew? Insufferable? Maybe a bit abrasive but...

he threw a water bottle at my face so hard my nose bled and then got upset when he found out it wasn't broken

Awww... I think he likes you :)

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!? he's a fucking crazy person

You just don't know each other yet. Don't worry too much about it. You needed a place to stay and you got one... Beggars can't be choosers

watch it

Gn xx

You throw your phone down beside you onto the couch, lying down on your back as you curse your friend.

Matthew...

He hadn't even had the common courtesy to introduce himself. In fact, you would've gone on not knowing his name if it wasn't for your friend having told you just now.

Luckily, even in the strange new environment, exhaustion begins to take over after the long train ride and walk you'd been on all evening. Sinking into the old, leather couch and pulling the navy blue throw blanket draped on its arm over your body, you eventually drift off while scrolling through TikTok as the hum of the refrigerator lulls you to sleep.

~

A few days pass quietly in this way. Though Matthew had claimed you'd never see him unless you tried, you'd found it easy at first to get a glimpse of him when he came in through the apartment door around 2 A.M. every night. The click of the doorknob and clank of the deadbolt always stirred you from your sleep, though you'd keep your eyes closed as he walked past where you laid on the couch.

But one night, just as you were falling back to sleep after Matthew had come home about a half hour prior, you hear his bedroom door click open.

Curiously, you watch as Matthew walks to the fridge, opening the door and peering inside. In the refrigerator light, you can’t help but notice that his features are much softer and sleepier than usual.

“Stop staring,” he says suddenly, jolting you upright on the couch.

You stare at him wide-eyed in the dim light, not sure whether to deny his claim or not. “I wasn’t staring. I—.”

“So why were you pretending to be asleep, huh?” He challenges, eyes boring into you. When you fail to answer, he concludes, “That’s what I thought.”

Matthew sticks his head back in the fridge for a moment before resurfacing— a puzzled look on his face. “Huh.”

“What?”

He closes the refrigerator door, holding up the new carton of chocolate milk you had picked up from the corner store down the street that afternoon. “Where did this come from?”

“I got it today,” you answer with a shrug. “I saw you were out so I grabbed some on my way back here.”

Matthew blinks back at you for several seconds, the puzzled look on his face unfading even after your explanation. He walks to the cupboard and pulls out a glass, setting it on the table as he unscrews the cap of the carton and pours. "I didn't ask you to do that."

Your eyebrows raise in shock at his condemnation of the favor you'd attempted to do for him. "Bastard," you mumble under your breath.

"Don't waste your money," he says, bringing the glass to his lips and chugging the liquid in less than three seconds. "You're supposed to be saving it," he scolds as he sets the glass in the sink, walking out of the kitchen and back to his room.

"And go to bed."

That's all Matthew says before the door to his bedroom slams shut once more.

~super spicy cut scene 🌶️ HERE 🌶️... minors dni ... continue reading below ... rest of story makes full sense without additional scene so return here after reading or SKIP IF YOU ARE A MINOR~

~

You don't see Matthew again for another week. You've been exercising again, tiring your body out so you can sleep well on the old leather couch that you now call your bed. You wake up each morning and its as if the boy had never come home at all.

The only sign of his existence is another empty glass in the sink, which had undoubtedly been filled with chocolate milk the night before while you were sleeping just a few feet away.

You wash each new empty glass every morning. He must notice, but he never says anything.

You've applied to several music teaching jobs, but haven't made it past the interview stage for any of them so far. Most of them say they're looking for someone with more recent experience at this point. You're now considering branching out to any field that will hire you.

You're asleep by 10 P.M. tonight, a long walk that accidentally ended up being mostly uphill turning your legs to jelly as they melted into the beat-up couch. It's one of the soundest sleeps you've ever had, until a soft melody begins to wake you...

Eyes fluttering awake much to your chagrin, you look around the room expecting to see light flooding through the windows. You're surprised instead when the only light you see is leaking through a crack in Matthew's bedroom door.

The strumming of an acoustic guitar, accompanied by a gentle male voice is what must have woken you. You sit upright, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you grab your phone from the end table and check the time.

2:34 A.M. He must've just gotten home from band practice, you think. Why is he still playing?

Curiously, you stand up and tiptoe to Matthew's bedroom door. He hadn't shut it all the way and you can see him in the reflection of his standing mirror. He's wearing grey sweatpants and a black, fitted tank top as he works the guitar-- eyes closed and brows furrowed tensely as he sings with it.

He looks hot.

You shake your head quickly, expelling the troubling thought as soon as it pops into your head and correcting it:

He looks frustrated.

You listen closer, trying to catch the lyrics or the tone of the song. Matthew's voice is a lot better than you thought it would be. You had secretly been hoping he sucked so that you could hold it over the asshole's head forever. But he doesn't suck. And far from it...

But there is something slightly off. You place your ear closer to the door, trying to figure out what the problem is. As he holds out the last note of a particular phrase, it hits you.

And you accidentally hit the door, sending it flying open as Matthew's eyes meet yours through the mirror. You grimace awkwardly as he stares back at you unamusedly.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You step into Matthew's bedroom, looking around through sleepy eyes at each corner. You were surprised to find he had a bed frame and not an old, messy mattress on the floor. He had seemed like the type.

"You woke me up," you say with a frown. "Why are you allowed to make noise while I'm sleeping?"

"Because I'm the only one paying rent," he says simply, raising a small glass of what looks to be whiskey to his lips.

Your brows furrow defensively. "I was going to help with rent."

"With what money?" He asks rhetorically, setting the glass back down on his desk. "Have you found a job yet?"

Chewing your cheek in defeat, you answer softly, "No."

"Mm," he hums in response, returning his attention to his guitar.

"But I've been trying," you add, folding your arms across your chest. "Really hard. It's just that my field is... saturated."

"Mmhm," he mumbles dismissively. You shake your head, rolling your eyes at the boy who you were now forced to coexist with.

"Whatever. I was actually gonna tell you you sounded nice," you say, walking back towards the door. "But you actually sounded pretty flat so. Choke on a dick."

You're just about to step back into the living area when Matthew calls softly behind you, "Did I actually sound flat?"

You turn around and nod at him, taking in his curious expression for a moment. "It's most noticeable on the ending pitches."

"I knew it," he says, sighing in defeat.

This is the first time you've ever seen real emotion from Matthew. He's definitely upset that he's not sounding the way he wants to. It's refreshing to see him give a shit about something for once.

"It's because you're lingering on your consonants too long," you advise calmly as his eyes meet yours. "You need to get to your vowels faster or you're gonna stay under the pitch."

His eyes narrow suspiciously. "How do you know that? What are you-- some sort of vocal coach?"

"Uh," you stumble, smiling awkwardly back at him. "Yeah, actually."

"No you're not," he accuses with a frown. "I've never heard you sing before. Not even once."

"Obviously. I'm not allowed to make a peep while you're here or you'll kick me out, remember?"

Matthew leans back in his desk chair. "You're being for real? You're really a trained vocal coach?"

You nod, pressing your lips together. "I'm also a jazz saxophonist. Turns out neither are very lucrative professions."

He's silent-- just staring back at you as if he's lost in thought.

"You have a good voice, though," you say, walking towards the door once more when it seems like he's not going to respond to you again tonight. "And I liked the song. But I think it could use some work."

You take one last look at him, his face soft and sleepy like it had been that night a few days after you'd just moved in. He's gazing down at his guitar, tapping his fingers against the body lightly before you finally close the door.

~

"Well I've been afraid of changing, 'cause I built my life around you..."

The lyrics flow out of you as the hot water hits your body and falls down to the floor of the shower beneath you. Matthew might live in a shitty apartment building, but one thing they did have...

Good water pressure.

"But time makes you bolder; even children get older and I'm feeling older, too..."

Thud.

You freeze as you hear a loud noise come from the other side of the bathroom door. A million thoughts race through your head, but one sticks out most of all: is someone else in the apartment?

Matthew wouldn't be home for hours. And you'd deadbolted the door to the apartment...

Hadn't you?

Fight response kicking in, you shut off the water and fling open the shower curtain. Wrapping a large towel around you, you open the bathroom door and step into the living area cautiously. Walking around, you look for any signs of an intruder but, after a thorough search... you don't find any.

What you do find is your phone on the ground next to the couch, when you were sure you'd placed it on the end table. But with the windows open and the summer evening breeze blowing into the apartment, you try to convince yourself as best you can that your phone has simply fallen off its perch.

Changing into your pajamas, you watch TV for a while before falling asleep for the night on your makeshift bed.

Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.

The light buzzing against your chest wakes you up, looking around in a daze for the culprit. Finally, you locate your phone and bring it up to your face; blinking the sleep away as you read the screen as best as you can.

3:57 A.M.

Mom

Decline Accept

You decline the call quickly after reading the time, instead texting your mother:

i can't talk. what's wrong?

Your mom types back fast, as expected:

Nothing's wrong honey! Just wanted to give you a head's up that we had to put your dad's gambling debt on your debit card this month. Luv u x

Your heart jumps to your throat. "No, no, no, no, no," you whisper as your fingers frantically find your mobile banking app. You tap it open, clicking through to your account total which now reads:

-$3,367

Suddenly, you're nauseous and scared and devastated all at once. You had saved $300 in the time since you'd gotten your part-time job at the Italian restaurant around the corner from you two weeks ago. And just like that, you were in serious debt once more.

Would this nightmare ever end?

You're not sure when you started sobbing, but the tears are flowing and they're now a completely unstoppable force. Covering your mouth with your hand, you attempt to stifle the sound of your crying as much as you feasibly can.

But it's all in vain.

The door to Matthew's room flies open, anger radiating off of him. But then he squeezes his eyes shut tightly, reopening them after a moment to stare blankly back at you. He's unmoving as you continue to sob until he finally walks past you to the kitchen area.

Matthew opens the refrigerator door, pulling out a fresh carton of chocolate milk. He opens the cupboard and pulls out a glass before filling it up halfway. He returns to the carton to the fridge and walks over to where you're sitting on the couch, glass in hand.

"Because you're crying like a giant baby, I figured you might need some milk," the boy says, hand with the glass extending out to you.

His words are harsh and sarcastic, but his expression is surprisingly soft. You notice his hair is slightly messy from sleep and his cheeks are puffier than usual. He looks almost innocent...

"Do I have to beat someone up?" He asks quietly.

Suddenly, you realize: this glass of chocolate milk could be Matthew's version of an olive branch.

You take the glass from his hand, slowly bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. You hold the glass in your lap as you meet his gaze.

"I hope not," you say softly. "Considering you wouldn't even be able to break their nose..."

Matthew blinks at you for a few seconds before a sudden grin lights up his face. His smile is broad and happy and if you weren't already sitting down, it would've knocked you off your feet.

The crinkles in the corner of his eyes are youthful and endearing and the laugh that comes out of him is enough to light the entire apartment in the dark.

What the fuck is going on?

When he sees you staring back at him confused, he coughs lightly in what seems to be embarrassment as he averts your gaze. "Go to sleep," he says, walking back to his room quickly. "You can keep crying in the morning."

Though Matthew's words themselves aren't overly comforting, there's something behind them-- something in his voice or maybe the way he glances at back at you before closing the door-- that makes you think that the boy who had once been disappointed he didn't break your nose... might actually give a shit about you after all.

~

"HOLY FUCK!" You scream, bolting upright from your sleep the next morning when you open your eyes to Matthew staring back at you.

He smirks. "A good face to wake up to, right?"

"No," you say, gripping your heart with your hand. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I hope I didn't," he says, standing up from where he's sitting on the floor in front of you. "You're not getting a new couch no matter how much you shit on it."

"You're more chipper than usual this morning," you say, stretching your arms above your head before dropping them to your lap in sudden realization. "Wait... It's the morning! You're not supposed to be here!"

Matthew laughs, walking over to the kitchen island and grabbing his keys. "Come on. We're going."

"What?" You ask confusedly. "Going where?"

"To breakfast," he answers simply.

"Why would we--?"

"Because there's no food in the house," he answers plainly again.

You frown. "I was gonna go pick up some groceries yesterday, but--."

"But you didn't," he cuts you off again quickly. "So you have 100 seconds to get ready and then we're going."

You blink at him, wondering what on earth had gotten into this man.

"100... 99... 98..." Matthew begins counting down; the sudden pressure causing you to jump to your feet, grab some clothes from your suitcase next to the couch and run to the bathroom.

Panicking, you brush your teeth and wash the sleep from your eyes before changing into the jeans and shirt you had haphazardly plucked from your suitcase. Fixing your hair, you can hear Matthew still counting faintly from outside the bathroom door.

You fling it open just as he's about to say "seven"; brushing past him to grab your phone from the couch.

"Oh look at you," he says, a smug little smile on his lips. "So efficient with your time."

"Let's just go," you mumble, unlocking the door to the apartment and stepping outside in a huff as you watch the smile on Matthew's face only grow wider.

~

"Can I have your cream?"

Your eyes widen in shock. "My--... my cream?"

"Yeah, your coffee cream," he says, pointing to the tiny containers of milk creamer that you've left untouched next to your coffee cup. "If you're not gonna use it."

"I--... I am gonna use it actually, thank you very much," you huff out, trying to shake the image that Matthew had unknowingly created from your mind as you pick up one of the creamer packets and dump it into your coffee.

You look up at Matthew as you place the empty container down to find the infuriatingly attractive boy smirking at you-- teeth lightly biting down on the left side of his bottom lip.

"Did you think I meant something else?" He asks with a cocky chuckle.

You pour the second packet of creamer into your coffee, exhaling deeply as you chew your cheeks to keep yourself from screaming. "If you had, I would've poured this hot coffee down your shirt."

"I'll admit that's a very creative way to get a glimpse under my shirt," Matthew counters, leaning back in the booth seat and folding his arms across his chest. He positions his forearms just under where his pectoral muscles end, humorously trying to emphasize them for you.

It is unfortunately having its desired affect on you.

"If I had known that you stopping being so rude to me would lead to you amping up the inappropriate flirting I would've--."

"Tried to make it happen sooner?" Matthew says, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

You pick up your spoon and dunk it in your coffee cup, stirring a little too aggressively as some of the hot liquid splashes onto the table. You're about to grab a napkin to wipe up the small spill, but a veiny, slightly-calloused hand beats you to it.

He dabs up the spill with his napkin and retracts his hand before meeting your gaze again. "I know you're in serious debt."

You stare back at him, not sure whether or not to deny his accusation. Ultimately, you're too curious to fight back. "How do you know?"

"You left your phone open," he says nonchalantly. "When I was getting ready to go to the gym this morning, your bank info was just lying there."

You laugh sadly. "Good thing I have nothing to steal."

"I thought you were working at that restaurant on 5th Street," he says, taking a sip from his coffee mug. "What happened to that?"

"Nothing happened," you say, staring into your own cup of coffee. "I'm still working there."

"And you haven't managed to save anything?" He asks, eyes free of their usual judgment. "Is that why you were upset?"

Slowly, you shake your head. Why you were about to divulge your personal information to a virtual stranger (albeit a virtual stranger that you live with) was beyond you. But you answer honestly anyway, "My parents charged their own debt to my account this month. It's not the first time they've done it. It won't be the last."

Matthew studies you for a second. "Does that have anything to do with why you had nowhere to live in the first place?"

"I was fine paying it off for a while, each time they'd add a new charge. I'd just spend a little less that month. A lotta less, actually. But I was fine," you explain slowly. "But when the pandemic hit, the arts school I was teaching at closed down. And so did a lot of other arts and music programs across the country. And I just haven't been able to find a job or recover financially since."

The boy sitting across from you is quiet for a few moments, taking a sip of his coffee and placing the cup back down on its saucer. You think maybe he's reached his talking quota for the day, when he suddenly says, "I know someone who needs a vocal coach."

You tilt your head curiously to the side. "Who?"

"Me."

Unfortunately you'd taken a sip of your coffee just before Matthew had given his answer. You choke slightly as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe from the shock; clearing your throat before responding, "WHAT!?"

"Someone whose band just got signed to a local record label is gonna need a good vocal coach, don't you think?"

You watch as a smile grows on his face; the sun suddenly making an appearance smack-dab in the middle of Joe's City Diner. It's impossible to keep the corners of your lips from also turning up when your roommate has suddenly decided to start being the cutest person you've ever seen before.

"That's--... That's amazing," you congratulate him. "Breakfast is on m--."

"Me," he says with a laugh. "It's on me. Unless we're dining and ditching. But I wanna be able to keep coming back here, so let's just let me pay, yeah?"

A little embarrassed, you nod in agreement. "Right."

"Plus, it's my way to convince you to be my vocal coach," he says with a smirk. "Is it working?"

You sigh, a small smile forming on your lips, too. "I dunno. I'm kind of out of practice at this point..."

"I'll pay you $75/hour for two lessons a week."

"Deal," you say quickly, hand extending across the table before you can even think it through properly.

He grins, taking your hand in his and shaking it. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"You as well," you say quietly, blushing as you retract your hand. “But… can I ask why? If you have $150 to spare, you could hire anyone. And, honestly, I thought that you hated me until... Until right now, actually. Why are you helping me?”

Matthew chews his lip for a second, folding his hands in his lap. “Because you bought me chocolate milk.”

A little pout forms on your lip as you try to figure out what he’s talking about. “What?”

“When I ran out,” he says, nodding simply. “You went to the corner store and got me a new carton. When you first moved in.”

You frown. “You told me never to do that again!”

“I told you not to waste your money again,” he says shrugging. “But it was thoughtful of you… and I appreciated it.”

You blink back at him, not sure what to say to his after-the-fact thank you. After a moment, you nod-- a small smile on your lips.

He takes another sip of his coffee. "And you're not out of practice by the way."

Your eyebrows furrow, wondering what Matthew means by this.

"I heard you singing last night in the shower," he says, smiling. "I knew for sure you weren't lying when I heard you."

Suddenly, you remember the thud you had heard while showering the night before. "YOU WERE LISTENING TO ME SHOWER!?"

Matthew laughs. "I forgot my capo at home and I needed it for band practice and--..." The smile drops from his face when he realizes what you had meant. "NO! No, oh my god, no. No, no, no-- not like that I--."

"Why so defensive?" You ask with a smirk, one eyebrow cocking playfully. "Just wanted to show you I can play that game, too."

You watch relief floods his face as he grins. "I'd ask you to put your money where your mouth is, but..."

"Asshole."

His smile exudes a bit of fondness now, much different from his smirk or his sunshine-filled grin. It's soft; warm. "You have a beautiful voice."

You look down int your coffee cup, bottom lip tucking between your teeth awkwardly. "Thanks."

"And if you sing while I'm home, I won't kick you out. In fact, that can be your rent payment."

You start to shake your head in protest, but he just laughs.

"That way I don't have to eavesdrop while you shower," Matthew jokes. "Unless you want me to."

"You've got to be kidding--."

"And maybe we can get breakfast like this more often."

There's a flutter in your heart again. Just like when he'd told you to go to bed earlier this morning. His words weren't flowery or overly emotional or caring in themselves...

But it's that look in his eyes; the tone in his voice.

"Breakfast and vocal lessons it is," you agree softly. "But I get to add something to the deal too..."

He smiles at you, brows raised in anticipation.

"You share your chocolate milk with me more often."

Matthew's eyes narrow as he studies you for a moment. You think for a second that his love for chocolate milk might be too strong...

But then he nods.

"Deal."

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Thirty-Six

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, online bullying, panic attacks, stalking, mental health issues.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol.

To read from the beginning, check out the Masterlist Here!

tags: @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram @sunsshinesunny @malerieee @talialovesmiw @shilohrosechicken @thatchickwiththecamera @tamtam-elizabeth

Tag List is Open, please let me know if you would like to be added to it or in general.

“Ava, can we talk?”

“Of course.”

Talia swallowed when Ava accepted immediately, even though it was already so late, she knew Ava would agree. She’d known the moment she’d asked her, especially because it was so late. Of course, she already knew with how worried Ava had been ever since she’d had her melt down with Ricky. Ever since she’d told her that she’s always be here to talk if she’d need her, and now here she was, finally asking, just, almost in the middle of the night practically. Hopefully Vinny would forgive her later when Ava returned to him irate and ranting. Talia had a feeling that was exactly how this was going to go down, considering what she needed to talk to her about, that was a definite possibility. Talia didn’t think this was going to be an easy conversation to have between the two of them, not when she knew she’d be lying to her best friend for years. Not to mention the fact she’d been lying to her while they’d also been living together for all this time, they were practically sisters. 

When Talia seemed to pause next, her breath caught in her throat, considering how to go about this. She knew she needed to do this, she was determined to do this, just not sure how she was going to get the words out without Ava hating her; Ava took the reins of the conversation.

“Come on, let's go make some coffee.”

Nodding her head slightly, tilting it towards the way she’d come from the kitchen area, and Talia smiled slightly at the suggestion, amused though considering what it would mean, they were up late enough.

“Decaf, hopefully.”

The wry smile that came from Ava,

“I don’t know, we could always turn it into a movie marathon if we need to, girls night hang out. Like old times. Ditching the boys.”

Talia laughed as she stepped in pace beside Ava, the other nudging her arm beside her as she teased the memory as she spoke, grinning with her. It was a good moment of nostalgia, but it would remain to be seen if Ava would even want to talk to her after she heard what Talia had to say to her tonight. 

Walking into the kitchen, Talia went towards the fancy coffee machine. The same one that she’d learned that Ricky had bought for Vinny after he’d gotten frustrated that the man had never been able to make a decent cup of coffee. Now, in saying that, Talia couldn’t really argue that the machine did its job perfectly. She hadn’t had one bad cup of coffee since she had been staying here, even if she had started going out to get her coffee of the afternoon. She’d been going out more to see Chris, then necessarily her need for caffeine. Well, at first it had just been to give Ava and Vinny space, but then if had been to meet with Chris.

Sighing softly, she closed her eyes at the tingle thinking about those afternoons. She was starting to think her damn tattoo was feeding from her imagination, that it was getting worse now that she even knew Chris was an option, well, no, that sounded crass. No, it was since he kissed her. It was almost as if that kiss had ripped open something with her tattoo, opened up the bond between them, a connection. Was that possible? Acting on it, was that what was forming this bond, was that what was making it real?

Did she want it to be real? If her bond with Chris became real, what would happen to her one with Ricky?

She’d never heard of a person having two soulmates.

She shivered slightly at the thought.

Not the time Talia, not the time. Right now, she needed to focus on Ava. Focus on here, on now, not to let herself get distracted.

She continued to make the coffee, and of course she knew just how Ava liked her coffee, half strength, skim, extra sweet. Finishing up both the cups, she brought them over to Ava, choosing to sit at the table, it was just easy staying in here with their coffees than moving around the house. Sighing, Talia sat in the chair, the very same table she’d had this similar conversation with Ricky and Chris the other day. Her hands wrapped around her hot mug of coffee, fingers heated against the porcelain cup, it was a refreshing feeling.

“This is something I should have talked to you about a long time ago, but, truthfully, I haven’t talked about this to anyone, I haven’t said a word about this to anyone until I had my meltdown. I explained to Ricky, and Chris, and now it's only fair, I finally explain to you the truth.” Her fingertips were mindlessly drawing patterns on the outside of her cup before she lifted the mug to her lips, trying to give her mind a short break. Taking a breath, just needing a moment to gather herself.

“Do you remember when I moved in with you, after my prolonged trip to Europe that year?”

Ava nodded quietly, and the fact that she was so quiet, told Talia she knew what was coming was so much more than just a simple confession.

“I wasn’t in Europe.”

Explaining everything after that, was so much more difficult this time around. Sitting there with Ava, was like being right back there in the past, in those moments. All those years ago when she was being ripped open by her family, by those doctors, when it felt like her whole existence was brought into question just because her family thought they knew better than her. 

She was in tears, a complete mess as she explained everything about the intervention, the institute, the way she convinced the doctors, how she’d gotten out. Moved in with Ava and moved on and left it all behind. Just pushed herself to forget about it. 

Ava was also in tears as she hugged her, squeezing her for dear life, desperate to know how she couldn’t have told her. 

By the time Talia had calmed down, and she had managed to soothe down Ava, she knew she couldn’t stop there with her explanations. There was so much more now, even if the rest was far more recent. So much that she’d been keeping inside for fear that she’d affect Ava’s bond with Vinny. Telling her about how she’d been feeling about ever since they’d met the boys, how Ricky had been making her feel from the start. Sure, in the beginning, it wasn’t likely surprising, but as she continued with the way her tattoo had been impacting her, what had happened at the party, like predicted, Ava wanted to kill Ricky for what he’d done. Talia shut her down cold before she continued, telling her to just listen, and let her finish.

She continued, and told her everything.

The party, her afternoon coffees with Chris, there were things that Ava of course knew in the course of events. Such as what happened with the live stream, with Grace, how it all had changed so much because it had gotten her and Ricky actually talking. The kitchen she knew some of, she had told her some, the discovery of the marks effects, then, her complete freak-out. That leading to her confession to Ricky, and Chris…

That, was when Ava stopped her, confused, why she was pulling Chris into this…

It was then that Talia paused, she wasn’t sure how much more she could tell Ava, how much more she had the right to tell her, because anything more, and it meant betraying Chris’ trust. Yes, she was Vinny’s soulmate, and Talia knew that she would likely know the truth of his soulmate bond, that his soulmate had died, but it wasn’t her place to tell her.

“Chris knows a lot to do with soulmates, and he’s helping us look into this soulmate bond, and… oh… no, no I can’t hide things from you again. There is more, but it’s not for me to tell you, because it's not just about me anymore.”

“Right, Ricky too.”

Ava still didn’t sound happy about the man, and Talia understood, for her, being mad at him was fresh, Talia had been dealing with this for weeks. Honestly, realising she wasn’t going insane, allowed her to give Ricky the benefit of the doubt, and just a little forgiveness. Not to mention, the caring he was showing her, the kindness he’d shown her in the last few days meant more to her than she could convey to Ava right now, it seems. All she could manage to tell her, was how much he seemed to have changed, how much he had been helping her. That everything felt different between them since Grace had been attacking them, that it felt like he had finally been opening up. She asked, but no, he didn’t seem to be opening up to their bond, and Talia told her she was okay with that, she respected that. Ricky had every right to protect himself after what that woman did to him. Reminding her with a smirk what she called her, soulmate stealing harpy.

Talia would do everything she could to protect him from her, even from others trying to force him to do things their way. Just the way he had done for her. 

“And Chris.”

“Wait, Chris?!”

Talia smiled at the look of confusion on Ava’s face at her question, she chuckled as she finished off the last of her mug of coffee,

“Yea, I know, a little confusing, and if I could tell you everything, I would, maybe in time. I promise, I’m telling you everything I can. I won’t keep any big life changing secrets from you again, Ava.”

She sighed. She felt better, knowing that she’d gotten so much off her chest. This had gone so much better than she thought it would, she had honestly thought that Ava would be angry at her for not telling her all those years ago.

Chris stared at his computer screen, last night after dinner, he’d posted in the message boards about his situation about his changing soulmate mark, just as he told Ricky and Talia he would. This time he didn’t do so anonymously, no, this time he wanted to be able to be alerted directly, and not just from every message on the board like he had last time. 

He’d been active on his board for years, ever since he’d gotten out of his inpatient treatment and joined the community, wanting to have a connection with other people in his situation without them knowing who he was. No one on the message board knew the account was him, he’d never shared personal information, he’d never shared images of his tattoo either, when it was black or white. That way, even if someone tried to match any information up to any of the band’s fan sites, they’d have no luck. Not that any of the sites had ever managed to nail down just what his soulmate tattoo was, just guesses over the years. He was completely anonymous on the board, just how he wanted to be.

So far, the message had gotten nothing back. Well, no, there had been plenty of discussion around his message. All of it, however, was nothing but pure confusion, and none of it involved anyone else that had heard anything even remotely connected to anyone experiencing anything similar to what Chris was. 

This was getting him nowhere, and he was nervous as hell. When more and more people were suggesting that something could be wrong, something could be affecting his body and he could be ill. That his skin under the tattoo for one could be changing the colour, and he should see a colour. Just now, a woman sent a simple message:

Have you considered cancer?

Nope. What the hell, nope.

Okay, he hadn’t told them the whole story including Ricky and Talia’s involvement not wanting to pull them into the board information, and didn’t want to include the sensations, but come on!

No, he was taking a step back from this avenue of questioning immediately. 

Sure, it had been less than twelve hours, but this was too much. No, he was going to call one of his friends in research, and see what they said instead. They might have something better than, it could be cancer.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[gabessquishytum]

A/B/O warprize au!

Dream and his siblings have recently taken over their parents’ kingdom in a much needed coup. They’ve split up all their territories and it’s going pretty well honestly.

Except Dream is kind of being his usual sulky self and now that the coup is over he is at loose ends (re: chucking bread crumbs at pigeons).

Luckily Death knows just how to help. She gifts him a piece of the spoils, one of the prizes that used to serve their father. Like all of Time’s servants, he has immortality so that he doesn’t age, all in the name of better service of course.

Omega Hob is pretty frustrated by the whole situation. He had no particular loyalty to Time, but he’d been on the verge of escaping Death’s castle. Hob was looking forward to exploring the big wide world, thanks. Stupid Death, ruining his escape plans.

Death is certain that Hob will be a good influence on Dream. She’s seen him giving food to a pregnant omega being held in the same area, so she knows he has a kind heart. Plus, she has a feeling they’ll be compatible.

So there Hob is, wrapped up in a bow (and some more sturdy cuffs) and given to Death’s sulky brother. At first, Dream doesn’t seem all that interested in Hob. He outright says he has no use for a mate or a plaything. (Which. Rude. Not that Hob wanted him either.) They talk some, but Hob’s talk of playing cards and chimneys only makes Dream’s lip curl. Sometimes Dream gives him books, which Hob takes to mean that Dream finds his uneducated manner off putting. He gives him perfumes and soaps too, because apparently hob’s natural scent is too common for his princely nose. Fine then. Hob can escape here just as easily.

Hob sets about planning his escape while Dream sets about ignoring him despite Hob living in his personal quarters. Only then, Dream’s rut hits. Stiffly, awkwardly, he asks Hob to service him. Hob can tell Dream is just barely holding himself together. He is a vision with glittering eyes and a very pleasing bulge in his trousers.

“No,” Hob says.

The prince looks surprised. “But it is what you are for. Isn’t that why you were given to me?”

“Yeah well, you’ve been nothing but rude to me,” Hob reasons. “So no, I don’t fancy it.”

Dream stares, open mouthed, breathing in lungfuls of Hob’s scent. It is empirically ridiculous for Hob to turn him down. He belongs to Dream. Hob waits to see if he will fly into a rage. He’s not sure he could take down an alpha in rut if he chose to force the issue but somehow Hob doesn’t think he will.

Sure enough: “Fine.” Dream does his best to collect himself. “Kindly remove yourself then.”

So Hob does. In fact, now seems like a great time to escape. Hob makes it two days before the guards catch him and bring him right back to Dream. Dream glares balefully at him from the bed, still flushed, the air still stinking of rut. “It’s not enough that you won’t fulfill your purpose, you also must humiliate me?” He grumbles. “The whole kingdom now knows my omega despises me.”

Hob stares at him. “I’m not yours.” (Technically he is.) “you don’t give me the time of day. You don’t even want me. I thought you’d be glad to have me out of your hands.”

“It is not proper that you should leave me,” Dream says, imperious even with his sanity hanging by a thread. “It makes me look—“ he cuts off.

“You should have just let me go. Got yourself an omega you like,” Hob reasoned. “Damn what’s proper.”

Dream stares at him. He’s so gloomy. He would be gorgeous if he weren’t such a prick. “I never said I do not …” he swallowed. “I never said I do not like you.”

“You clearly don’t. You scoff when I speak and you only want me because you’re in rut,” Hob replied.

Dream frowned at the blankets. “That is not…I realize I am not…it does not matter,” he finally says. “You are mine. Regardless.”

“Forgive me if I’d like to be liked,” hob says.

Dream eyes him again. “You are not … uncomely.”

“Gods wounds!” Hob laughs derisively. “Is that the best you can do? You think that’ll get me into bed?”

Dream just keeps staring. “Perhaps the issue is that you do not love me.”

Wait a minute, when did they start talking about love?

“I realize I am not….” Dream grumbles. And that seems to be the end of it.

(Because Dream is inwardly realizing yet again that he was terribly rude to Hob when he first arrived. And clearly awkward enough that Hob has not noticed that Dream doesn’t hate him. In fact Dream has started to like having him around…

Ohohoho yes this is very far up my alley. Hell yeah.

Hob goes from "whatever, fuck you, I don't care." About Dream’s attitude to him, to actively trying to please the king. Trying out those soaps and perfumes, dressing like the omegas around Dream’s court. Trying to be elegant and developing all the right opinions about music and art. But Dream still doesn't pay him a single iota of attention. So Hob goes right back to being himself. If he's going to be ignored he might as well dress how he likes and do as he pleases.

It's fair to say that he's developed quite a bone to pick with Dream. By the time the rut comes around Hob has had enough of feeling like shit. There's no way he's jumping on the alpha's cock just because he's been ordered to. Dream will have to pin him down and force him, if that's what he wants. (And Hob has grown to know Dream well enough to know that for all his faults, he would never do such a thing.)

So they sit together in almost silence as Dream endures his rut. He refuses to even touch himself. He just grits his teeth, sweats, and occasionally growls helplessly. And Hob? Fuck, he has to sit on his hands to stop himself from leaping onto the bed and helping Dream. He refuses to give in but it's almost torture to watch him suffer. So, he does the next best thing. He talks.

About how he's felt being passed around the Endless family like a toy. How he wanted to escape so badly. How he held out a little bit of hope that Dream would be good to him. How he's gone through his heats hoping that Dream would come and comfort him. With every word Dream seems to sink more and more into self hatred.

"I thought I would hurt you. I thought that you would reject my attentions. And I thought... that you were just another omega who would soon pass out of my life." Dream whispers. "I treated you badly. I beg your forgiveness."

Hob finally crawls up onto the big bed and wiggles up against Dream’s body. Just pressing against him and sharing the space. "I'm not letting you knot me just because you said sorry." He grumbles. "I could never despise you, but it will take something to make me love you. You can't keep giving me nothing."

It's not easy to fall asleep mid-rut but Dream does doze off eventually. His omega has given him a lot to think about, particularly the fact that Hob is his omega. And he'd better start acting like it - or he might just lose everything.

[marinsawakening]

Something I really love about A Link to the Past and Link's Awakening is how they mirror each other. Despite the fact that Link's Awakening has very little connection to A Link to the Past, it functions brilliantly as a sequel by complimenting and contrasting the latter.

A Link to the Past is a grand tale of destiny, of world-saving adventure that will no doubt go down as myth. Within the opening sequence of the game, your uncle dies in front of you, setting the tone for the rest of your adventure: this is serious, this is dark. You spend at least half your time in the 'Dark World', a corrupted realm with dangerous enemies, people trapped inside by their own greed. Your main enemy in the 'Light World' are brainwashed knights of Hyrule. And this game is difficult; enemies respawn constantly, ways to restore health are rare, a lot of the dungeons and bosses are incredibly punishing. Danger lurks around any corner, and there are very few truly safe areas in the game; and even then, they may be raided (see the Sanctuary).

Don't get me wrong: ultimately, A Link to the Past is a children's action/adventure game and the tone reflects that. There are a lot of fun, whimsical moments, and the darkness is more supposed to underscore the important nature of your quest than it's intended to be a horror upon itself. You are on a quest to save the world, and it wants you to feel the gravity of that. It is not afraid to get dark with it when it has to. This game takes itself very seriously, and wants you to take it serious as well.

In Link's Awakening, you get into the second dungeon by rescuing Madam MeowMeow's giant chainchomp Bowwow from dognappers. This game began as a fun side project of the developers and it shows. Link's Awakening is not a grand adventure to save the world: it is a quest to get off this fun, eccentric island. The stakes are lower and the game takes itself much less seriously, going so far as to incorporate Mario elements for no other reason than because it's fun. Perhaps this is version dependent (or, y'know, a skill issue on my part), I'm unsure, but at least Link's Awakening DX was also a lot less difficult than A Link to the Past, with much more frequent health drops and less and overall easier dungeons. It's not just that its story is more lighthearted; it feels less punishing to play than A Link to the Past. Link's Awakening does take itself serious when it has to, and asks that you take especially its emotional stakes seriously, of course; just like A Link to the Past has a lighter side, Link's Awakening has a more serious side. But ultimately, Link's Awakening never tries to fashion itself as some kind of grand adventure of myth: it's the tale of a single, strange island, as you grow to love it. Nothing more, nothing less.

In this, obviously, the two stories mirror each other: A Link to the Past with high stakes, a dark tone, and a harsh difficulty curve, contrasted to Link's Awakening, with lower stakes, a light-hearted tone, and much more forgiving gameplay. This works out beautifully for Link's Awakening; lots of sequels fall into the trap of trying to one-up the original, and it very often ends badly for them. Creating its own niche allows it to shine on its own without having to be compared to A Link to the Past, despite being a direct sequel. Famously, Majora's Mask also did this to great effect.

But what I find really interesting is how their endings contrast each other.

A Link to the Past has the most quintessential happy ending a game could possibly have. You reach the Triforce, and it magically makes everything okay again. People who died during the game (your uncle, the King of Hyrule, flute boy) are all alive and happy, Hyrule is thriving, all the maidens are save and happy, even the monster and the little ball from the Dark World, bully and victim in the game, are friends now. And finally, you place the Master Sword back in its pedestal, where it will sleep.... forever. (Hilarious with the power of hindsight, of course, but still.) A Link to the Past ends as happily as it possibly could have, with all the negative consequences of the game undone and everyone thriving. You fought a grueling fight, and now you and everyone you love gets to live happily ever after.

Link's Awakening, famously, does not end like that. From the beginning, you get clear hints that something is not right about Koholint, hints that become glaring fact as the game progresses and it's revealed that Koholint is a dream. And dreams have to end. Link's Awakening is not a tragedy; Koholint's disappearance is not a bad thing, and the game goes to great lengths to ensure you know this. Dreams are not meant to last forever, and waking the Wind Fish is Koholint's happy ending. And yet: it's sad. It's so terribly sad. Watching Koholint, the vibrant island you've come to love, disappear at the end of the game is heartwrenching. The ending of Link's Awakening is bittersweet, happy and sad at the same time. It's triumphant, it's necessary, and it's heartbreaking.

This, too, is a contrast and a compliment. In A Link to the Past, after all our hard work, we are rewarded with an uncomplicated happy ending that we simply do not get in Link's Awakening. Link's Awakening's ending is complicated; there is no way to soften the blow, to remove the consequences: Koholint will disappear. We see it happen. And we are not only asked to be okay with this: we are asked to be happy, despite how sad it is.

This is not something A Link to the Past does. A Link to the Past does not end with a shot of Link and Zelda happy despite the death of their caretakers, of Hyrule dealing with the consequences of Ganon's attack but growing despite it all; it ends by removing the effects of it entirely. Everyone who died is fine now, Hyrule is fine now, you are fine now. There is no sadness, no complexity: it is reality-defying happiness.

None of this is a bad thing: A Link to the Past has an extremely satisfying ending. But I love the way Link's Awakening contrasts it, forces you to deal with reality, to watch the dream pop and find beauty in it. Something can be sad and happy at the same time, and this is something to be celebrated. Where A Link to the Past offers you a no-string-attached happy ending, Link's Awakening forces you to confront the sadness that comes with happiness, complicates it in a way that A Link to the Past explicitly avoided.

A Link to the Past and Link's Awakening, despite at first glance having very little to do with each other, work very well as a series because of the way the two games compliment each other: light where the other is dark, complex where the other is simple, mirroring each other near-perfectly. It makes it extremely worthwhile to read their stories in tandem to each other; taking the other game into account can enrich the stories of both games immensely.