#i just think it's neat that he does speak it and is proud of it

[difeisheng]

on god can people stop debating his accent or whether or not he's a native speaker under every single video of zeng shunxi speaking cantonese. how do y'all have the time for this

[murdrdocs]

coriolanus in the peacekeeper uniform + gaul's daughter 18+ (fem! implied reader)

coriolanus when he returns to the capitol, eager to be back home where the streets are neatly paved and clean. where the people are civil and speak proper. where their clothes are intricate and the complete opposite of dull. he's so ecstatic that he can't even begin to dread going to doctor gaul's as his first stop, especially not when he knows her daughter will be there.

"my kin in the only ways that matters," volumnia would always say, a proud smile on her face as she played with the neat ponytail that always sat at the back of her daughter's head.

it was sitting there when coriolanus saw you, brandished with a red bow that matched the top half of gaul's outfit, one similar to the one you wore. the ponytail and outfit are skewed now, a product of coriolanus' overeager hands.

he's had adrenaline pent up in his body. adrenaline that he usually got out by hanging out with lucy gray. but that's gone now. lucy gray isn't here.

but you are.

you're here with your legs spread, your ankles hooked behind his back, the heel of your sneakers digging into coriolanus' peacekeeper uniform. with each sloppy thrust into your sopping heat, coriolanus' cock grazes the red lace of your panties that he'd carelessly pushed aside. it's a delicious friction, it makes him shudder and dig his head into the crook of your neck. he's so deep within you, the curls at the base of his cock tickling your skin every other thrust, yet you want him deeper. you pull with your ankles, nudge at his shoulder, force your hips closer to his, all to communicate your carnal need.

coriolanus can't stop thinking about how good you feel. because you feel so good. there's no real distinction between your cunt and the one's back in the districts (pussy is pussy), yet coriolanus swears he can feel it. maybe it's because he's fucking pussy of the same socioeconomic class. maybe it's because with each thrust, he believes he's tainting you.

volumnia gaul's daughter, sweet and innocent and always quiet, now struggling to keep her moans to an appropriate volume. the two of you are already making enough noise as is, your cunt squelching at an obscene volume. the walls of gaul's lab does nothing to conceal the noises, and even if you're tucked away in a corner of the halls that rarely have traffic at all, coriolanus still can't help but tease the possibility of being found.

"think their opinion of you would change? hm? like mine has?" he's facing you head on now, the slope of his nose looking even more intense under the shadows that his hat creates. you wish he'd take it off, a previous plea of yours from before the encounter got to this point. but he denied, just more proof that in this moment, like this, he had control.

you don't respond, instead letting your head fall back and knock against the concrete. coriolanus seems annoyed, a particular harsh thrust dragging you up the wall. you yelp and coriolanus grins, his perfect pearlescent teeth shining at you. his hands dig further into the flesh of your ass underneath your skirt which has been flipped up to accommodate your sinful acts.

after giving you two more drives of the same intensity, he continues.

"i never thought you'd be able to take dick like this. who's been fucking you? or have you been fucking yourself? pleasing yourself while you think of me? is that it?" when you nod, coriolanus can't help but shockingly chuckle.

his eyebrows have risen, his eyes have gone wide, but you can't see any of this. you only see the cruel curl of his lips and the flare of his nostrils as he asks, "really?"

your nails, freshly manicured, scratch at the waterproof material of his uniform. it doesn't provide any place for you to grab onto, nothing to steady yourself. you whine, starting to become frustrated, and when coriolanus mockingly coos, you become embarrassed.

"please, coriolanus. i wanna see you."

"coryo," he snaps. "how many times do i have to tell you that?"

you're quick to correct yourself, repeating your request once more with the nickname woven in there placatingly, the fear that the use of his full name will pull him away from you completely stuck to your membrane.

feeling generous, coriolanus peels his hat away from his head and drops it at his feet, leaving you to stare straight into his bright blue eyes. they seem to have gotten brighter in his absence, shining with power and authority.

with the sex driven haze in your mind, you note that it's a good look on him. it's fitting.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König Getting Tipsy

tw alcohol use

König is a big drinker, as is only natural for a big man. He'll usually have a lager in the afternoons when watching the news, and on weekends he'll have a beer with his lunch. He feels uncomfortable if he doesn't have a glass of wine to pair with his dinner. It's not to the point that it's out of hand by any means, but he does like to drink in his free time. If you're uncomfortable, he'll stop drinking in the home, but he will choose to drink when he goes out.

It takes a lot to make him start to slur his words. He mostly sticks to his beloved beers and ciders, but he's not one to turn down a shot of rum if he's offered one. He prefers drinking neat, complaining that mixed drinks ruin the flavour. He's a bit of a drink snob. Horangi will sniff and tell you that König doesn't know how to have fun, and Roze will tell you that König is just rather particular about who's mixing his drinks. Apparently, Horangi has been banned. König's a hardy man, but after one sip of what Horangi was slinging, he had thrown up in a water fountain. König is deeply ashamed by this incident.

When he does go out to drink, he just gets a bit more assertive. He already is so quietly self-assured, but now he's saying it in a voice that carries a bit too easily over the room.

König is a surprisingly pleasant drunk though, all things considered. He doesn't make messes, he mostly stays in one place and keeps his hands to himself (or on his phone as he plays Tetris. He's scarily good at playing Tetris, especially when drunk). He will compliment you if he thinks you've earned it, or tear you to shreds if he thinks it's in your best interest to hear it.

He's vocal about his opinions in a way he'd never be when he's sober. He'll tell you exactly what he thinks about you. He told Roze that she bitches about the MREs too much and she needs to take more laxatives, and he told Horangi that all his tiger motifs were corny and he needed to get a new bit. All the awful truths come pouring out of him in an unstoppable torrent.

Fundamentally, König just loosens up enough to say all the things he thinks but is too scared to say. He's confident in himself, and if you get him talking about himself he'll go on about how successful and wonderful he is. He's not wrong about anything he's saying, but it's a major surprise to see him talk so openly about being proud of himself. He's always been a bit cocky, but his pride shines when his tongue is loosened.

Things change when he looks at you.

He turns to you after having had a sixth shot at the bar and his face falls slack. You brace yourself, but no barrage of brutality comes forth. Instead, his voice softens and he clasps his big hands around your face.

"I have found happiness at last," he tells you as he presses his lips to your forehead.

He slumps over onto you like a sack of flour. He presses you close in a bone-crushing hug that never seems to end. The entire time, he's thanking you over and over again. For what? Only König really knows.

All the other KorTac agents are green with envy when they watch how König turns into a puddle of love for you. He showers you in compliments and thanks for things you'd long since forgotten about. He is so incredibly sweet when he's like this.

When he's sober, he's more reserved with his affections. He'll hold you close in private, but he doesn't speak all too often. His love language is mostly through touch and gifting. When he's drunk, all the words that pile up in his head come tumbling out.

Sometimes, going out with König can be nice.

[natasha-in-space]

Okay, okay, but can we talk about the implications of the RFA preparing us these gingerbread cookies? I know they made it look all neat and tidy for us (Saeran and Jumin wouldn't have it any other way), but there is definitely a story of a completely destroyed kitchen behind them.

I can see it going two ways: Either they each made a cookie individually, or they mitigated responsibilities between one another. For the sake of this being funnier, let's go with the first option!

Yoosung is likely to take a few attempts to complete his cookie. Not because he is bad at it (he was forced to help out making gingerbread cookies with his family almost every Christmas), but because he wants to make it perfect! After all, it's for their party coordinator! And he wants to impress you! Overall, he does a clean enough job, and his cookie turns out in a way that leaves him proud. If only Saeyoung didn't prank him once or twice in the process, that redheaded rascal!

Zen will definitely need some help. I'm sorry, I know he can cook and he is willing to learn for you, but as of now, he is rusty as heck. Surviving on nothing but salads, beer, and occasional snacks will not turn him into a good baker. He will try to follow the recipe, but he will either end up messing up, or he'll get all huffy about the cookie not looking right, and not representing his true beauty. He wants his cookie to be as handsome as he is! (Jaehee will enthusiastically agree to this statement) Actually, I can see Jaehee being the one to help him out. Maybe even in secret from everyone else, so he wouldn't get teased about it. Plus, Jaehee is just as motivated to make this cookie perfect!

Speaking of Jaehee, just like with everything else she does, she will do her job quickly and perfectly. No fuss, no muss. She'll be very clean about it too. It's like she wasn't even there in the kitchen. I don't even have much to say about her, because she's just too responsible and diligent for her own good. No silly gags, just a perfectly baked delicious cookie. She'll be very proud of it, too. Make sure to compliment her! She'll get all giggly about it for sure.

Jumin is... He can bake. In fact, he is a very good baker due to his natural ability to follow given instructions precisely. But, the problem with Jumin isn't that he can't cook or bake, as it's often assumed, it's that he gets too damn curious for his own good. He is like a cat. A creature of curiosity. Will try doing different techniques and adding new things, just to see what will turn out. He finds baking to be like a science and is captivated by it. Everyone in the RFA are horrified. It's like watching the ticking bomb go off. Everyone except for Jihyun. That man is just chuckling away in the corner and occasionally poking fun at his friend, because he knew it would end up that way. Although he will have to step in, once Jumin decides to try something a bit too crazy. Can't have their party coordinator shocked in a not so pleasant way! Jumin will still present you with an entire collection of gingerbread cookies later, though. He's too proud not to. What an absolute dork.

Speaking of Jihyun, I don't know why, but I always pictured him as a pretty bad cook and baker. I don't have any canon evidence for it, this is just pure headcanon territory. He will try. Dear Lord, he will try his absolute best for you. But, his gingerbread cookies will turn out looking just as sad and skrunkly as he is. It's like a curse. He might just come to terms with his cookie looking as miserable as ever, but I like to imagine Yoosung helping him out in the end! Just because I'd like to see them bond in a cute and happy way for once. Who knows, maybe this will become a new tradition of theirs! Yoosung teaching Jihyun an art of cooking and baking. And, I think Jihyun really does view it as an art. Then again, his artistic nature can make even the most mundane of things into a beautiful metaphor for something. He just needs someone by his side to watch out for any smoke.

Saeran is one step behind Jaehee when it comes to getting the job done. He's a bit more messy, because he likes to have fun while baking (especially when he's preparing something for you), and he will definitely prepare a good batch of different variations, before he decides on the final one. Funny thing about Saeran is that the kitchen will be squeaky clean, but he will be covered in flour, frosting, and other things. He doesn't know how it happened. No one does. But, it does give his brother some opportunities for playful teasing. Much to Saeran's exasperation (but there is a smile on his face as he huffs and puffs at Saeyoung's jokes, and it melts his twin's heart for sure). Also, he will prepare gingerbread cookies for Ray and Suit, but will leave them to give those two to you later in person. These are special.

And, last but not least, we have the final boss. The one who turns a cute idea to surprise you into a raging disaster. The man behind the slaughter. Saeyoung Choi. Boy, oh boy. It's true that no one wanted to allow him to bake. Everyone was aware of what was to come. But, once they saw that painfully familiar sparkle of inspiration in those golden eyes of his? That wicked grin that just screamed of mischief? His numerous babbles in the chatroom about 101 facts regarding gingerbread cookies? It was obvious. There was no going back. Only forward. He would bake that cookie with or without them. And, Saeran would much rather be nearby if something caught on fire. The cookie you see on the plate is adorable. It's perfect. Tasty. But, there is a story of true terror behind it. Dozens of fallen gingerbread cookies, lost at the hands of a mad redheaded genuis who was having way too much fun mixing ingredients that should never be mixed. How in the world did he get flour onto the ceiling? No one knows. Why is there a batch of Dr Pepper flavored cookies laying on the counter? Why, that's another mystery added to the pile. Did he create some kind of ungodly invention or a full on robo-arm to make cookies for him? Ask Vanderwood for that.

[66sharkteeth]

Weekly thoughts!

Hooboy, the big episode! First off, I think everyone knows by now that you probably shouldn't read these if you haven't read the latest episode, but I ESPECIALLY mean that this week! Talking about some way bigger than usual spoilers.

Phew, this was a big one, both from a writing and drawing perspective. I actually spent a full day on that last panel alone, but writing it took way longer than usual too. Going back and forth between Bell's speech and Jericho's backstory played perfectly like a movie in my head, but it was really hard to portray it as a comic and it was one of the few times I was struggling with the limitations of the format. I think I pulled it off though, since everyone seemed to follow along fine! So while it was probably just a neat scene to everyone else, I'm rather proud of that haha.

As for the actual contents of the episode, I'm also glad everything hit w/ the majority of the audience for the most part. I know a handful were confused about if that was Bell or Jericho who did that, but to those people, I remind you it's been loooong established Jericho can control his extensions (Bell, Charlie, and Claude. Remember, they all took injections of Jericho's blank space?). Also on that note, Bell does not have her own scion... Only Rex and Jericho do. Bell, Charlie and Claude all took injections of Jericho's blank space, thus get to borrow some of his power. I recommend re-reading ep 80 if you need a refresher.

I do consider this ep kind of a big reveal of Jericho's true colors. I mean, you guys have known he's the main villain for ages now, but this is the ep that reveals his "better world for blanks" act is kind of a façade and what he's really seeking is a worse world for humans. The fall of humans benefitting blanks is just kind of a bonus. I'm glad a few people caught onto this with the fact that one of the worst horrors he experienced was having his autonomy taken away from him, then he proceeds to do just that to Bell.

And speaking of Jericho's horrors- Before this season launched, I dropped a bunch of hints about upcoming things. One of them was that the most disturbing scene (in my opinion) was coming up. I was actually referring to what happened to Kallie. I'm not sure if it was as disturbing to everyone else (I totally get like if Claude's leg thing fucked people up more), but being evaporated into nothingness but not dying was an existential dread that really fucks me up haha. If it fucked even a couple of other people up, then I did my job.

I don't have too much else to say about the contents of the episode. It was so hard to bite my tongue for weeks as everyone predicted pretty much every character but Desmond was gonna get it. I'm sorry I don't have too much else to say about him right now given what happened, but I definitely will in the upcoming weeks.

I guess the only other note I have is I might as well address something that bugs me slightly- It's definitely a minority but there's a handful of people who seem done with the series because "too many things go wrong." To which... I'm not sure what to tell ya. I'm fine with critique and criticism to be clear, but honestly, this is one thing I'm actually really confident I'm good at balancing. I'm not sure where people are coming from with "nothing good ever happens in this series" when this season alone has had probably the cutest and fluffiest scenes. Rex has a canon girlfriend, he had his first kiss with her, Desmond was reunited with his sister and learned to accept himself, Lyss learned to move past her trauma and accept blanks, Rex was reunited with Shnee, Rex's scion turns out to be a puppy dog w/ a crush. I'm aware a lot of these got kind of crushed with this latest ep...but that's.. kind of. the. point??? That's how you write tragedy and impactful scenes??

I dunno, maybe this is personal to me because it's ALWAYS bugged me when someone tells me they think a show is bad because it's "too dark." Like no... It's not *bad* because it's too dark, you just don't like dark themes, and that's okay. I TOTALLY get if CoB has gotten too dark for some people- it's definitely hit some hard themes and subjects, but I don't like to accept that as a critique. It just means it's not for you and that's okay. There's a ton of other great comics that are more light-hearted! I think the TLDR of this is it will always annoy me when people say something is bad just because it's not their taste.

Now. That said... everyone is completely valid in their hate of Jericho. I, however, still love him.

[crimson-lair]

MBCC DATING SIM

Reasons to Date Raven

Raven had always been curious about the "MBCC Dating Sim" the staffs had invented. As the second person to participate after Cinnabar, she was eager to see what all the fuss was about. However, when you were given the task to go on a date with Raven, you were hesitant to show her the piece of paper that outlined the reasons why you should date her.

The truth was, you were afraid of what Raven might do with the information on the paper. The last thing you wanted was for her to write about it in the newspapers and cause a stir among the other Sinners. You knew that the staffs had warned you not to let Raven see the paper, but her incessant pestering made it hard to resist.

As you hesitated, considering whether or not to let Raven see the paper, you could practically see her mind working overtime, trying to figure out why you were being so cagey. In the end, you keep the paper to yourself, much to her dismay.

Reason No. 1:

Raven can always spruce up your resume for free!

Raven's face twisted into an exasperated expression as she listened to you explain that you wanted her help with your resume. "A resume?" she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief.

"After all the work I've put into crafting sensational headlines and exposing the dark secrets of the upper class, you want me to help with something as mundane as a resume?"

However, her disbelief was quickly replaced by a flicker of amusement, and she shook her head with a small grin. "What a waste of my talents. But since you asked nicely, I suppose I could help you out."

She pulled out a quill and a paper out of nowhere, scrawling down the details you gave her in quick, 'neat' strokes. "Let's see... What kind of position are you applying for? A receptionist? An administrative assistant? A... a..."

She stopped and frowned, her quill pressing down on the paper, leaving ink smudges on it. "Why can't you get a real job?"

Me: CUT! CUT! THAT'S SO OOC! DON'T BREAK THE 4TH WALL

Reason No. 2:

Raven's hair is green, and they say looking at green is good for your eyes!

Raven's confusion was visible on her face. Her long, seaweed-like dark green hair was indeed striking, but she wasn't used to receiving this much attention from someone. The intensity of your gaze made her couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

"Are you... staring at my hair?" she asked, her mouth hanging open slightly. "That's a bit intense, don't you think?"

Then, you surprised her even more when you mentioned that someone had told you that green was good for eyes. Raven raised an eyebrow, visibly confused. "What does that have to do with this?"

Suddenly, it dawned on her what you were getting at, and she couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "Oh, I see."

"Well, you're in luck then," she said, sending you a wink. "My eyes are also green, so you might as well take a look at them too."

Reason No. 3:

You'll get to learn how to raise ravens!

Raven was excited to show you the pet raven that made up from her abilities. She was proud of the fact that the bird had become quite proficient in speaking and even knew how to say a few phrases like a parrot. However, her excitement quickly turned to embarrassment when the raven suddenly squawked out the words, "Lemme smash."

Raven was completely caught off guard and immediately tried to shut the bird up. "Please excuse its crude language."

"I swear I never taught it anything like that. He must have picked it up from somewhere. Please, just ignore him."

Despite her efforts, the bird continued to repeat the phrase, "Lemme smash."

"Please."

In the end, Raven had to resort to a stern glare and a "Shhhh!" to get the bird to stop.

Maybe you're not destined to raise ravens.

Image by PathtoNowhereEN on Twitter/X

Don't take the "reason no. 1" shenanigans seriously. I have a job, really. Also, I've never heard of this lemme smash bird until recently thanks to some blogs, now I know 👍 but I don't think it's funny enough when I wrote it myself 😭 HELP

Next victim is Dreya >:) but not sure if it'd be comedy like.. heh

[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.

[annymation]

"This Wish" Reimagined

Asha's "I Want" song in my Wish rewrite

Something that quite bothered me in Wish’s “I want song” is that I never really… Connected with Asha as a character while listening to it.

With Ariel we WANT to see her get to the surface.

With Quasimodo we WANT to see him out of Notre Dame.

With Mirabel we WANT to see her make her family proud.

With Asha I want… her to have more than this…?

And what is “this”? Like, the subject is vague, and that’s because the song writer Julia Michels was asked to just “Write a song about a young woman that wants to fight an corrupt system” which is a neat concept… But Julia didn’t know what that corrupt system even was doing, I’m not joking, she said so on interviews, AND SHE SAID DISNEY ASKED HER TO DO IT IN 3 WEEKS LIKE GIRL!?

Anyway, as a result, I can’t really relate to Asha’s struggles because the song feel like it could be sang by ANYONE facing a hard situation where they “May be young but are not wrong” or “Have hesitations about what to do”…

But who is ASHA in this, aside from the person who is singing the song? Yeah, she wants more, but more WHAT?! You can listen to “When will my life begin” without watching Tangled and you’ll totally understand what Rapunzel’s personality is and what she wants… But in This Wish?… I don’t know who the heck is Asha, and I watched the movie!

It doesn’t help that in the movie the BIG HORRIBLE REVEAL that Asha is facing is that the system that only grants one wish per month… isn’t granting EVERYONE’S wishes… when that should’ve been common sense, like, does no one in Rosas understand basic math???

In my rewrite though, Asha has been silently questioning the system around her but knowing full well she couldn’t change it so she just accepted it, until the day arrived for her to give away her wish to conform to the expectations. She said she didn’t want to, and questioned if the king even granted all the wishes like he said he did. Seeing that she had spirit, the king and queen gaslight, gatekeep and girlboss manipulated her to get a wish out of her, and after that, by peeking through a door, Asha discovered the truth about her kingdom’s wish system, a truth so terrifying for her that she ran as far away as she could. And with no one else to help her… She made a wish upon a star.

(There, I summarized my rewrite so far, if that sounds cool to you consider checking it out here)

I think that’s a more interesting premise, and it gives Asha more nuance, but how do you translate ALL THAT into one song? Well, here’s how I’d change “This Wish” to do that:

“This Wish”

Should have listened to my own instincts No time to cry now for what could have been If I could show them everything I've seen Open their eyes to all the lies then Would they believe in me or in them? But when I speak, they tell me, "Sit down" But how can I when I've already started runnin'? All I wanted to do was grant my wish on my own But now that wish's stolen and, I am all alone [Chorus] So I look up at the stars to guide me For I know they can send me a sign If knowing what it could be is what drives me Then let me be the first to stand in line So I make this wish Asking us for freedom, hope and bliss So I make this wish To have something more for us than this [Post-Chorus] Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah More than this, oh-ah-ah-ah For many years they’ve been tricking us all Yeah, they said “We’ll protect you” while being our downfall Now what’s a girl like me supposed to do? How do you fight a king and queen? oh and they’ve got magic too! And all I've got is reservations and hesitations On where I should even begin I'm past dipping my toes in But I'm not, no, I'm not past diving in If I could just be pointed in any given direction On where to go and what to do My legs are shaking, but my head's held high The way you always taught me to [Chorus] So I look up at the stars to guide me For I know they will send me a sign I'm sure there will be challenges that find me But I can take them on one at a time So I make this wish Asking us for freedom, hope and bliss So I make this wish To have something more for us than this [Post-Chorus] Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah (So I make this wish) Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah (To have something more) More than this, oh-ah-ah-ah [Outro] So I make this wish To have something more for us than this!

Thank You For Reading!

[factual-fantasy]

I HAS 25 ASK :}}}}}🍤

@nihilityart Thank you! And,

@cherrycreamfairy

I am now! Some kind of ice and fire guys? They look neat :}}

For me clothed VS unclothed is the same as Civilized VS uncivilized. Or perhaps Intelligent VS unintelligent..? Captain Barnacles VS a salmon. The very humanoid Captain polar bear is gonna wear clothes and the lil fish guy just gonna swim around and be a fish XD

@beryl-shade

I'm thinking that the Cupcake Factory and Mazercise were never built following Chica's decommission.. the only thing that remains of her is the small party stage her and Freddy used to preform on. :(

Proud :}

Well, my Jevil gains the power create mirrors and walk through them into other AUs and timelines. So maybe his power matches up?? I'm not familiar with that Kefka character <XD

Glamrock Foxy still suffers from baby disease XD He may be bigger then Chica and Freddy, but they can still push him around fairly easily.

I also imagine becuase he's so light he can easily be picked up by the other Glamrocks. Poor Foxy can never catch a break XDD

Also Swap Foxy would never pick up OG Foxy. He couldn't do that to him man he knows the pain all too well <XD

Freddy would be really sad seeing Bonnie like that. He doesn't even have to ask anyone what's up with him. He knows that Bonnie cant handle constant activity, noise and lights. He's just not programmed with that kind of processing power. After every performance back in the day, Freddy was the first one check on Bonnie and get him to his room if he was wiped out.

And he was always the last to speak with him after he emerged from his room. Waiting for Bonnie to talk to him first when he was ready.

Seeing him like this now.. so.. hollow. It just breaks his heart. He can tell just by looking at him that no one has treated Bonnie right or attended to his needs in any way. For years. He wouldn't take any of Bonnies rudeness or sarcasm personally. It would bounce right off him because he knows why Bonnie is saying those things and he means none of it.

If Glamrock Freddy was in the swap AU, he would completely leave Bonnie alone. He wouldn't talk to him or address him in anyway. Buuuut maybe he would hover nearby. To be there to give Bonnie an escape from any given situation or if he happens to need someone or something, Freddy would be there to help.

But still. Never talk to him or look at him. Bonnie doesn't need any more things to process.. :(

Thanks for ask! Don't be shy to send more, I love getting them! :DD

As for the perfect sandwich? Oooo that's a good question. Uhhmmmm.... hmm.. Well, tbh I'm kind'a craving a cursed PB&J with cheetos in the middle ngl..

Oh! Or maybe a sandwich with toasted bread and some mayo, turkey, Ham and cheese?? Its kind'a basic but man does that sound good right about now XD

@ocinstituterep

I imagine it works much like the show/real boy scouts. There's not really any major changes I can think of..

I mean, I guess in my AU Professor Natquik was probably the main polar scout leader- or maybe even the founder of the polar scouts?? Or at the very least he could have been a beloved polar scout leader for like.. 20-30 years or something before he dipped and went to the Antarctic. That's all I can think of <XD

@youlikwjazz004

Thank you! I'm having a ton of fun drawing this Deltarune stuff so far! I'm doing a ton of world building on it and I have another set of drawings to post right after this ask post goes up! :}}

As for Jevil's lore, I made this post that talks about his lore thus far. But the post I'm going to make after this kind'a overwrites that so be on the look out XD

They grew up on the Octopod yes. And I don't think its a thing of child labor XD I imagine that all the Octonauts can cook for themselves. The Vegimals are just very eager to help out and they love to cook! Its become their way of helping out around the ship because they want to help. But they can stop when ever- no one is forcing them to be their cooks or even live there. They can leave when ever they want! But they choose not to because they love the crew and they love to cook!

Actually, google says that Barnacles is from Northern Canada. Something about a decorative banner he has labeled "MV Manitoba", which is a reference to the province of Manitoba..?

Which I guess if he is from Northern Canada, that banner and wheel is the only Canadian thing he brought to the Octopod.? XD

Thank you so much!! :DDD

@nervousdiplomatpalacehorse

YOOO I JUST WATCHED THE TEASER FOR IT!! THATS SO COOL??? I'M EXCITED NOW THAT I KNOW ABOUT IT XDD

And King Resh you say? Ooooo, I like that name :00 And yeah, boy his design sure is spooky <XDD

@ariisonfire (Post in question)

SKKJDKJSFKJ SORRY! That probably didn't feel great-- <XD But don't worry I had no idea your character existed when I made blue Grillby so I'm not copying! XD

@octonauts16

I've seen that floating around. I don't have much of an opinion on it myself. I just hope the fans are satisfied with it :0

@shaziztrazh

I have actually! I watched Elvis the Alien review it on YouTube XDD

WAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH THATS SO SWEET WAAAA💖😭✨🍤💖 As for your questions!!-- XDD

1: In the partial swap with Gregory.. I imagine there was a moment like in the classic AU where Monty and Foxy sat down with Chica and told her that Freddy was gone. She probably got some old posters and pointed Freddy out to Gregory. Eventually communicating that she wanted to look for him. In which, they would find him all beat up..

In the true swap, with little Vanessa, I imagine its the same thing. Despite Bonnie taking the place of Freddy, its still Monty and Foxy that sit down and explain Freddy's disappearance. In which again, Chica points out Freddy in the posters to Vanessa and they go find him.

2: I believe in both the Partial and true swap, Freddy and Chica's decommissions happened the same way/for the same reasons as Foxy and Bonnie in the Classic AU.

3: Fazer blast doesn't actually exist in the partial or true swap. In the classic AU Freddy and Chica's attraction was just the main stage and party area. And Bonnie had the Bowling ally and Foxy had Pirates cove.

When the Glamrock era began, Bonnie bowl and Pirates cove were left untouched. Meanwhile Freddy and Chica's roles expanded and they were given Fazer Blast and Mazercise.

In the true and partial swap, that stage and party area are just kind'a.. left there. Maybe sometimes big party's happen and one of the bots come and preform on that old stage.? But mostly the giant stage is used and that old party stage is left to collect dust. Which is a blessing in disguise. I cant imagine the pain the bots would feel preforming on that stage where their friends once stood..

As for Bonnie bowl, yeah it was expanded big time. And is way more decked out than it was before. As for the Pizzaplex its name is still the same. But I imagine the logo looks a bit different :0

@tisgoodthe1st

Thank you so much!! :DDD

@montygatorshusband

I mean, personally? I don't really like it but that's just because I don't ship Fronnie. But hey its not my artwork so its not really any of my business-

@awoogic

Huh? What about him? Looks like he's from tiktok.?

Thank you! And that would be something that would shock the classic Glamrocks. Swap Freddy is in significantly worse shape than Classic Bonnie.. (which was intentional ;}})

Freddy would be rather disturbed seeing his old model so messed up. Considering how much he misses the past and his old body.. seeing an eye hanging out, his arm broken- his leg twisted in the wrong direction.. ehg, it would really freak him out. He'd have a hard time looking at himself..

Chica seeing her old self would disturb her, but also make her jealous somewhat.?? My Chica doesn't like being a Glamrock and misses her old body and role on stage. So seeing herself back in her pink dress and soft yellow feathers.. despite the removal of her beak and hands she'd be weirdly envious.

Monty and Roxy wouldn't have any unique or interesting reactions. They'd just be like "wow you guys look janked up I'm so sorry" XD

This post I made a while back talks about that! :00

(post in question)

XD Yeah. Eventually his fur grew out and he trimmed all the green back. But it sure was funny while it was there!

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 11 - Katsuki has shitty feelings.

Summary: Katsuki has a crisis. That’s the chapter. Oh, and some Kirishima POV, because Katsuki’s best bro deserves some screen time.

⚠️: Swear words, Katsuki talks about his third leg.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“I want to stay here forever…”

Bakugou Katsuki is a lone wolf. He doesn’t need another human being to be able to exist; he lives for his job, for the role of the Number Two Hero and that’s all Katsuki has ever wanted to achieve in his life (Well, he wanted to be the number one hero not the second, but that ain’t gonna change until Deku is alive), so honestly, he should be content with what he’s got.

Young Katsuki would be thrilled to hear about his current life; he’s loaded enough to buy a fancy ass apartment; actually, scratch that, he’s loaded enough to fucking build his own agency and his own motherfucking apartment. Katsuki saved Japan from extinction at least 500 times in the last ten years, he gained the respect of the public at the humble age of 16 and he’s also really fucking good looking, just ask the public. And the photographers of Vogue. Sure, he has a bunch of scars all over his body, but Katsuki is proud of every single one of them; he thinks they look sick, hot and sexy.

He also managed to grow a decent-sized… third leg. It’s not the biggest in the whole world but it has a pretty shape. It’s really sophisticated and while Katsuki has no idea about what the other gender likes, he’s quite sure he could get at least a million followers on a certain website with his neat little brother.

Wait, where was he going with this shit?

Oh yeah.

Bakugou Katsuki does not give a single flying fuck about other people. He doesn’t need them, he doesn’t want anyone in his personal space. Steven is enough of a bother already with his constant tapping on his window at 5 fucking AM, begging for food or just in need of attention or some shit. Katsuki might be perfect, but he can’t speak pigeonese. He’s not proud of this fact and trust him if he says he’d tried.

So if this Katsuki guy is the perfect example of a successful bachelor… THEN WHY THE FUCK DOES HE FEEL LIKE THE WORLD IS ENDING WHEN HE THINKS ABOUT THE BLOODY WOMAN LEAVING HIS FUCKING HOUSE?!

Katsuki is literally thinking about breaking both of her legs right now just to keep her in his flat for a bit longer. A few more days… weeks… months… years…

Okay, this is just ridiculous. This isn’t him. This guy must be a pathetic excuse of a doppelgänger.

Katsuki stares at his own reflection in the mirror angrily, hoping to scare the guy on the other side, but he doesn’t budge.

Fuck.

“Uhm… are you practicing your intimidating stare?” The woman of his fucking nightmares waltzes into the room.

Y/N has been almost perfectly healthy for three fucking days now. She’s dead tired by the end of the day but everything is perfectly fine with her otherwise.

Why the fuck can’t she be a normal fucking person and take her sweet time getting better?

To be honest, it’s probably Katsuki’s fault for spoiling his woman to death from day one.

This whole crisis is also her motherfucking fault by the way; the way she mumbled that fucking sentence to Katsuki, planted the seed in his heart then watered it with kisses and sweet, soft touches, then the fucking flower bloomed in Katsuki’s chest and he hates the way it suffocates him right now, two days before the day of doom.

“I was daydreaming about breaking some bones.” Katsuki admits as he moves away from the damned mirror nonchalantly.

“If you miss breaking bones that much I can go home now and then you can go back to work. I’ll be fine.” Y/N gives Katsuki that damned smile he hates so much; she’s clearly missing the point here which isn’t a surprise considering he haven’t said a single fucking word about his stupid-ass feelings, but it still makes Katsuki mad that Y/N can not read his fucking mind.

Well… technically, she probably can but it would be considered an invasion of privacy and Katsuki would hate that.

But just this once… can’t she just… like… understand his feelings without actually understanding them? Just this once? Pretty fucking please?

“Fuck no.” Katsuki answers without hesitation. “Put your ass back down on the sofa, you are supposed be resting!”

“I’ve been sitting on my ass for 5 fucking days, Katsuki!” Y/N whines, of course she does, and for some fucking reason even her annoying whining is fucking cute. Katsuki hates it.

“You wanna do something? Yeah?” Katsuki pushes Y/N right through the door and he doesn’t stop until her back hits the wall. Katsuki takes her hands in a quick motion, pulls them both up and pushes them into the wall; not hard enough to leave a dent or injure anyone but just enough for Y/N to not be able to do jack shit about it. “Get out of this then.”

Y/N is otherworldly as she licks her lips with an evil smirk on her face; she looks menacing and evil but also really fucking hot.

“Challenge accepted.” She goes for the grand prize right away; his dick. And not in a good way. Call Katsuki a genius because he saw that move coming; he moves his crotch out the way and pushes Y/N’s shins into the wall with only one leg. “Are you impressed with yourself by winning against someone who hasn’t trained for more than a year?” Y/N is a sore loser. Katsuki’s kinda into that.

“Wow, mind your fucking attitude, weakling.” Katsuki smirks; he pushes closer and leaves a chaste kiss on Y/N’s lips. Apparently, he pushed the big red button somewhere inside her with this because Y/N’s hand becomes transparent for a few moments then it’s Katsuki’s back that hits the wall next.

From this point… things happen really quickly.

The hallway becomes an impromptu training room, then they move towards the living room and that’s when shit gets real; having two stubborn bitches in a room without any way to burn some energy was probably not the best idea, or at least that’s what the poor coffee table thinks when it gets broken in half by Katsuki’s massive back as Y/N sends another cotton candy colored explosion towards him.

“You are dead meat, bitch!” Katsuki yells and he really hopes his beautiful sofa will be able to take his next hit, otherwise he might start crying.

It takes them a several minutes or maybe even hours to stop their shenanigans; Katsuki and Y/N ends up sprawled out on the feather covered sofa, fighting for their lives with every single breath. They can’t help but stare at the mess they’ve made; there are random books on the floor as few of the shelves gave up on life after Y/N threw him into the bookshelf, there’s broken mug shattered into pieces right on top of Katsuki’s favorite white rug, the walls are singed all over and he’s quite sure they broke one of the doors on their way to the living room. Hopefully, it wasn’t the toilet one.

“What have we done.” Y/N mutters quietly, still half dead.

“We are going shopping tomorrow.” Katsuki mutters back with a content hum.

Fuck, Katsuki swears this was better than sex; he has a hunch he will change his mind about that when he gets to that point with his girlfriend though.

~•💥•~

A few hours earlier…

Kirishima is a cool bro when it comes to his best bro, Katsuki.

It doesn’t mean he’s not concerned for his well-being after not seeing him for a several days; he knows his best buddy is only a hallway away but Kirishima didn’t feel too welcome in his lair last time he’s been over as he’s almost fucking died by the hands of a jealous Katsuki so he decided to give his bro some space.

It’s absolutely fine. They are both adults, they have their own lives and all that jazz but…

Fuck it, Kirishima is not a chill bro right now, not at all. Honestly? He’s never been chill. You remember when Eijirou ruined Katsuki’s first kiss at the wedding? Yeah. Eijirou is an absolute mama bear when it comes to his favorite people, but he really did try his best until today.

Why today, you ask?

There are extremely weird sounds coming out of Katsuki’s flat. His best bro doesn’t know about this but every time he leaves his kitchen window open, he can hear basically everything from his office.

Don’t ask him what kind of things has he heard before. He will take that information to the grave with him.

First, he hears grumbling; that’s normal, just Katsuki being his good old grumpy self. Then he hears a bunch of loud knocks. Then something breaks. Only a few minutes after that, something shatters on the floor.

Needless to say, Kirishima is extremely concerned. What if he’s in danger? What if he’s hurt?

Well, technically, there is no way anyone can attack Katsuki in his home; there is a CCTV all over the place as Katsuki’s flat is a part of the agency building and they even put one on Katsuki’s window in case someone tries to break in from there.

Eijirou is also concerned that maybe… maybe he’s doing something with his missus that Eijirou is definitely not supposed to see, hear or be a part of.

He already ruined their first kiss, he doesn’t want to ruin their first… well… that.

So Eijirou waits.

He’s a patient man.

When the weird sounds subdue, Eijirou takes a deep breath and makes his way to Katsuki’s front door; whatever they were doing, it must be over and he was even nice enough to give them some time to take a breather, or to cuddle, depends on the actual situation.

He knocks. Three times.

He waits. Patiently. Like a gentleman.

He waits for an eternity or to be exact, five whole excruciating seconds before he barges into his best bro’s flat without any hesitation.

“What the fuck?!”

That’s all Kirishima’s able to say. The room is a mess; 90% of the furniture is broken or singed, there is a dent in the wall, Steven somehow ended up inside the flat and he’s happily munching on a spilled bag of nuts on top of the broken coffee table. The only piece of furniture that’s in tact is Katsuki’s fancy ass sofa on which Katsuki currently lies on, his skin shining with sweat as he tries to wiggle into a more decent-looking position.

Katsuki doesn’t like to be stared at so it doesn’t take him long to get out of his weird, half dead state and start yelling.

“The fuck are you staring at?!”

Kirishima doesn’t answer that question. He’s a really pliant man and usually lets Katsuki get away with making him feel stupid even if he’s right, but not today.

So Kirishima stares. He just stares and says nothing. There is a sound coming from the bathroom; Y/N is probably taking a shower which means she is NOT FUCKING DEAD, thank god.

“Stop fucking staring, we were sparring and things got out of hand. No fucking biggie.” The blonde even rolls his eyes, probably thinking this whole situation is ridiculous; which it is, but not in the way his best bro thinks so.

“You are a pro hero.” Kirishima mutters with a deadpan face. “You live in your agency’s building. You own a fucking gym. A gym that’s 2 minutes away from your flat, just at the end of the hallway.” Katsuki looks at Kirishima with an unfamiliar look, like he’s been caught even though Kirishima has no fucking idea what did he say that made his friend feel so cornered. “You look constipated.” Eijirou decides to change tactics and ignore the mess around the living room; he sits down next to his best bro, ears open and ready to listen to whatever is bothering him right now. Katsuki sighs then looks at the bathroom door; the constant flowing of the water inside is enough for him to finally speak up.

“I tried to prove that she needs more time off but I only managed to prove that I’m really fucking wrong.”

For some reason, there is pain in his best bro’s eyes and Kirishima hates that; he hates to see his loved ones in agony, he hates when things are not going right for them, he would give up on all his happiness for the sake of his best buddies even though he doesn’t have too much to give up on.

Fuck, that was a really uncharacteristic thought, wasn’t it? Oh well, welcome to Kirishima’s real life. He’s really lonely, goddamnit.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, bro.” He looks at his best friend questioningly, not really understanding the pain behind his crimson eyes. Katsuki makes that constipated face again, and that’s when it clicks. “You don’t want her to get better.” Kirishima says and he swears Katsuki’s soul leaves his body for a second then it barges back into to him, now fueled with anger, so he decides to continue with his train of thought. “You are scared shitless that she’s gonna leave you once she’s back in business.”

“She’s not gonna dump me because of that you shitwit.” Katsuki grumbles but by the look on his face, Eijirou is really close to the truth. Ahh, okay, Eijirou understands now.

“It’s really fucking hard to be alone once you get used to the company, trust me, I know.” Kirishima gives Katsuki a knowing, sad smile. “But it’s only a matter of time before this becomes your new normal. Just give it some time, bro. I know you want to get down on one knee and seal the deal but don’t rush this; enjoy the small things and keep the big ones for later, buddy.” Kirishima grins and this time, his grin is real; it doesn’t mean he’s not dying from loneliness still, but that’s his own problem, not Katsuki’s.

“Do not fucking patronize me, Shitty Hair!” Katsuki yells but Kirishima can see how thankful his bro is.

“Come on now, I actually managed to say something smart this time, let me have my moment!” Kirishima retorts, fake-offended.

“Stop talking about yourself like you are just an idiot extra. This is why no one takes you seriously.”

Damn, that arrow went right through his heart. Thankfully, Y/N chooses the right time to get out of the shower; she looks at the two men with a fond smile before her eyes wander to take in their environment; Kirishima can see the exact moment when Y/N realizes how much they fucked up by sparring in their own home.

“Need a hand with cleaning this shit up?” Kirishima grins happily, extremely excited to see Y/N so happy and healthy again.

“I would like to be nice and say it’s fine but bro…” she giggles and looks at Kirishima like he’s the savior of the century.

Kirishima might not have any self-confidence but there is one thing that makes him feel like his existence wasn’t just a waste of time and space and that’s the fact that he is the reason his best bro found the love of his life; it all started with a prank and ended up changing their whole lives completely and none of this would have been possible if Kirishima doesn’t hire “the Menace” all those months ago. Kirishima can’t be happier to experience this beautiful love, even if he’s not the one actually experiencing it.

Maybe one day… he’ll find his own soulmate, but for now… he’s just glad to be surrounded with all this happiness. It kinda lifts his spirits up, you know? Seeing his friends happy like that. That’s enough for him to be able to keep smiling, even when the world crumbles in front of him. If you can’t enjoy the small things you don’t deserve the big ones - is what his mother said to him when he was 13 and depressed. He needs to make sure to thank her for that advice the next time they video chat.

…Next chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Almost on time, yay!

- Do you ever feel like you love someone so much you want to beat them to pulp? Bro, mood. (IN A SPAR NOT IN AN ABUSIVE WAY DON’T CANCEL ME)

- Yes, I’m sleep deprived again. Waking up at 5 am for 3 days in a row is my own personal nightmare but at least I had time after work to write this chapter and 2 Deku chapters so… worth it, man. (Btw, the next Deku chapter is coming on Saturday on Sunday!)

- I work in retail and it’s Christmas season so if the chapters won’t come out as quick in December, I’m sorry. I’m doing more late shifts which means I won’t have time to write in the afternoon so… we will see how it goes.

- I wanted to show Kirishima’s POV in this chapter because I really want him to have a spin-off in the future with his own reader! I actually have 2 chapters ready but I won’t post it until I finish the whole thing because I definitely can’t write and post 3 different stories weekly haha.

- I hope you guys are okay and still enjoying this series! Please send me your thoughts so I know it’s worth it to push myself and do this weekly! Cheers 💜

TL: @sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs @p4ndawrites @yao-ai

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Scaredy-Shroom

Debut: Plants vs. Zombies

Here is Scaredy-Shroom! A very humble fellow, who I love very much. Scaredy-Shroom is scared, as you likely know. He is frightened, uncomfortable in the given situation. And as someone easily scared, I can relate to this! Especially when I was younger and even more easily scared! When I first heard about Plants vs. Zombies, I thought "Zombies? I don't want to see that!" and assumed it had to be a Scary Game. And now kids are growing up as Scary Freddy The Scare Bear fans. I would not have done well as an iPad Kid. BUT ANYWAY!

Scaredy-Shroom may be scared. But he is courageous! Arguably. I don't think he would be fighting zombies if he was not planted by the player. But he's here, and he does a good job, even if he is scared! I am proud of him. He has a low sun cost, respectable damage, and infinite range! He DOES cower under his cap if zombies are too close, but it is a small setback, and you owe it to him to keep him feeling safe, after all he's done for you!

While he does a good job at night, there is really no point to using Scaredy-Shroom during the day. He'll be asleep, so you'll need to use Coffee Bean to wake him up, and at that point you've spent as much as you would have on a Peashooter! And Peashooter does not cower and stop shooting at any point! I think this is okay, though. Scaredy-Schroom doesn't need to be a miracle worker. He is very stressed and needs his sleep. Look, his cap is even shaped like a pointed sleeping cap, a little! He is so cute.

Have you heard the news? It's part of why I'm making this post! Scaredy-Shroom was NOT in PvZ2 for a very long time, but just recently, after about 10 years, was added back! At first, I was hesitant about the slight redesign, specifically the cap. This is no longer a pointed hat, but instead has a jagged, seemingly broken bottom! I really do wonder if this was intentional, or a misinterpretation of the original design. Oh well! I have decided I like it, and looking kind of disheveled fits his character! He doesn't have arms to do it with, but it makes me think of him rubbing or picking at his cap when nervous, like I fiddle with my hair. He's just like me!

So? Was Scaredy-Shroom's big return worth the wait?

No, it was not! Scaredy-Shroom is, simply, just Not That Good. In the first game's night levels, he is good! He has his use and the game is built around that! But in 2, an unbalanced game with even more difficult zombies, as well as a steady stream of new and extremely powerful plants being added, he just does not have what it takes. They DID give him extra defense when hiding, but it's really not nearly enough. Indeed, Scaredy-Shroom in PvZ2 is not very good.

And I wouldn't have it any other way!

Like I've been saying, Scaredy-Shroom is, in the first game, useful in some levels, and nearly useless in others. He isn't SUPPOSED to be overpowered, or even strong! If he was, that wouldn't be Scaredy-Shroom! I can understand people being disappointed with his weakness in 2, but as someone who no longer plays it, I'm just happy to see him finally in a game again, and with a neat new design. Ideally, he would have been in the base game with campaign levels designed for his strengths, but it is too late for that.

In a way, it's good that he probably won't get used much. It gives him time to relax. I'll just let Scaredy-Shroom speak for himself here:

"How did I get talked into this? I wish I was at home."

[starlightshadowsworld]

Who do you imagine as Jason's father if it wasn't Zeus? Jupiter did not return to Beryl but she caught the attention of another god or goddess.

Sticking with Roman mythology, and those that have shown up in the series. And excluding the rest of the big 3, because why not make this a bit more intresting.

I have a few thoughts about who I'd choose, and how they'd fit Jason thematically.

Because Jason has always been defined by his parentage. I've narrowed it down to 3, I got way to carried to with this I'm sorry 😅.

Jason as a Son of Auster (Minor Roman God of the Summer and South Wind.)

He's someone Jason frequently interacts with during House of Hades. A diety who reminsces on the old days when he was both feared and beloved.

And someone Jason finds kinda annoying, preferring his Greek counterpart.

Definitely fits his whole identity crisis.

And I just love the idea of Jason both loving his father but also two seconds away from wanting to punt him across the sky.

Jason keeps his wind and storm abilities and gains a power over heat and flames.

Which, would definitely add another layer to the identity crisis, because what are you Jason? The storm or the fire?

He bound to service but it's in his nature to be free. And wanting the forgotten to be remembered.

Than we have Jason as a Son of Terminus (God of boundaries and protector of Rome.)

Jason being expected more than any other to be Camp Jupiter's sworn protector and defender.

He wants to see the world but he's bound by duty. And well Terminus is rather strict so Jason's not exactly well liked by other campers.

He'd also clash with his father at times because Jason wants to end traditions while his father lives and breathes by them.

But Terminus is also a kind diety and loves a good loop hole and I think he'd genuinely be proud seeing Jason speak out and follow the rules, in his own way.

The Quest of the 7 is probably Jason's first time leaving Camp and learning that the world operates on different rules.

Jason has his father's abilities of being able to snatch weapons (making him one of the few that can take Riptide from Percy like his father does) and teloport.

He has some control over the earth, mainly stone and he's built a lot more durable and tougher because of it.

During the Titan War, Jason and his father were Camp Jupiter's final line of defence.

And finally, Jason as a Son of Apollo. Even disregarding trials of Apollo I just find it an interesting idea.

Beryl was a performer, she was a star and Apollo kinda has a type.

Jason would belong to both Greek and Roman Camps. He'd have a lot more of a rivalry with Octavian because he's a demigod and he's a legacy.

Keeping with the theme that Roman demigods have different abilities to their Greek counterparts, (See Hazel and Nico).

And that the Romans seem to get the short end of the stick.

Jason's abilities while including archery are more medical based than combat based. He's had to work hard to get to where he is.

He's a good healer (I mean his name does mean to heal) but what many don't know, is that Jason's a lot more profiecent at giving diseases and causing pain.

It's one Beryl and Lupa was particularly fond of, both thinking he could use it against their enemies.

It's not a power he likes to use, and frankly tries not pretend doesn't exist.

But denial leads to negative emotions and next thing he knows he's given those around him the cold.

Granted, he can heal it but now he's considered an ill omen.

It causes some tension between him and Frank at first because Frank really wants to be a son of Apollo and Jason's like yeah... No you don't.

It also gives him a neat parallel to Will, who's abilities are also mostly healing based. And I feel like the Apollo kids would just adore Jason.

Jason shows up at Camp Half Blood and wonders into the infirmary all curious because he's mostly banned from his camps infirmary, unless they really need him.

And Will is just like hey newbie.

Also Jason not knowing Apollo, thinking his dad wants nothing to do with him but defending him infront of the entire Olympian Council, is so him.

Like I said, a lot of thoughts.

[giggly-squiggily]

Lee megumi and ler gojo bc their dynamic is cute and bc i love your writing hehe🫶 ofc you can decline it if you don't wanna do it💅🏻🫶

Ooo, I don't think I've written for these two yet! (Or if I have- not in a full fic) I've gotcha covered, anon! :D This got a little angsty towards the end, but I'm still proud of it :D I hope you like it!

CW: Swearing

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps)

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13

Gojo’s been around the block enough times in his life to know it when he sees it.

Flushed cheeks, averted gazes, a new softness in the way he speaks.

Megumi was in love.

Or at the very least- he had a big fat crush on someone.

And Gojo was gonna find out who! ~~~

“You’re out of your mind.” Megumi told him flatly.

Okay- directly asking didn’t lead to much. Not that Gojo expected it to.

“Oh come on, I know a crush when I see one.” Gojo grinned over his shades, eyes dancing. “And you, my boy, got a big one. What’s her name? Is she cute? Does she go to the academy?”

Megumi’s face scrunched up irritably, and he turned away. “Forget about it.”

“Nah, you’re right- that’s too safe. What’s his name?”

“Gojo-”

“Their?”

“Shut up-”

“Do they go to the academy? Are you guys friends?” Gojo gasped suddenly, a name coming to mind. “It’s Itadori, isn’t it?”

Megumi froze mid step, a heated flush creeping up his neck. Gojo beamed.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t-”

“I freaking knew it!”

“It’s not like that-”

“Oh is it?” Gojo hopped over, tossing an arm around Megumi’s shoulder, eyes dancing. “You’re crushing on Megumi! That’s so cute! How long? Was it since you two first met? I bet that could make anyone fall in love, the way he swooped in and saved his friends!”

“You’re believing your own lies!”

“Nah, I know when I see it.” Gojo winked, chuckling when Megumi blew air out his nose, face warm. “Wow- does that make Itadori my future son in law?”

“When the hell did I become your kid?” Megumi went to pull the arm off from around his shoulders, but Gojo’s arm was heavy.

“Since I adopted you, silly!” Gojo teased, pinching his cheek. “Oo, should I play the tough dad? I’d have to find a weapon. NO- I’ll play the flutterly mom that’s too attached to her son! Oh, Megumi! Don’t leave mommy alone!” Gojo fake whined, hugging the other closer to him as he spun them around on the mats.

“How about neither, you sicko!” Megumi growled, finally wiggling out of his grasp. “God, you’re so annoying!”

“And YOU are fussy with love!” Gojo laughed, shooting his hands out, jabbing him in the sides. “Okay- no funny parent roles! I’ll be the dashing uncle that gives you great love advice!”

“I don’t neehehehhed that! Ahehahaha, Stahahhap it, you ahahahhass!” Megumi snarled through his laughter, backing away. Gojo-being Gojo, merely followed, still poking and prodding, earning more struggling laughter. “Gohoohoho fuhuuhuhuck yohohohohurself!”

“Oo, swearing! How naughty! How am I gonna punish you?” Gojo laughed, reaching out and properly grabbing the other, squeezing his lower ribs and making Megumi arch with a shriek. “I know! A thousand tickles for that dirty mouth of yours!”

“Gehahahahhahhahaha! Noohoohoohohoho, Gohohohoohjohohohoho plehahahahhahase!” Megumi cackled, doubling over in mirth as he tried prying his hands off. “I hahahhahahhate this!”

“Sure you do. That’s why you’re not fighting back.” Gojo teased with a wink, earning a shaky middle finger. “Oo, that’s two thousand tickles!”

“Gohohohohoohoohjohohohoohoho!”

“You’re so cute! I bet Itadori thinks so.” Gojo grinned, eyes twinkling. “I bet he thinks you’re pretty neat! That you’re the bee’s knees and he’s just waiting for you to ask him out!”

“Nohohohohooho he dohohohoohesn’t!” Something changed then, and Gojo felt himself slow down at the sudden shift in tone. Megumi, now free from his tickles, sank to the mats on his knees, arms around his torso and gasping for air.

“Nohohoo..he dohohesn’t.” Megumi said again, his voice grave. Gojo blinked, curious as he kneeled down.

“And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because he’s straight, Gojo.”

Just like a flick of a switch, all the humor Gojo was riding on suddenly seemed to die. He watched Megumi’s face scrunch in insecurity before he ducked down, hiding his face in his hair. “Did he tell you that?”

“No, but come on. You and I both know he is! He likes tall girls with big asses! He has posters of them all over his walls. He even went on a date with a girl the other day.” There wasn’t any bitter rage in his voice, just…resignation. “He’s straight, Gojo.”

Humor turned to coiling guilt. Gojo felt his insides twist as he watched Megumi sink into himself. Reaching out, he put a hand on Megumi’s hair. “I’m sorry, Megumi.”

“Shu-ut up.” Something shook in his voice as he went to swat Gojo away, but then Megumi found himself yanked into a side hug, his face pressed against Gojo’s side. “Leave me alone, I’m f-fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” Gojo only squeezed tighter, rubbing a thumb against his shoulder as Megumi blinked back tears. “Listen, I don’t know what to tell you about Itadori. Hell, I can’t even tell you about yourself. It all comes down to us and figuring out who we are. You think he’s straight, but you don’t know. He might be what you are- a unicorn or whatever.”

“Bisexual. Asshole.” Megumi choked on a laugh, punching his chest.

“Yeah yeah, that!” Gojo grinned, the expression softening as he carried on. “Or something familiar to that! The point is, you don’t know unless you ask. You might be surprised by what he says.”

“And if it’s not good?” Megumi sounded scared. Gojo squeezed him tighter.

“You’ll be okay. Believe me, yours truly has been through many a heartbreak. It’s not fun, but you’ll be okay.” Gojo turned to look at him, meeting his eye. “You’ll probably cry a lot. Crank up some old sad songs in your headphones and hide under the sheets for awhile. Take out all your pent up anger and rejection on some curses and monsters and even me when we train together, have a girls talk with Nobara at some point- don’t give me that look, you can’t tell me she’s not in love with Maki- and by the end of it, you’ll stand up and try again and again until you find the person you love.

“Or, it could work out, and you’ll have all the feelings and complicated bullshit that comes with being in love and dating your best friend and teammate. You’re already halfway there. I can’t predict the future, much to popular belief, but I know no matter what happens, you’ll pull through, kiddo.”

Megumi was quiet, sniffing a few times in thought. “Heh…you really do sound like that cool big brother right now.” He laughed, making Gojo snort. “Really…thanks Gojo. I…I don’t know what to do. What if he’s all…”

“He’s not.” Gojo didn’t hesitate.

“He’s not.” Megumi agreed, shaking out his shoulders with a breath. “Okay. I’m not…ready to say anything. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. But…thanks anyway.”

“That's fine, take your time, kid. Just don’t forget.” He reached out, flicking Megumi’s forehead. “Don’t wait forever. Be greedy- the risk might be worth it.”

Megumi rolled his eyes but let Gojo help him back to his feet. “Whatever.”

“Heh. Alright, ready to train?” Gojo smirked, taking a few steps back. “While we do, you can tell me more about this crush on Itadori of yours!”

“Gojo!”

Thanks for reading!

[lavendergalactic]

BLUE

blue: " do you have favorite editors? is there any specific reasoning for your choosing? "

this is a tricky one since i'm horrible at expressing my gratitude but I WILL TRY!

(also if you're not in this list please don't take it too harshly!! it's 4am and i don't think i could think up everyone)

@plecakism!!! liam has been one of my inspirations since i've started posting on tumblr, one of the first ever events i did was one of his! it was really cool to win his events and i still love staring the prizes i've gotten from that. liam's edits are always so nice to stare at and i hope he gets a billion kazillion followers

@llocket!! MY BOYFRIEND!! obviously he's my favouritest ever editor because i am his #1 FAN!!!! i love the way he edits things, it's so sophisticated and cool- i also love how he does text layouts for things like rentry and discord about me's (i love him a lot 😍)

@necroangelz! proud to say that i am an og-ish moonlight follower, the improvement i've seen is CRAAAZY WILD like oh my god idol just keeps getting better and better at editing?? how??

@kiochisato-pufferfish20240406 (wtf is that username kio) i haven't interacted with kio but i do look up to her edits a lot, the colouring, the composition, the creativity is so awesome to stare at, i wish i wasn't so shy to actually send a few asks or something since bow seems really nice to talk to

@pwupsicle! I CANT BELIEVE I WASNT FOLLOWING THIS ACCOUNT BEFORE I SWEAR TO GOD I DID IT LMAFGHO.. but oh my god i've seen his psds a lot in the purrfect tale discord and they all deadass make me wanna learn photopea JUST to use them

@cactiflowering! fellow glass animals enjoyer so instantly one of my favourite editors. /hj seriously though i've always found squid's edits so satisfying and lovely to stare at, also his colouring is sSOOOO GOOD? PJ <MY GOD?

@ideallyadored! although we haven't talked much i do look at what they say on purrfect tale and he's SOOO based, i look up to how they speak her mind because i'm pretty timid and keep to myself most of the time, anyway i do also love their edits- they're always so clean and neat and the colouring always slaps

phew that was a lot sorry LMAOFH

[peachyonepiece]

appears looking at you with autism creature eyes. hello @sangerie your vs bros fankids (one of which i had a hand in making bc. glances at the reblogs/notes in @loopyarts post. i have confessed there fskakfafsga) are really really neat .u.

SPEAKING of loopyarts ty for allowing me to take inspo for nijis kids raid suit fit!! i really liked the softer yellow and the thicker lightning bolts on his pants you gave him so tysm for letting me yoink it <3

uh uhh individual pieces and also design/character rants under the cut bc. i wanna.

RAID SUIT RAMBLING TIME bc i spent the most time on those. also you might be asking 'why is only their hair rendered in those pieces?' well the answer is because i am Lazy. moving on . (/HJHJ i AM lazy but also rendering it further would mess up the colors and i didn't wanna do that lmao. carrying on..)

Ichiji's daughter i am so SO proud of her fit. i did not look up a reference or even inspo ideas at all, that all came from the ole noggin baybeee. anyways she is obviously based off a magical girl(s) fit bc she wants and DESERVES to be. also since Reiju doesn't have any kids of her own (based wine aunt) i also decided to let Little Red have some of her motifs instead of just purely Ichiji's!! primarily the 66 on her pants but also all the pink on her instead of just red :) and obviously she has her dads number and while she DOES have a (white? bc like daddy shes a special little princess /aff) cape i didn't include it here bc it looked reallly bad lmao. but she does have one tucked into the bow probably!! there she is, Sparkling Red Neo!!! (get it.. sparkling instead of sparking... bc magical girl.... im funny i think.) onto Little Ocean Boy

OKAY LET ME TALK ABOUT THE MOST MINISCULE YET MOST IMPORTANT DETAIL TO ME AND ME ALONE FIRST. that being the symbol on the brats belt. it was actually inspired/based off of this post which really stuck with me with me after reading it which i later realized was bc the "that something has been completely reversed" REMINDED ME OF THIS POST OF YOURS. i don't think im especially good at theory crafting but. idk i think there could be Something about how after judge came and turned germa into mercenaries their symbol turned from what once symbolized 'purity' into the skull of war mongers and then BACK to purity after 0124 get germa on the right path... poetry or smthn. ANYWAYS yah shoe shiners got a pretty basic fit bc like i said in the og ask, hes a sora warrior of the sea fan, once he saw the raidsuits irl methinks he'd want to stay pretty close to the og design. HOWEVER he refuses to drop the hat (much to Niji's dismay) and i came up with a reason besides 'its one piece and therefore there's GOTTA be a kid with a weird hat that they're attached to': and that is the fact that it hides his eyebrows. Little Red has the curly brows, all of Yonji's cabbage patch does too, and the brats the only one without. even if literally no one else notices or cares, he wants to hide the fact that he doesn't have em because it Separates him. and he doesn't want that. at all. he really, Really wants to be a part of this family (oh no i made it. angsty). ANYWAYS UHH YAYYY HE HAS A TWO ON HIS HAT (that he sewed on himself which is why i made sure you can see the stitch-lines) BC NIJIS HIS DAD WAHOO YIPPEE :D:D:D Dengeki Blue Neo: little shoe shiner edition!!

UHH second image is just a refined piece of that first doodle i sent you. with lineart and a better color pallet and all. actually looking at it again now i realize i forgot little brats freckles and i am now punching the air bc its too late to fix. just act like they're there. please :,,,) edit: nvm its the next morning i fixed that kjahsdah

i don't even have much to say about the last two because i Think i am Rightgksfjgasjkfa but for the third i think the brats a bad influence on Little Red especially. ALSO FOR THE FOURTH NO I DIDNT FORGET ICHIJIS TATTOO. I AM JUST LAZY. (and I also forgot his tattoo :]) ANOTHER edit: i also. fixed this :]

CHRIST i am incapable of contacting you on Tumblr via any way that includes anything less than 250 words i am so sorry sangerie.. i hope you like these tho cause i really do tbh :3 (PS you have to take literally NONE of what I said here [mostly about shoe shiner] as like.. canon about them?? these are YOUR ocs obvi so please, change Little Red's raidsuit design if you find it unappealing!! make shoe shiner have a backstory of your own!!! i hope that isnt weird or rude to say, i just thought it was important too bc i threw sm at you so strongly ^^' okay thats all tysm for reading this it means to world to me byebye <3)

[gasha40k]

I have unfortunate news. I think that, in the last three months or so, this has unexpectedly become a Khorne blog. I really and truly did not foresee this when I first started posting. No factions really spoke to me on a grander scale, except for my own. But now I’m actually legitimately obsessed with the World Eaters. To be fair, I guess no loyal servants of the Emperor expect their corrupted descent into Chaos ahead of time. The tragedy is always in the lack of foresight, after all. I don’t think my own dark baptism is anything close to a tragedy, though. I’m having a good time with it so far I think.

Got quite a few things to talk about, but first and foremost, I got my hands on some Valhallan Blizzard and finally finished the bases on the few Berzerkers that I have painted. I’m pretty happy with these! The dry brushed stone beneath the snow gives a sufficient enough impression of, like, a rocky, mountainous environ, and the white contrasts really nicely with the red armor and dark ground, I think.

Initially, I was going to really drench the snow with blood—I think you can see that in a few of the bases that I painted first—but I decided against that after seeing how it actually looked. The bloody snow is a neat effect, for sure, but it’s super eye-catching and makes the minis a little noisy when overdone. In the future, I’ll likely save the blood for the more notable or interesting members of my World Eaters army (likely on characters and standout grunts), so as to make them stand out and add a little bit of base variety to the army.

This is my third time painting an Ultramarine, and my second time painting a dead Ultramarine

Lord Akselos, though, gets next to no blood on his base, so as to make him stand out in an inverse fashion. The snowy, mountainous base here represents the frigid crags of Gorranax, the planet upon which Akselos landed after betraying the Ultramarines on Valefar. Gorranax is also where he would first encounter his Berzerker-Surgeon partner, Kastigor Spineripper, who would eventually be responsible for implanting the Butcher’s Nails within Akselos.

I think his base is probably the best of the bunch. The placement of the snow sort of visually balances the black, swooping cape, and adds some interesting color in that bottom right section, which is a spot where the model is otherwise lacking in visual variety. I’m mad happy with this and glad it looks as cool as it does! And with the base finished and his highlights complete (complete enough for me, at least), Akselos is fully finished, and ready for the tabletop!

I say this all the time but I love this sculpt so much, the 2002 Daemon Prince is the most iconic Daemon Prince—the fella from Dawn of War—even if it is pretty silly looking objectively

Speaking of finishing things, my big boy is finally complete. My ugly, ugly son is painted, based, highlighted, and Ready to KILL. This is, by far, the largest non-flyer model that I’ve finished, and while he definitely isn’t the prettiest or best painted model on the planet, I’m really proud of it. I pulled out all the stops on this model and utilized just about everything I’ve learned about miniature painting in the last few years. I also took a good handful of risks and learned a bit from him, too, and despite it being a kind of treacherous and elongated ordeal, it was a super fun experience painting him up, and I’m glad he’s done with. I did, however, lose the hilt of his sword to my carpet, but I’m working on replacing it with a cool little custom skull hilt, which I’ll post eventually, probably.

But with one big boy done, another boy has filled the empty slot in my to-do list with his huge red bod.

Finally got my hands on Angron, the man himself. I can’t quite describe just how obsessed with this model I am. Not only am I excited to have him because he’s one of my favorite characters in the 40k mythos, but he’s also a fucking Primarch—and a strong one at that—which is something I never thought I’d get to have as a custom Chapter player. All in all, I’m incredibly excited to paint this guy up and get him terrorizing my group on the tabletop.

I did have the opportunity to run a test game with my list on TTS a little while ago, which was both my 2nd ever World Eaters game and my 2nd ever 10th Edition game. Lemme just say about Angron: wow. He barreled into the enemy deployment zone in the first turn of BR1 and immediately mauled an Armiger. As a Space Marines player, I’m very used to none of my units being extraordinarily good at destroying shit, but those days are OVER!!!

Since he’s a big ass model, though, it also means that he’ll be a big ass painting project. I plan on making him a proper centerpiece, and after painting my Daemon Prince, I’m totally confident that I can make him look pretty fancy given a few weeks of work. To make that process easier for me, here’s the subassemblies that I’ll be painting him in.

I also got my hands on some Mephiston Red primer, which I’m using to expedite the painting process. As shown above, I’ve primed

My Khorne collection is getting pretty huge. So huge, in fact, that I now own more Khornate shit than Space Marines, both in bodies and points. My Khorne collection contains:

2,115 points of Adeptus Astartes units

59 individual Astartes models

2,995 points of Khorne units

107 individual Khorne models

Dark baptism confirmed. Corpse worshippers malding.

That being said, I’ve been focusing super hard on my World Eaters recently—mostly for economical reasons—but I’d definitely like to shift focus back onto my Astartes soon. There’s a lot of new, cool kits that I want to get my hands on, and a brand new codex, too. Feels neat having gone through an entire edition. Wonder if I could sell my codex from 9th. My current chore is just to paint my men, as per usual. I have some plans for my Thunderbearers that I’ll post about next.