#i thought about trying to reduce it on editing to make it look more even

[sorryiliketoscreenshot]

[prozacwhorehouse]

paparazzi | mgg x SNL cast member gf

Summary: comments from the paparazzi instill doubt in you, but Matthew is there as a voice of reason

this was a request but it got deleted when I was making edits so I hope this finds its way to that lovely person !

—————————————————————————

pre and post show paparazzi outside the studio wasn’t uncommon. but when speculation that you and Matthew were dating blossomed, they got more incessant and difficult to ignore. it seemed as if they were always around, with the intention of spotting the two of you and documenting it. they were constantly nagging for answers and details about your relationship, most specifically mentioning the age gap.

the both of you knew it’d would be hard for some people to understand, but the idea that you were both legal consenting adults seemed more logical and would be accepted easier. originally, you had kept the relationship private - wanting the intimate moments to be kept to yourselves, only for yourselves. eventually the love becomes to great to hide, so you started dropping hints to the public. hints weren’t enough, there were always the small few who liked to dig a little deeper, push sensitive buttons - almost always internet trolls, or worse, in person paparazzi.

no matter what, they’ll always jab at the age gap. it’s always flashing cameras followed by comments, from “your relationship is inappropriate” “she’s young enough to be your daughter” and even, “is you dating an older man rooted in daddy issues?”

a video of the interaction goes viral and all the comments are offering support for the two of you:

they are both consenting adults. those who can’t accept that need to grow up and mind their own business.

these poor angels. the paparazzi is disgusting, ill never understand why it’s still a thing

they’re both grown leave them the fuck alone

daddy issues?? holy shit. the pap is getting so much worse.

two talented people reduced to their relationship. do better

you knew accepting a job on television came with its consequences, but you weren’t going to let people who get paid to be nosy stand in the way of your dream. so, with time you had learned how to handle paparazzi with ease. what was typically praise now being sprinkled with hate, it got harder and harder to ignore.

because the more someone says something about you, the more you start to believe it.

why is he with me? is this weird? am i wrong? is he wrong?

Whenever Matthew happened to be with you during these paparazzi incidents, he’d always guide you through the crowd by the small of your back or your hand. Weaving through people wordlessly, only whispering assurances into your ear, squeezing your hand to calm your heart beating in your ears.

—————————————————————————

The whole ride home to your apartment is silent. With Matthew, you two are always talking, always sharing thoughts, making the occasional silence reason for concern.

“Are you okay? You din’t say more than a word or two at a time not the way home,” he says while shutting the apartment door behind him.

“Are we, wrong?” you turn to gaze up at him through your lashes, the look on your face hurt.

“What do you mean, angel?” he croons, concern and confusion blossoming across his face.

“Like,” you pause and scoff, trying to find the words for your question. “Is what we’re doing wrong. Being together.”

“Do you not want to do it anymore? Cause we don’t have to-” his face turns to worry, your heart dropping at the thought of him thinking you’d say anything other than no. because no matter what anyone says, he’s so in love with you he can’t even imagine losing you.

“no! oh my gosh, no.” you’re quick to assure, holding his face in your hands. it’s just exhausting. why are they so concerned with our lives? can they not just-“

“you love me?” he interrupts, looking at you intently.

“what?” you scoff in disbelief, pulling back slightly. “of course I do - why?”

“because I love you. And that’s all that matters, yeah?” he brushes his thumb across your cheek, gazing into your eyes so lovingly. he always looks at you that way.

“It could be worse. They could be comparing me to Leonardo DiCaprio,” he smiles, causing the corners of your mouth to turn up, “and I’m definitely not DiCaprio level.”

“If you were, you would’ve dropped me when I turned 25,” you snicker and he sighs, throwing his head back.

“You’re funny, you know that?”

“I’d hope so. It’s kind of my job.”

—————————————————————————

mgg x SNL cast member taglist

@sarcasm-and-stiles @mystargirl-interlude @rubyirene @ashrrams @ghostatrixx @forevermorepassionate @saint-boudica @reidmarieprentiss @awakeforu @spencerlicious @kittycat-april @baudarling @delusional-4-fake-people @avenlymars @angelinajolie0213 @arusio @littleslayofhorrors @jezabelle9299 @jaemnationnn @princess-ofthe-pages @flow33didontsmoke

[samkerrworshipper]

las 15.

mapi leon x reader, alexia putellas x reader (platonic)

warnings: the spanish federation ick

erm look at me posting something 😮 anyways enjoy haha i kinda hate it but need to feed yall somehow

“You need to be aware of the consequences of what could happen if you sign this document.”

You stared down at the mahogany surface of your lawyers desk, it was dark, sanded, smooth and shiny. Contemporary, but it also looked old, like a heirloom. It distracted your from the non stop drawl.

“I don’t care, I’m signing it.”

Your eyes travelled along the surface, lookinbg at the different waves of wood and the way that the dark colours marbled together.

“The RFEF could come for you, they could try and take your license. You might not compete at the world cup, the press will come for you, Vilda will come for you, Barca could reduce your playing time, it could be the end of your career. There are other negatives.”

You’ve thought about all of them of course, how could you not?

“I’ve already said it, I don’t care. Let them come for me, let them do whatever they want. I am done with it all. Fourteen other players have signed it, no? I will be the fifteenth and that is final.”

You weren’t a big fan of your lawyer, he was old and money oriented. He also didn’t have your best interest in mind, his sole focus was earning you as much money as possible, which had been fine up until today.

“So what? You plan to be the best in the world and never play international football again? This will ruin your career, it will put an end to the Ballon D’or campaign, it will change things for you, you can’t just do this because your girlfriend does it as well, this will be detrimental for you.”

The wood grooved at the edges, flattening out and curving so the edges weren’t too sharp.

“I refuse to stand by and submit myself to abuse. That’s what happens every time I go to that place, every time I go to camp I submit myself to abuse, torture, horrific conditions. The fact that you would even dare imply that I would do this for anybody but myself is preposterous. I am better than the condition I am being subkmitted to, I deserve better than to be objectified and treated as if I am dirt on that man’s shoe and I refuse to be treated as such. I have standards for myself and the people around me and I refuse to live by these for much longer. I’ll draft up the letter, I’ll send it to you for editing purposes and once your done you will send it to the RFEF, consequences be damned. You should be glad that I lasted two more windows then everyone else, honestly I’m ashamed that I didn’t do this earlier, but I’m ready to take a stand with everybody else now. I don’t want to play in a World Cup if it means this is how I will live my life.”

You looked up at your lawyer, hoping the fire burning in your soul was reflective in your eyes.

“This is a bad decision, you are thinking with your heart and not your head, this is unlike you.”

You pulled your eyes from the mahogany, standing up from your seat slowly.

“No, I’m thinking with my own interests, not yours, not my managers, not my bank accounts. I’m thinking with my mental health, my emotional health and my physical health. For the first time in my life I am taking time to focus on myself, so tyeah maybe it’s unlike me, but I’d like to think this might be the a better version of me, I’ll email you my letter, all you havr to do is forward it, if it’s such a struggle don’t even bother reading it, I don’t care what you have to say, I’m legally obligated to make you aware of any contractual issues so here I am. Give a fuck, don’t give a fuck, it doesn’t change anything for me, I’ve made my decision and nothing or nobody will make me change my mind.”

You didn’t wait around to hear what he planned to say in rebuttal, exiting the stuffy office as quickly as your legs would allow.

You made it to your car before you felt the tears flooding down your face. Even now, even after you’d tried to speak out you still felt like you were being silenced, like nothing had changed. That’s why you were doing what you were doing, why you knew this was what you needed to do. It didn’t make it any easier though, knowing that no matter what choices you made, even if they were for the good of you there were still going to be people around you who condemned them.

You were supposed to be at training, but you’d taken the day of to finalise all this bullshit. It was frustrating, knowing that the choices you were making for the good of yourself could end up being harmful to your career in a multitude of ways, it was all so fucking hard.

Everybody was at training, and yet here you were balling your eyes out in the carpark of your stupid fucking lawyers office.

If you hadn’t hit rock bottom at the last camp, the this was it, this was your final straw.

It was all too much, you’d been holding out for too long, but the mixture of the other 14 girls refusing to come back and Alexia’s injury had been enough of a motivation for Vilda to try and ruin your life. It had started with extra training after your sessions, then sessions in the mornings, then separating you from the rest of the team, limiting your diet, gym sessions, changing your schedules to everybody elses, punishing you for nothing, treating you like you were a slave to the Spanish Women’s team.

You were the best midfielder they had, excluding Alexia, and she was hurt, you were the scapegoat for the team, you were responsible for the wins and the reason for the losses.

You knew that with your leave, somebody else would end up taking your role, probably Aitana who was far to young to deal with that kind of pain, and you felt bad, you felt more guilty than you thought possible, but you couldnt do it for any longer, you couldn’t act like it wasn’t killing you on the inside for every second that you spent away with those people.

You hated it, you hated feeling like nothing, you hated feeling worthless, you hated living your life like it was pointless, you couldn’t do it for any longer, not when you were giving up every single part of yourself to keep yourself together.

You couldn’t stay how you were, crying in the drivers seat of your car milling over the memories of your last camp, you needed to leave, needed to go somewhere, needed to talk somebody.

Before you really knew what you were doing you’d started driving, letting the tears drip onto your lap and the steering wheel as you frantically drove your way through the city.

You couldn’t be alone, but you also couldn’t handle all the eyes of your teammates, so you drove to the one other place that you could think of where you hoped somebody would be.

You tried your hardest to wipe the tears from your face, but they kept falling, the sleeve of your shirt getting damper by the second as you tried to wipe up the evidence of your breakdown. It was useless, and eventually you gave up, stepping out of your car and ducking your head as you walked towards the lift and navigated your way through the apartment building.

The person you were looking for didn’t answer the door, instead you were put face to face with Olga.

“Hola chica, Ale didn’t tell me she was expecting visitors.”

You bit down on your lip, tapping your foot against the floor as you peeked around Olga, searching for the person you were seeking out.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t tell her, I can go home, I know she’s been busy with her rehab, I don’t even know how I ended up here.”

Olga tugged at your arm before you could spit anything else out, tugging you through the door and closing it from behind you.

“Nonsense chica, you’re very welcome here, Alexia is sitting out on the balcony doing her exercises, she’ll be more than happy to have your company, just head on through, your always welcome here.”

You nodded at Olga, smiling at her as much as you could with your lip still stuck between your teeth.

“Thank you, thank you so much, I really appreciate.”

You tried to ignore the tears that were still dripping down your face, it didn’t feel like you were crying, even though you were, it more felt like you were shedding a layer of yourself, the layer that was holding all of the trauma that you’d been holding in, like it was your way of getting rid of it all.

Alexia’s apartment was meticulously clean as ever, but you spotted her out in the sun easily.

She was standing outside, in a pose similar to ones you did in your yoga sessions.

She looked at peace, like she was calm, like she was serene, the complete polar opposite to how you felt and you really didn’t want to burden her with your problems, but you were here now anyways.

You tiptoed over to the glass sliding door, pushing it open, causing Alexia’s head to peak up at you. She looks at you with curiosity, but doesn;t move, instead her head nods you towards one of the outdoor lounges beside her, which you beeline for.

She stays in her position as she addresses you.

“The appointment with your lawyer didn’t go well then?”

You did a double take as you stared at Alexia, shocked at the information she’d somehow managed to obtain.

“You don’t take me for a idiota do you? Mapi told me you had a appointment you were keeping quiet about this morning, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out who it must have been with, considering recent events. Although your girlfriend wasn’t smart enough to work it out herself.”

Alexia stayed in her stretch, looking at you as if to prompt you to tell her more.

“Yes, I had a appointment with my lawyer, Alexia.”

Alexia smirked to herself, she was one of the most obersvanet people you knew, nothing got by her, you weren’t all that surprised to find out that this hadn’t.

“You’ll be joining the group then?”

You hadn’t really comes to terms with it, let alone saying it out loud.

“That’s the plan, should be official by tomorrow.”

Tears were still dripping down your face, you couldn’t find yourself caring though.

“Good for you. You deserve better, we all deserve better, may we all hopefully make a change.”

Alexia wasn’t officially a part of the movement, but she was everyway besides a signature as equally involved as everybody else.

“It just feels like i’m letting the team down, that I’m letting everyone down.”

Alexia nodded at you, finally coming out of her stretch and walking over to sit down next to you.

“You’re doing what’s good for you chica, your doing something that is going to make you happier, that is going to make your life better. Nobody else matters beyond that, trust me.”

Alexia looked at you, like she was genuinely struggling to help you out in the moment. She had been your mentor at Barca for forever, you seeked out her advice more than anybody elses, especially in this moment.

“I don’t know how to do it anymore, it’s like he was trying to ruin my fucking life, like his whole purpose for everyday was to make my life a living hell, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t walk around camp acting like it was fine, I couldn’t smile at cameras and talk to the press and tell them about how great I was feeling when it was all lies, all I wanted to do was leave, or sleep, or die, all because of his and his staff. They were hardly feeding me, hardly letting me sleep, hardly giving me a break and expecting me to perform at the same level as everybody else, if not better. I just couldn’t do it anymore Ale, it was too much.”

Alexia’s arm placed itself on your knee, squeezing your covered skin.

“You shouldn’t have to, you needed to leave and you did, you made the right decision chica, you made a impossible decision that will make your life 100 times easier, it doesn’t make you weak, it makes you so incredibly brave for being able to identify that you were being treated wrongly and that you needed to remove yourself from that space.”

The tears kept falling, your pants were slowly becoming soaked with the raw emotion.

“Mapi did it because of the abuse, because she had a legitimate reason, I’m leaving because they worked me a little bit harder than everybody else, it feels like I’m overreacting.”

You could feel Alexia rolling her eyes from beside you.

“Really? Has Mapi told you that?”

Mapi had told you that you deserved the world, you deserved everything you wanted, you deserved to be treated like a queen, not how the RFEF was treating you. She’d told you the decision was yours, that she would support you no matter what you did, but she’d also told you that after every camp you came back with a little bit less of yourself, that Vilda was stripping parts of you away to use at his mercy.

“It’s not the same thing, Patri, Pina, Mapi, they all have good reasons, they’ve all been hurt, Vilda is just trying to make me better, trying to make me worthy.”

Alexia’s hand squeezed tighter.

“You’re lying to yourself and you know it. As long as he is in charge, you aren’t going to get treated how you deserve, none of us are. We’ve all paid our dues, yet they don’t give a shit, they break us all down until we’ve got nothing left to give. They broke me down until I did my acl, if you hadn’t of left they would have done the same to you. It’s nonstop, even if it isn’t the same kind of abuse as Mapi, it’s still abuse, they still rip out every part of you in the process. Each time you come back you have less of yourself to offer, but they keep taking, and taking, they make us feel nothing. It’s a waste, it’s a waste of the wonderful life we’ve all been gifted. We deserve to be happy, we deserve to be free of the pain.”

You nodded your head, you’d been avoiding telling Mapi about all of this. You were conscious that she was still working through a lot of her own trauma, and you didn’t want to reopen scars that were only just beginning to heal.

“I don’t know what to do Ale, I sign the papers, I write the letters and I’m taking a stand, I’m trying to make a change. I stay, I wreck it all, but I keep my career. It feels like I’m at a crossroads with myself, and I can’t talk about it weith Maps because god forbid shes already been through enough with her own struggle through it all, she doesn’t need me on top of that.”

Alexia stood back up, getting back onto her mat and pushing herself into another stretch, all whilst she maintained eye contact with you.

“Mapi’s talked to you about her struggles, si? She’s burdening you with her own problems, yet it doesn’t feel that way, because you love her and you’d do anything to make her pain less. I guarantee she’d feel the exact same way. You’ve been through a lot, none of us will ever be able to completely comprehend what you’ve been through, but if you started talking to your loved ones about it we’d be able to support you better. Or a therapist, I know Barca has been giving you sessions, but I mean a real psychologist, not just a person who tells you that you need a day off. You need somebody to help you, to actually make you feel like you deserve better than how they treated you, because I know that you know that but I don’t think you really believe it.”

The tears were slowly coming to a standstill, slipping less frequently down your face as Alexia talked to you.

“I don’t want to make her hurt any more than she already has.”

Alexia just looked at you, with that double eyebrow raise and little crinkle in her forehead.

“If you think that Maria wouldn’t do anything for you, even if it meant sucking every single inch of pain from your body and putting it into hers, she would do it and she would do it with a smile on her face. Her whole world, her whole solar system revolves around you and she’d want you to talk to her about this. She knows better than anybody else what you’re experiencing, she’s literally been where you are, so why not talk to her about it?”

It was true, for as long as Mapi and you had been together she’d tried to fix every single thing, she would do anything to make you feel better, this didn’t feel the same though.

“She deserves to live in a world where Vilda, where the RFEF, don’t affect her anymore. She signed the petition, she’s cleaned her hands of it all, and I should have done it with her, but I didn’t. I chose to keep playing for the benefit of my career, because I was greedy and decided that a Ballon D’or and any kind of accolade I was a shot at was more important then taking a stand and I hate it. I hate that now that I’ve won things that suddenly it’s all hit me that I don’t like what’s been happening, and I don’t want to support it. Mapi doesn’t deserve to go through it a second time, all because I was greedy.”

Alexia switched sides on her stretch, the sun was radiating off of her olive skin and her blonde hair, she looked ethereal.

“Have you told her anything about it?”

Alexia was frowning, like she was shocked by your actions.

“She knows that I was struggling at camp, she told me I was welcome to talk to her. After the last one she knew something had changed, she told me she was worried and I shook her off, because I thought she was being overprotective, but she was right, she had reason to be worried, I wasn’t okay. I’m not okay, i don’t know how to process it all.”

Alexia nodded.

“Go home, tell her what’s happening, see what she says, I think it’ll be a lot better than whatever you’ve thought up. Mapi has been my bestfriend for years, she’s dated my sister, she’s dated my friends and I can confidently tell you that she loves you more than any of them, you’re her do or die, all she’ll want to do is support you, please just go and talk to her.”

Alexia looked at you with such conviction and honesty that you couldn’t find it in you to try and fight her on the topic.

“Thank you Ale, I needed this, I needed to talk to somebody, needed to feel less crazy.”

Alexia did one last stretch before standing up, pulling you into a tight hug before you could pull away.

“You’re not crazy chica, you’re going through a very real, very hard time, and you deserve to have the people around you show you how much they love you.”

Alexia let go of you, shoving you back towards the door.

“Go talk to your girl, and sign those papers, and be happy, enjoy life, enjoy peace. You deserve it, chica.”

You nodded into Alexia’s shoulder, letting go of her and slipping back into her apartment, leaving her to get back to her stretching.

You shivered when you spotted Mapi’s car already parked in her spot. You knew you’d be cutting it close with getting home earlier then her, but you’d held a silent hope that you would be the first home. You hesitated to exit your car, scared of what the inside of your apartment held. You weren’t scared so much, more a little bit tentative of the conversation that you were about to have, knowing that it could majorly impact your relationship. In your heart, you knew that Mapi would love you no matter what, but it didn’t calm the nerves inside of you as you pulled your keys from the ignition, pulled out the papers that your lawyer had given you and exited your car.

The whole walk from your car, to the elevator and then down the hallway to your apartment had your heart thrumming inside of your chest. Your hands were quite literally shaking as you pushed your key into the door.

You toed your shoes off at the door, slotting them down beside the door before slowly walking your way through the entrance. It wasn’t hard to find Mapi, she was right in front of you, sitting down at the island bench, patting Bagheera and eating a post training salad. You knew that there was one meant for you still sitting on the shelf of your fridge, from when the two of you had meal planned yesterday. She looked so undisturbed, with the afternoon light coming in through the gaps in the blinds and the general silence that you were about to break.

You announce yourself by slinging your bag down against the wall, a loud enough noise that seems to wake Mapi from her happy daze.

She smiles as soon as her eyes set on you and it only makes the weight in your gut feel ten times heavier and the pain in your heart ten times worse.

You wanted to turn around and walk right back out the door you’d just walked through, but you couldn’t, not with the way that Mapi looked at you, like her whole day had been made by your appearance.

“Hola bebita, how was your meeting?”

Mapi’s smiling ear to ear, quite literally, you swear you can see every single one of her teeth. It had hurt you to lie to Mapi about where you were going today, telling her that you’d had a crucial appointment with your manager about some media things, it wasn’t a direct lie. You had met with your manager, instead of it being positive though, it had been quite the opposite.

You didn’t have any words to reiterate to Mapi, so instead you just picked up the papers that were tucked away in your hands and placed them down on the island infront of her.

Mapi looked at you with confusion for a few seconds.

“Just read them, you’ll understand it more once you have.”

Mapi didn’t hesitate, picking up the first piece of paper and scanning over it, before moving onto the second, then the third and so on, till she’d made it through the entire stack.

You stood anxiously on your toes the whole time, balancing from one foot to the other as you contemplated how Mapi was going to reply to this sudden change.

When she did finish, she looked up at you, a lot of questions hidden behind her curious eyes.

“I’m resigning, or requesting they don’t call me up. I don’t want to play for a federation that doesn’t care about me. I’m sorry I didn’t do it earlier, but I wasn’t ready and I’m sorry I’m bother you with it now but I’m also sorry I didn’t tell you about it earlier, I met with my lawyer for the first time today to sign the documents and write my statement. If it all goes to plan then they should be out in the next week. I don’t want to do it anymore, I can’t do it anymore, I’m sorry.”

Mapi blinked a few times, like you’d just blindsided her completely, and you figured you had.

“I didn’t even really know it was happening until after last camp, and I just realised that I was so exhausted and so tired and so sick of it all that I couldn’t do it again. I should have done it earlier, I should have been a part of it all from the start but I was scared and I still am scared Maps. This is supposed to be my job, I’m supposed to be grateful for the opportunities I’m given and yet I feel like I’m a fraud and I’m lying when I say that because I’m not grateful and I’m not happy and I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t. I’ve been praying every night that I get injured, so that I get a break like Ale, and I don’t want to feel like that anymore.”

Mapi just stood up and pulled you into her arms, silencing the rambling and making you realise that you were now crying again.

She slowly led you towards the couch, bringing you into her arms as you tried to take control of yourself.

It felt like every piece of anguish, every piece of fear, every piece of internal hatred was slowly being pulled from your body and it felt so good, like you were somehow being healed.

Mapi wiated until you were coherent enough, until you felt more resurfaced, and less like the bloodn was rushing through your ears and every though of self-doubt was spirally through the different ridges of your brain.

“Princesa, you’ve made this decision for you, si? Not because of me, not because of anybody else, because you believe this is best for you?”

You nodded into her chest, enjoying the feeling of your own skin pressed directly to hers.

“I’m sick of them making me feel this way Maps, I don’t like it, I don’t think it’s right.”

Mapi’s body was surrounding you, her scent, her feel, her everything, and it was all you’d needed today, everything that Alexia had assured you would make you feel better.

Mapi’s salad was forgotten on the counter.

Bagheera was somewhere else.

It was just the two of you, just the two of you to face everything.

“We’re put into boxes, as women, men try to make us be everything and yet nothing. It’s not right, we’re expected to be as good as the men, but we have to behave eloquently, say our pleases and thank yous and never be ungrateful for the piss poor conditions we put up with. We’re supposed to be passionate, but we’re not allowed to over react in any way. We can only underperform, not overperform. There are no expectations for us, because we’re women and we’re supposed to be worse than the men, but they’re are also so many expectations for us to meet. It’s okay for you to be done with that, there is nothing wrong with you saying no to constantly being abused. You’re not a fraud bebita and I’m here for you no matter what. You’re my girlfriend first, a person second and a soccer player last. It doesn’t matter, none of it matters, you matter, you’re feelings and how you feel is what matters.”

Mapi’s hand pulled your head from her neck, her lips connecting with your forehead with ease.

“I’m not doing it anymore Maps. I want to be strong, I want to say no. I want to be a part of the right side of history. I don’t want to sit around pretending everything’s fine when it’s not fine. It’s nowhere near fine and until there is a change it won’t be.”

Mapi nodded, pressing a series of kisses to your forehead.

“Then we’ll work it out, you’ll keep me in the loop and we’ll figure it out together, no more hiding these big feelings from me. We’ll go and see our therapists and take soe time off and do whatever you need to feel safe and happy, because what matters is you, nobody else, si?”

You nodded your head once again, enjoying the same smile that her face was covered in. her lips migrated down to your cheeks, pressing kisses to the rosiest parts, pushing the tears away.

“I’ve got you bebita, we’ve got each other, we’re going to be fine, we all are.”

[thehigherseekerastro]

Random Astrology Observations (Alternative Meanings Love Edition) 2 🤨❤️🤔

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way, shape or form a professional astrologer, modern or traditional.

I HAVE been studying astrology for a while now, and analysing charts available to me, as well as my own, and noticed a lot of the info you find online doesn't make sense in real life, because it is too reductive, stereotypical or lacks broader context. So I thought I'd share some of my personal observations to see if it resonates with anyone.

This is NOT the end all, be all. Apply it as it makes sense to you.

**************************************************

The 1st House 🙋‍♂️

The 1H in synastry is a tricky one, because the first house itself is related to our individual identity. It is the house of self. So, when it comes to having a love planet here, things can get really murky. You'll often hear that it indicates instant attraction, but also only surface-level. While that is not entirely wrong, it would be a disservice to reduce it to just that. Yes, first house ties back to your physical appearance and external impact. But what does that mean for someone else being impacted and impacting that? Does it even apply in synastry? The answer is: YES. And it goes much deeper than you'd think. It will talk about an immediate recognition. It talks of being mesmerized by someone's look and demeanor, but that comes accompanied with an obsessive need to know more about you, to be around you, to soak up as much of you as possible, as if to aggressively learn you. And that's because you will tickle all the boxes the person had been holding inside (and vice-versa).

(e.g.: having someone's planet(s) fall into your 1st house doesn't just mean they will be attracted to you, if it's romantic. It also means the person feels like you two share a vibe, share interests, ideas. It means they feel like you move according to their speed, and therefore, that could lead to a lot of trust and comfort on their part, because you feel like a safe place. Not in the same sense as the 4H, but in a more "this person will have my back, cause we're the same!" kind of way. It makes the person feel like you are enough, because you fit them. So even if everyone else disagrees with them or doesn't understand them, they'll sort of look over at you, and if you validate them, that will be enough for them. They'd rather have your approval – since you are someone who gets them – than to have the approval of a bunch of people who don't understand where they are coming from.)

It truly is a beautiful thing, but even positive planets with positive aspects can lead to unwanted side-effects. The house person could come to resent the planet person because of how much they like them. Depending on who the house person is – if they have a dominant or prideful personality, for example – they may come to resent and even become angry with the planet person at times, because they'll feel so strongly for the planet person that they could start acting out of character for them, and that can make them feel like they're losing control of themselves. And as human beings, what do we do when we feel out of control? Shift blame and start looking for culprits. This DOES tend to wear off, though, exactly because of how intensely the house person feels for the planet person, but it can burn hot for a minute or two, specially if they end up getting into an ugly fight and the 1H person tries to forget the planet person, but they can't bring themselves to hate them. They'll get angry at the fact that no matter how hard they try to hate the person, they still feel enchanted by them.

(this could also create an unwanted feeling of "nobody else is like them", so the 1H could panic a bit at the thought of losing the planet person because 1H synastry creates the immediate feeling of the "perfect person for me", so imagine thinking you found the perfect person for you... it can make you feel like if you lose them you'll never recover, because no one else will be like them or able to replace them as perfectly)

All in all, though, first house Synastry tends to usually show up good results, depending on the planets and aspects involved. Another aspect of this synastry that doesn't get talked about for some reason is the fact that they tend to obsess over and notice the tiny details in each other. So it creates this effect of falling for them over and over and over again, cause they'll keep finding little things about the other person that they find enchanting, and THAT'S what creates the physical attraction. It's not that the planet or house person are conventionally attractive to everyone – they might not even fit the beauty standards –, but to the house person, those little details will sort of build up the planet person's beauty step by step, and by the time they catch on, they'll be enamored with every part of them, so, to the house person, the planet person truly is the most beautiful thing ever.

(1H house synastry also brings a 1st house energy to the attraction. NO - NOT ARIES. First house. But it will sound like arian qualities because Aries does rule the first house, after all. What this means is that a big part of the attraction for the 1H person is feeling like the planet person is independent, self-sufficient, confident, self-assured and capable. Because it's taping into their 1st house of self, the house person can sort of see the best of themselves reflected on the planet person, which means they feel like all the things they are insecure to show the world, the planet person has and is not afraid to show them. So they feel like planet person not only embodies their attraction ideal, but also the ideal personality they wish they had themselves. Which they do, but they don't realize it until planet person comes along and brings it out of them.)

First house Synastry is a complex kind of Synastry that is much more psychological than it's given credit for. People often focus on superficial physical attraction and gloss over the fact that it's like somebody is literally stepping into your mind and making your inner fantasies come out. It can feel very vulnerable and intense.

The 7th House 💍

Oh, isn't this one a gem?! Perhaps one of the most sought after in synastry. But the idea here is to provide an alternative perspective, so here goes: if it's badly aspected, or there's other challenging factors involved (the person falling into your 7H is problematic themselves), you're gonna run into the issues people often attribute to 1st house synastry, such as superficiality and a "false love" because 7H Synastry, regardless if it's good or bad, creates somebody who's "perfect on paper". They say the right things, they do the right things, they seem to fit into your whole ideals. But that does not guarantee that that's who they truly are. That's just who you think they are. Remember – the 7H is the house of "other". So it's not about you. It's about the other. But it's rather how you act around said other, and also how you perceive them.

(It's tough to say this, but you gotta be real to help some people out there who might have had 7H Synastry and didn't understand why the relationship failed, since everyone online claims it's a guaranteed soulmate. It's because Synastry goes both ways. And all houses have good and bad. There is no such thing as the perfect Synastry. But in the case of the 7H, I'd say it's the real life case of "if it's good, then it will be amazing. Truly a soulmate. But if it's bad... it will be awful. Just not immediately.)

Going off of the previous comment, another grim way this Synastry can turn out is in its binding effect. And I don't mean anything spiritual or abstract here. I mean literally binding. Imagine a relationship going sideways like that AND you are also now married or share a business together. MESS! This is the house of contracts and long-term. Remember Saturn exalts in Libra, because Libra likes things that last, and Saturn is the planet of long-term, so the house of Libra will sprinkle that lasting effect over whatever it touches. And if you're in a 7H relationship, that relationship will last with you, whether good or bad. It will take A WHILE to break off from it, either mentally, emotionally, psychologically, legally or financially.

(e.g. somebody has their moon in your 7H, but it's a moon at fall, in Scorpio, and it's afflicted in their natal chart. Now, at the beginning they will seem like a gift from God directly to you, so much so that you decide to make it official... And then, one or two years in, living together, each day it gets more toxic and draining and the dark sides just oozes out of your relationship. But now you are legally married, and divorcing will take time, bureaucracy, money and emotional energy, not to mention you'll have to uproot your entire life, explain it to your social circles and families... And what seemed like your dream come true was in fact a bitter lesson to learn).

To veer away from the dark twists of the last ones, let's dissect the correlations people make with the 7th house, like "oh, your spouse will be interested in art, and beauty, and music, and sophisticated things!" Why? Are you marrying a Libra? A Libra rising? Somebody with a Libra Venus? No? Then that has nothing to do with 7H Synastry. Houses are not signs, signs are not houses. Libra is one thing, the 7H is another. Venus rules Libra, which resides in the 7H, but Venus doesn't rule the 7H. It merely influences the 7H. It would be a better guess to say you might have met your person while they (or you) were already in a relationship than it is to say you met because of beauty-related things, or art, or music, since the 7H doesn't talk of any of those things, but it DOES talk of committed relationships.

(e.g. you might have met the person right after they (or you) got divorced. They might be connected to an ex of yours. Or another possibility that isn't talked about is how the person you eventually end up with is someone you have liked for a long time, but never got the chance to be with until now. Since this is the house of long-term relationships, having placements here could indicate that the person you ultimately stay with long-term is someone you already knew prior to getting together, but you needed to experience other relationships before you united with them.)

Another final aspect of placements in this house is the fact that it doesn't just deal with your love relationships, but also the way you consciously present yourself with others. How you behave socially. But also the mirror effect of this house, speaking directly about love. This is, after all, the house directly opposing the 1st house of self. In that regard, this is similar to 1H synastry, with the exception that in this one, instead of you coming out of your shell subconsciously, you make a conscious effort to become your best for your person here. You want to live up to all of your potential.

The 2nd House 💆‍♂️

This one is a bit tricky for me, because I'm not materialistic AT ALL. I have a Taurus Lilith in the 2nd house, so, I express it on the other end of the spectrum. When you have that placement, you either put too much value on money and material things, or you are completely unattached from it, and that's me. So the whole "money this, money that!" vibe is not my scene. I don't see a price in life, I see value. With that said, let's get this going.

Yes, this is the house of money and material things. Yes, it will deal with your personal finances. But no, unless other parts of your chart/Synastry agree with it, somebody's placements falling here should not have a lasting effect. It might merely indicate you overspending on dates and gifts. The 2H is the house of YOUR money, which means that the whole "oh, they're gonna shower you in gifts!", "And this is a sugar baby aspect!", "Your person will want to spend all their money on you and buy you expensive things!" is probably not gonna happen, sorry. If it does, it will be you spending your money.

(And if you do spend your money, the whole "gifts" thing is also not that common, because normal people don't just go around buying gifts for others every other day of the week, unless they have some sort of imbalance. Such a consumerist mindset! Not everything is about paying for things or buying things. That's a VERY American culture of dating, specially for women. This nasty idea that a man has to buy you or he's not good. Which is what encourages habits like thinking the man always has to be covering your finances (how old are you, 5? Get a job and pay for your own damn self! You are an adult woman), paying for your food, buying you a house, giving you gifts all the time and affording expensive dates. You are not a product. If your biggest incentive to be with a man is because of how much he pays for you, then that's the world's oldest profession, not a relationship of love. So this should play out more like them helping you manage your own finances. Don't go around thinking a 2H love placement is gonna turn you into Cinderella.)

If you do happen to be a stay-at-home person in your relationship, which is valid, as long as it's not all about money, 2H love placements and synastry will talk more about other material aspects of things. It will talk of stability, sustainability, longevity and security.

(e.g.: it could mean that you allocate your resources towards creating a safe, stable environment for your life together to flourish, such as buying things for your home together, revising your finances to make life goals and plans together more viable, setting budgets to achieve milestones together... as well as the literal physical aspects of valuables, so using your resources towards nourishment (food, shelter, clothing and health). Things that will ensure your relationship lasts and endures through hardships and tribulations. In the 2H of values, Synastry could indicate the relationship itself becoming your prized possession that you take care of. All the Earth houses are about caring for things, just in different ways.)

Another poorly explored aspect of the 2H is values in the moral, spiritual and emotional sense. It's WORTH. Both the causes you find worthy as well as your self-worth. A 2H love placement or Synastry can and will directly affect that. Even if you do happen to be dealing with financial/material things too, that can affect your self-worth directly.

(e.g.: say you are married to someone who is constantly in debt, or say your spouse is the breadwinner of the household and you depend on them financially. That can really take a toll on your self-worth. It can bring feelings of poor self-esteem, can you make you feel undervalued, inadequate, make you feel like a burden, or make you feel incapable of caring for yourself. It can strike your self-confidence and make you VALUE yourself less. Or the opposite. Your spouse may open you up to new possibilities of making money, which in turn gets you into a new passion project that you succeed in and that can make you feel like a worthy person, make you believe in yourself, make you feel important and valuable.)

I would argue that most often, it's the 8H Synastry that will really have your partner's materials affecting you, because the 2H is the house of your PERSONAL gains, while the 8H is the house of OTHERS' gains and possessions. Most often, the biggest impact I'd say 2H love placements have will be dealing with self-worth, self-confidence, shared values and morals, feelings of belonging and acceptance.

General Things ✨

What I see most often is that positive and negative outcomes tend to happen simultaneously. It's not all doom and gloom, but it's also not all sunshine and rainbows all the time. Sometimes it's great, sometimes it's not so great, and those ups and downs come and go. That's just life. Both are there to be worked with, worked for, or worked through. At the end of the day, astrology will not mandate your life events, and you have to always be learning from your life, and working on yourself and the things that matter to you. Astrology is just a guiding light to identify possible themes to be mindful of.

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That's it! Thank you if you've read it this far! I might have come off a bit harsh (I hope I haven't), but I promise I'm nice lol.

My whole goal is to try to discuss astrology in as realistically as possible, but while making it clear that any possible outcome is plausible. If most times all you hear are fantastic stereotypical descriptions of placements, such as 7H, the not so great ways in which it can play out will be explored here to help people navigate them. If all you hear are bad things about a house, then I'll try to show the positive ways in which it can come out.

The whole point is to try to bring a wide range of notions to these descriptions, together with the information that is already out there and available by many other creators.

At the end of the day, remember this is all POSSIBILITIES. Your personal life has to be analysed to know what's gonna ensue. And don't be discouraged, because the truth is that positive and negative effects tend to happen together for your best.

Hope you have a good day when you find this!

MASTERLIST

[lady-raziel]

and alright, here's my last (let's hope) and boldest take yet. lots of people have been talking about the level of staff (around 25-ish people) at watcher, and whether downsizing that number could have been a potential avenue of reducing costs before just jumping to a subscription model. at first i was like yeah, i'm not sure that there needs to be 18 people involved in making a lets play. i was in the fucking trenches in the unus annus days and i'm still amazed how markiplier and ethan nestor managed to put out pretty well edited videos every day for a whole year with only a handful of editors and a couple people filming. what unus annus was trying to do and what watcher is trying to do are obviously pretty different, but the point is that you really don't need a whole crew of people to make lots of different types of content and do it well.

i still think there probably doesn't need to be a whole production crew involved with the creation of some of the simpler types of content watcher puts out. however, i don't think the size of the staff is the real problem. in fact, i think the staff of watcher probably should have been larger.

let me explain. if i begrudgingly go to one of my most detested websites (linkedin. *bleeegh*) and look up watcher, i can see that pretty much every person on staff is in a creative role of some sort by their own admission. at first glance, its like, oh, that makes sense. they're making creative products, it's natural that they should all be in creative roles. however, once you think about it for a little longer from a business perspective, that fact is really concerning.

after all, by watcher's own definition, this is a production studio. this is a company. So in this sea of creative roles, who's doing corporate planning? Who's managing finance? Who's doing payroll? Or brand outreach? Or human-freaking-resources??? you can hire outside groups for all this. i'm aware. but those services cost a lot of money to contract too. i'm just finding it concerning that there is pretty much no one on full time staff that is there to at least do some of this stuff. if watcher wants to be a big-boy company, that's fine, but that means you have to pay some people to be part of your company to do the not-fun business stuff like accounting. or resource management.

if they want to be a real company, they should actually have a lot more people on staff to deal with all the non-creative parts of running a company. even if they contract out most of it, you want at least a few people that are your people and don't actually work for someone else. that's how you don't get screwed over or end up in a contract you can't get out of.

which leads me to my last train of thought. like, as i go through the staff of watcher and look at what they do, it really seems like one of the ONLY people who's job it was to look at the business side of things WAS steven lim in his role as CEO. and thinking about that, i'm like god, can you imagine?? here's a guy who just wants to create cool stuff too but as one of the few people who has to think about the realities of Brand and the Business, HE has to be the one to burst the bubble. He as CEO has to say no to people and make decisions to make sure the company survives. In a group of creative people who just want to make things they're interested in, no expense spared, he was probably the guy who had to stay at least a little tethered to reality.

I'm not about to say that steven lim isn't to blame here. everyone involved in making the decisions that have led up to this point is part of this. but shit, it absolutely sucks to have to be the person at the end of the brainstorm session when everyone is coming up with their best ideas and to have to say "guys, i don't think any of these things are possible unless we make some big decisions."

is that what happened at watcher HQ? i don't know. at this point, with radio silence from everyone, speculation is all we've got. but if you follow the thread of a bunch of creatives striking out on their own to make their own business after being burned by their former employer, despite not knowing really how to run a business, and then only hiring fellow creative people and not other people who actually run business things... well, all of this starts to make slightly more sense in WHY none of watcher's actions make sense. everybody wants to stick it to the man and be their own boss with their own business, until it actually comes to the hard parts of doing that. at that point people start to realize, "oh, maybe some of the things that existed at my old job were there for a reason, actually."

all this is why lots of creatives striking out and starting their own businesses don't work in the end. they're thinking about in terms of creative products still, when they really need to be focusing more on the "business" part of the "creative business." it's sad. it sucks. it destroys a lot of good ideas and good people, because one person in every company like that has to be the one who thinks practically. could this have been avoided if watcher had been hiring people all along to manage this business and not just adding people to add to the creative output? maybe. even then it might not have been enough to curb other predictable impulses that led us down this path.

i feel bad for watcher, and i feel bad for the fandom. but i can't help but wonder if this was always the kind of situation we were going to end up in, and we just missed some of the warning signs because ALL of us were thinking, "well, that could never happen to us. we're different. not the Ghoul Boys."

[anon-sect]

have you ever thought about turning someone into deodorant?

Picture Source: internet

Alec loved living with his long-time friend and roommate Xavier. They had been close friends for at least fifteen years and roommates the past three years. Both were straight jock dudes living in a two bedroom apartment. The only issue was that Xavier had a younger brother on his mid twenties who was gay, named Jake. Jake would often hit on him when Xavier wasn't around. He would warn him about it, but he would persist. He even told Xavier about it, but Jake would deny it each time. It was getting so annoying.

One day, after getting hit on for the hundredth time, Alec had enough. He wanted to end the annoyance once and for all. There was one way he thought would be so much fun to end it.

While Xavier was at work, Jake came over to the place. He once again flirted with Alec. Alec took out his phone and hit the flash option. Jake was reduced to a bar of deodorant. He picked it up off the floor. He opened the top and sniffed it. The scent was so wonderful. He laughed at the bar of deodorant. "I told you to stop it and your fag butt wouldn't listen. Now you are going to pay for it. I am going to give you to your straight brother. He will love this scent and will use you often to smell good for the ladies he goes out with." Alec paused. "Each time he swipes his arm pits with you, you will dwindle away to nothing. And soon, your brother will completely use you up, totally unaware, helping me get rid of you." He finished and laughed at the bar of deodorant once again. He couldn't wait for his roommate to come home from work.

Jake didn't like his fate. Being deodorant would not be fun. Eventually, he would be all used up by his big brother, and nothing would be left of him. Alec would use his own brother to erase him completely, unaware. He mentally cried, hoping his brother won't fall for the trap.

Xavier walked in a little tired from work. He saw Alec handing him a wrapped box. "What's this?" He asked before unwrapping it.

"You know how I forgot your birthday and didn't buy you a gift. Well, I want to make up for that. I hope you like it." Alec spoke while waiting for his roommate to open his special gift.

Xavier opened the wrap box to find a bar of deodorant. The label looked expensive. He opened the top and sniffed it. It smelled so exquisite and expensive. He loved the scent so much already. "Dude, I love it. I am going to use this a lot. Thanks. The ladies won't be able to resist me when they smell this." He spoke as both laughed.

Alec laughed for a different reason. He knew Xavier's annoying little brother was that bar of deodorant. The fact that his roommate would never know made the fate even more funny to him. Jake would be tortured by his own brother, and he would never have to see Jake ever again. That put a smile on his face. "It was a limited edition. So I won't be able to buy you another one. So try to stretch it out as much as possible." He spoke, knowing poor Jake heard every word.

Jake was mentally screaming for his brother not to believe Alec. He didn't want to be his deodorant and be used up. He mentally cried and pleaded for his brother to hear him, but all to no avail. He was helpless to change his fate. He saw his brother immediately start swiping him with his arm pits. With each swipe, parts of him faded away into nothingness. It was horrible. He begged for his brother to stop erasing him.

Xavier put some on and smelled himself. He loved how he smelled. "Definitely going to take your advice. I have to make this one last as long as I can." He spoke to Alec as he went to put up his special deodorant.

Alec smiled as the plan worked perfectly. He got his roommate a birthday gift and got rid of his annoying brother at the same time. It was a win-win for him.

FOUR WEEKS LATER......

Xavier swiped on the last of his special deodorant. All of it was now gone. He threw the container in the trash like common garbage without a single care.

Alec saw Xavier toss away the deodorant container. He smiled as Jake was gone forever now. No more unwanted flirting. Xavier did ask when he last saw his brother, but he told him that he didn't know when he last saw him come by. Jake would soon be a missing person report in which they will never find him unless they are looking for a special discarded deodorant container.

[puffballwarrior-blog]

After months of putting this off, I'm finally posting stuff for Spectral Dreams :D

Click for higher quality

Introducing the mascot, Magonyan! The Yo-Kai version of Magolor.

He's a C-rank Fire Attribute Yo-Kai freed by Nate from the Crank-a-kai. His inspiriting causes lying when you don't mean to. His Skill is Resistance which reduces effects from enemy inspirits. His Soultimate is Bombs of Fury, which is basically just a fire attribute Paws of Fury.

Edit: this has been changed! His Soultimate is now called Mago Bomb Barrage

There's gonna be a MASSIVE lore dump under the cut if you wanna read.

Over 200 years ago, he died being mauled by a dog, thus losing his limbs. After that, he discovered that no one could see him and thought he could do whatever he wanted without consequences. He snuck into a village altar and stole the crown of a tyrant, the Overlord's Crown. He put it on and fused with it, creating a powerful Yo-Kai named Overnyan.

Magonyan thought it was the coolest thing ever, wanting to test his new form's power. But little did he know, the crown he fused with was taken over by a Wicked Yo-Kai. It took over his body and wreaked havoc on the village. But before it could cause any more destruction, a little pink Legendary Yo-Kai stopped him, and he was sealed away in the Crank-a-kai.

While sealed away, he felt all alone. No one to talk to, alone with his thoughts in a tiny cramped capsule. A decade later, he heard a voice, a new Yo-Kai had been sealed away in a capsule just like he was. The voice was rambling on and on about his old master, a shogun who died in a war. Magonyan listened intently to him, even chiming in to make a conversation. They built a close friendship over the years they were trapped despite never seeing each other's faces. Until one day, Magonyan's friend was freed from the Crank-a-kai, leaving him alone once again.

It didn't take long for him to be next, however. He was freed by an average-looking human boy, Nate. Magonyan noticed how much attention Jibanyan got and decided to make a costume of him, even pretending to be him at one point. It was then he discovered his love for making costumes and made a lot of different cosplays of other cat Yo-Kai.

(Unrelated to lore but I imagine if he were in a game, you could customize which costume he wears when befriending different cat Yo-Kai.)

They wound up finding the Overlord's Crown once more but Magonyan only fuses with it if it's a dire situation, he does not want to be taken over by the Wicked again.

Soon, the stuff with Dame Dedtime happened, and Wicked Yo-Kai were taking over Old Springdale and the humans and Yo-Kai in it. In the final fight, Magonyan fused with the crown and dealt the final blow to Dame Demona. Because of this, Kin and Gin sent him back in time to try and change his fate in an attempt to "revive" Dame Dedtime, similar to what they did with Jibanyan and Whisper. He refused, choosing to die again and return to his friends. Reliving his death was scary, but worth being able to be in an afterlife with friends.

After a while, something happened and he ended up losing control as Overnyan again. This caught the attention of Lord Enma and for the sake of Springdale, he sealed him away in the Infinite Inferno. Magonyan ended up fighting the big bosses inside in order to get out, making friends with those wrongly in there along the way who also wanted out. In the end, instead of Wobblewok, he had to fight the Wicked Yo-Kai who had broken free from the crown. When things looked bad, Magonyan picked up the crown and fused with it once more, finally having it under his control. He picked up a sword that had mysteriously appeared on the ground, one that bore a striking resemblance to the Enma Blade, and used it to defeat the Wicked that caused all of this.

(I imagine the fight would be similar to the Yo-Kaiju fight in YKW3 with controlling every action)

After the fight, he's approached by none other than Lord Enma himself. He explains that he sent Magonyan to the Infinite Inferno because he thought he was abusing the power of the crown but knows now that it was the Wicked's doing all along. After he properly apologizes for the misunderstanding, he agrees to let Magonyan out of the Infinite Inferno with the Overlord's Crown and the sword he gave him under the promise that he would use their power responsibly. Magonyan agrees without hesitation and he is let out.

After escaping, he notices that Nate is nowhere to be found in Springdale, his family isn't even in their house. Where could he have gone? And what's Magonyan supposed to do now?

[cerridwen007]

Icy Hot.

Images above from pinterest are for aesthetic purposes only*

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (afab)

Word count: 1.4k MINORS DNI!(18+)

Summary: Javi finds a new, interesting way for you to cool down during a hot Colombian day.

Notes/warnings: SMUT, temperature play, toys, inappropriate use of ice cubes, Javi being a cheeky menace, body worship, male masturbation, javi picks reader up but he is a strong boy and can pick up any one, probably bad spanish, swearing, no y/n.

A/N: Wrote this months ago but couldn't be bothered editing it again till now so here it is finally. I live in the southern hemisphere so now and especially at the time of writing this, it was stinking hot, which of course prompted the idea. Any interactions with my posts are appreciated, hope yall enjoy. love ya!

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It was a scorching hot Sunday afternoon in Bogotá; Columbia, a rare day off for both you and Javi that was usually spent out and about hanging with friends, cleaning the apartment and spending some quality time with each other. But unlike those others treasured Sundays, absolutely nothing was being achieved by either of you today. The both of you were sprawling out in your underwear on the couch. A situation that usually would've prompted some very heated activities, but both of your brains seemed to have been fried and groggy from the sweltering temp in the apartment.

The windows were shut to keep out as much of the heat as possible and the nasty flies that came with the summer heat. The dusty old fan beside the coffee table did next to nothing in cooling you down, instead pushing the hot warm back onto you. You looked over at Javi, leaning back into the couch, legs and arms spread out as he leans on the back of the couch. God, he looked so delicious even in these circumstances.

A drop of sweat beaded at his temple and fell down his jaw and neck. Licking your lips, you could almost taste the salty taste lingering on your tongue. You sighed, knowing getting handsy right now, as tempting as it was with such a handsome boyfriend who looked extremely hot right now would only make you even more overheated. You lifted one of your hands to help fan yourself, a feeble attempt to take your mind off the heat, uncomfortably sticking like a second skin to all of your body.

Javi, on the other hand, was thinking about how he could cool you down. He hated seeing you so tired and exhausted from the heat, a nice Sunday spoiled by the overbearing heat of Columbia. Suddenly, it hits him, a wide smirk spreading on his face before he can stop it. Luckily, you're too buzzed out to notice. He quickly sneaks off to your bedroom to retrieve something.

You, a curious creature usually would have immediately wondered what he was up to but right now you couldn't care less with the humidity causing your skin to glisten with salty stick drops of sweat, and your brain reduced to mush, you were unable to give much of a second thought to his actions.

You close your eyes as the heat brings you to a light sleep but manage to pick on some muffled noises of Javi mucking around in the kitchen. After a few minutes, but what seems like hours in your disoriented state, Javi tip toes behind the couch where you are resting and reaches out to trace an ice cube along your collarbone.

Your body jolts, unexpecting of the drastically different temperature melting down below your neck. Your eyes flick open, eyebrows automatically raising to question what the hell on earth Javier was doing.

"Relax Hermosa, just thought I'd try something different to try and cool us down."

He reaches his palm down, cupping your face, doing his very best puppy eyes to try to convince you to let him try out his idea. Biting your lip, you tried to hide your grin. Javi smiles deviously, knowing you better than yourself, that you are already sold on the idea. He walks around to the front of the couch, popping one of the ice cubes in his mouth and grins.

He straddles your lap, you almost whine feeling his already hard cock, pressed up against your aching core. He presses his lips to the side of your neck, instantly creating goosebumps throughout your body. Your body arches into his as his icy cold lips trace down the curves of your sticky body. He reaches behind you and carefully undoes your bra behind your back, throwing it to the ground, revealing your swollen nipples.

A deep groan arises from the back of his throat as he watches a droplet of water melt between the valley of your breasts, his pupils double in size, transfixed by the sight before him. The ice cube now fully melted leaves his tongue still cold as he attaches his lips to the painfully hard peaks on your chests, making you moan loudly. His eyes go between closing in bliss to looking up at your beautiful features. His hips subconsciously grind into yours, further prolonging the aching of your clit.

Your fingers dig into Javier's fluffy hair as the heat begins to overcome your body again. You whine feeling a need for more and because of the discomforting heat.

Seeing how your body was both warmed up and cooled down he withdrew his lips from your nipples and placed a few kisses down your stomach before getting up off the couch to go and retrieve something else from the kitchen.

"Close your eyes, mi diosa." He softly tells you.

You swallow harshly and close your eyes, gut swirling with anticipation of what Javi had in store next. Before your brain can wander, you feel a very cold large object touch ever so slightly to your clit through your panties, the action making every single inch of your skin immediately flare up in goosebumps again, eliciting a soft whine to fall from your lips. Which earns a chuckle from Javier. Your eyes open slowly to find a smirking Javier sitting on the other end of the couch with one of your old toys.

"Javi...?" You ask breathlessly.

"I know, I know I've said I like to be the only thing to satisfy your needs, but I obviously couldn't put my dick in the freezer." He jokes.

You smile wide, but before you can respond he quickly wips your underwear off as he places the tip back onto your clit and slowly drags it downwards through your drenched folds.

"Ffffuck..." you moan.

"I'll get there, don't worry, sweetheart." He winks.

You exhale a breathy laugh that turns into a moan as Javi continues dragging the tip back and forth through your lips, catching on your clit with every motion. You weren't sure what had come over, Javi. He usually wasn't so playful in the bedroom, but you didn't mind it one bit.

Keep his eyes transfixed on your body, studying every inch like a painting. He palms himself through his black boxers. He nudges the tip of the dildo at your entrance, holding it there. You squirm trying to push it inside you, desperate to be filled by something. 

"Please.....Javi..." you whine weakly.

"Dime que lo quieres, dime cuánto lo necesitas." Javier whispers, as he slowly pulls himself out of his draws and strokes his length. His eyes roll back as his head falls between his shoulders from the feeling after depriving himself for so long. But he soon forces himself to look at the pure desperation on your face.

"Please.....fuck please Javi...need it so bad...please just give me something... anything." You plead , begging as you try and grind upwards, seeking some stimulation.

Javier swallows deeply, feeling his cock ache from your words. 

"Fuck mi vida, look so fucken pretty when you beg for be me."

You gasp as he quickly slips half of the dildo deep into your heat. The cool silicone easing the fiery walls. Javi spits on his tip and begins furiously stroking himself, trying his best to match the same pace as he fucks you with the pink toy. Within minutes, both of you are reduced to a whimpering mess.

"Mmm this pussy is all mine, ain't she?"

Before you can respond, he reaches out to stick his thumb in your mouth. You quickly take it, sucking harshly, leaving it covered in spit. He groans, watching you, pinching the base of his dick to keep from coming just yet.

He resumes his original plan and brings his wet thumb to your throbbing clit. Circling it gently just how you like it.

“Need you come for me sweetheart... come for me." He moans.

Your hands fly out and grip Javier's veiny forearm to anchor yourself to him as your high overcomes you.

"Oh...ffffuck...Javi..."

He fucks you harshly with deep fast strokes through your high, mimicking his own strokes as he begins to reach his climax.

He comes onto your thighs and mound before collapsing his upper half on your stomach.

You smile at him, eyes peeking open at his messy, post sex hair. You reach out and swipe it out of his face, scratching his scalp.

"Mmmh, feeling cooler yet, amor?" he asks.

"I mean, I did, but now I think it's time for a cold shower so we can really cool down."

You wink.

He grins widely, chuckling as he picks you up, throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the shoulder. It was going to be a long hot night, in more ways than one, but at least Javi reckons he saw some ice blocks in the freezer earlier…

*************

Translations: ‘mi diosa’ - my goddess

‘Mi vida’ - my life.

‘Dime que lo quieres, dime cuánto lo necesitas’ - ‘Tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you need it.’

************

[queer-ragnelle]

I hope you don't mind me asking. But how do you create PDF files that you can search through them? Your method is so unique, so I'm curious.

Hi anon!

After I scan a book and have a PDF saved, it can’t be searched. It has to be edited and made that way. So I open it up in Adobe Acrobat. There’s a tool called “Optimize PDF” which has a lot of different features you can fine tune the settings of but essentially what it does is:

Straighten out the text to be perfectly horizontal and level (I try to scan two pages at a time then crop, so raw scans can be a little wonky)

Recognizes the text on the page (which allows key word search, highlighting, commenting, everything you can do with a word document)

Reduces file size (I scan at 300 or 400 dpi, which makes a sharp image, but a huge file, so this compresses it to be easier to store and share)

I find this aspect of scanning to be very valuable, personally, as it can make researching and referring back much easier. Even though I’ve already read these books, searching through for a specific scene is vastly more efficient when you can pinpoint the exact sentence based on a remembered phrase. It’s also nice to be able to highlight those to emphasize a point. Furthermore by reducing the file size it’s much easier to share the information with others. I’m able to attach files to messages without going over limits and I can open the books right from the google drive mobile app wherever I go.

Like if I’m out and about wondering just how much Cherith Baldry loves Kay, I can crack open Exiled From Camelot and do this

2,387 mentions of Kay? Yeah. He’s kind of a big deal. ;^)

But real talk accessibility is an important aspect of my archival work. I try to provide the best version of a scan I can with my limited resources because I don’t know that the book will survive otherwise. Ruth PM Lehmann has passed away, so scanning Blessed Bastard, which only had a limited printing to begin with and now lacks a beneficiary, felt significant to me. The same goes for Peter Hanratty’s The Book of Mordred, which is an English translation of a German story and hasn’t been in print for decades. As for medlit, La Tavola Ritonda and my janky scanner tested my will to live but it ended up being so worth it to see everyone’s thoughts on it! I couldn’t find PDFs of these texts available anywhere, so I wanted to make sure they were preserved in the most accessible state possible for everyone to enjoy.

Anyway I hope that answers your question. I’ve got two books on the way I’m going to scan next and looking forward to sharing! :^) Take care.<3

[haeresys-realm]

More than disgusting to see.

How can children fantasies be that dumb and cringe. Just why. How. How can they look at asexual male dominative male scientist character and think....this?! It spoils all mood to normal people. Please make smth with your perception. The lore reality is absolutely opposite to your strange fantasies.

------

P.S. and Upd.

Ok then. How much crybabies will tape 😭😭😭 and try to humiliate the one they don't even know just because he thinks otherwise and opposed to them have objective reasons and arguments? You don't humiliate me by this, kids, you humiliate yourselves.

As I see by these reblogging (my bad I didn't know how to turn it off and didn't even thought that little note will have such resonating) and inadequate attention and reactions, even meine lieben Tumblr started to be a new X/twitter or reddit junk; please stop it and let people express their opinion without wheeping to your little jackal friendies how much someone's normal views fucked you up. I'm stressed and frustrated, and this even makes me (my wife, friends and all people who still can think not following every new trends) feel too much more bad because even your negative campaigning is not smth that will make make me glad, I don't search for popularity, but I'm always happy to see people who are not these superficial and naive youngsters who consider themselves entitled to play with other peoples concepts and consider that they can do anything with them. As long as theyre young, theyre cocky, considering themselves adults, thinking right and that the world belongs to them. And thats why I hate modern kids so much; I already know that attempts to explain something to them lead to a culture of cancellation and attempts to copy you to girlfriends on Twitter and cheat in a crowd, like a herd of brainless hyenas, who are literally no one alone in their stupid childrens complexes. They screwed up the Internet, they screwed up all the creative platforms, for them now being gay is some kind of stupid religion. At the same time, even in the picture from above, they show it as a cringe, but for some reason they promote it. Can you decide? Fucking. Just do not meddle with adults who are brought up according to COMPLETELY different criteria, who value and respect the canon, and do not invent nonsense, distorting characters to the opposite and reducing everything to digging in shorts and fucking ass. Show adequacy, and then I will do you all the best. If not, then at least disappear from my field of vision and stop collectively infringing on the opinion of one person, thereby showing literally the same thing that happened to the Doctor in Twilight. Cancellation by the Academy, because different views, but at the same time he is right and knows it. How much stronger can one person be than tens and hundreds if his informed opinion causes such resonance and resentment, making you complain to others about me? Start growing up now. Thank you for your attention. All adequate people have a good day.

I know how funny ot could sound by machine incorrect translation (coz now I have no time to edit this and explain everything to those who will just NOT listen, children are very aggressive to everything that contradicts what they want to see for any reason) and how sharp and strange it is not if it is read by child 10-18+

But if you know what it is to respect an intellectual work and other's characters and person, you'll never do such inappropriate things as writing gayshit about REAL PEOPLE who are straight persons, or making some dumb and OOC (out of character) even to make quite OPPOSITE character to heroes of the Universe that was invented, made/written not by you even a bit. In our world where we can face the canceling "culture" for every little action or even word, yes, this IS fuckin THIS SERIOUS you stupid children. I hope everyone who think it's ok, will feel and live all this on their own. Good luck to all who already do understand it and thanks for attention.

[nnnyxie]

Feeling a lil down about myself, what would you think about Izu x chubby reader? Reader isn’t necessarily insecure but does have bad days, maybe some of Izu‘s fans were being extremely horrible to reader or something because of their weight (I live for protective!Izu) and reader just shuts themselves off and is rotting away in a pile of blankets in their apartment while Izu dosen’t get what’s going on at all- he adores reader and isn’t all like „oh but your boobs and ass and thighs“ he just adored READER you know??? Often when I read x chubby!reader they only mention their curves and thighs and what not but I don’t think reducing plus size people to curvy plus size people is very inclusive so idk if that makes sense but yeah kwnfksld

#𖢥 izuku anon

baby i am loving these requests and i’m happy to give you chubby rep!!

i sorta based it on how i get when i’m insecure about myself so i’m sorry if it isn’t what you were hoping for :(

some days it’s just hard yk?? people get mean and it can really fuck with your brain. it makes it hard to look at yourself sometimes.

especially when you’re with a pro hero. people think that you ‘don’t belong together’ just cause you two have different body types. and it’s sickening how people think that way.

it makes you feel awful— all of the hateful comments you get under your posts gets overwhelming and sometimes you have to archive them all together. sometimes you even have to deactivate your account because they get so overwhelming.

izuku always wonders why you do that— you never give him a real reason. just a ‘i don’t feel like being on social media right now’. he knows it’s not the truth but, he doesn’t want to pry. he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable by hounding you for answers.

but tonight— tonight was awful. the first thing you saw while opening instagram was a picture of you and your lovely boyfriend, something a fan posted. the fan was nice!! their post was a cute edit and it was an appreciation post!! but the comments— the comments were sickening. they were filled with so much hate, it made you physically ill. and today you weren’t ‘feeling’ yourself so the comments didn’t exactly help.

you deactivated your account again. now you were thinking about just deleting it all together. it won’t stop the hate but it’ll stop you from seeing it. either way— you decided to try and push those awful comments away and read, maybe it could lighten your mood.

it didn’t. the thoughts kept coming back— you couldn’t even read a full paragraph. it felt awful. you felt awful. maybe a shower would help?

as soon as you stepped foot in the bathroom, you stepped right back out. it hurt to look at yourself. it made you cry. you weren’t particularly insecure but these comments were ruthless and they just really got to you this time.

when izuku got back home from patrol, he found you in your shared bed, you were curled up in a pile of blankets with nearly all the pillows surrounding you. he heard your crying— and was immediately concerned. why wouldn’t he be?

“love, what’s the matter? did you watch the neverending story again?” he sat beside you and pulled the blankets down so he could full see your face. this wasn’t your ‘sad movie’ cry. this was entirely different.

“hey, what’s going on?” “it’s nothing— i uhm just read something sad is all.” you were a very poor liar.

“be honest with me, please? is something going on?” he was now laying beside you, holding you from behind. “i just— do you really want to be with me? i’m not—” you choked, crying more at the thought of him leaving for someone ‘better’ (there is no one better). “of course i do. i love you. why wouldn’t i want to be with you?” “how aren’t you… how aren’t you disgusted by me?” “why would you ever think i’d feel that way towards you? i love all of you. and everyday i find more to love about you.”

then— it clicked. he remembered.

“is this about that post? bakugo sent it to me… he told me to look at the comments— baby if i knew this was happening sooner i would’ve done something about it. why didn’t you tell me?” he rubbed your arm in comfort, he knew all about being insecure— of course he couldn’t relate to where yours stemmed from but, he knew how awful it felt to feel like you aren’t enough for people. “i didn’t want you to be mad at them. they’re your supporters.” “they aren’t my supporters if they’re treating you this way.” he took a breath, he was upset. not by you— never. but, by the hateful people. “i love you, and every part of you. i’ll never be disgusted by you and i’ll never want anyone else. i only want you.” god you loved him.

“can you turn so i can see that pretty face?” you turned to face him. izuku had a smile but, his eyes welled when he saw the tear streaks that ran down your cheeks. he cupped your face, swiping his thumps to wipe away the stray tears that still fell. “you’re the most beautiful person i have ever met.” you cried again, not because you were upset— but, because, he was just so wonderful to you. izuku held you, letting you cry into him.

“i’ll address it.” “you don’t need to.” “i’m going to.”

don’t mind the neverending story part…. i just rewatched it today and cried abt the horse scene… artax :(

[mushroommanstan]

I’m OBSESSED with your creepy Tenko omg. I’d loooooooove to strap him down to his bed for hours with one of those automatic cock sucker pumps that just completely milks him until nothing else comes out and his eyes roll back and he’s drooling like in his favorite hentais. And maybe some sweet aftercare from the reader after he’s too fucked out to even speak<3. UGHHHHH he gives me cuteness aggression or something I swear I wanna eat him up

“Alright baby, just a little more.” You said, dabbing his forehead sweat with a towel as he jerked around. He was a moaning mess, his eyes rolled back into his head as the machine did its job, not even slowing for a second as he busted another load. You watched the thick white liquid being sucked through a transparent tube, before dripping into the thermos with the rest.

One could argue what you were doing was selfish, using your boyfriends body to make some bucks. But he agreed to it, and by the looks of it he certainly didn’t mind. So really what’s the harm?

You got the idea while having sweet sweet sex with your beloved Tenko. You needed the stress reliever after trying, and failing, to collect enough pocket money for the new limited edition Super Hero Bros game before it went away forever. It wasn’t enough, those games were always wicked expensive, and with finals coming up you couldn’t give it the attention it needed.

So, of course, you went to your boyfriend for help. You needed his long cock to pound the stressful thoughts out of your brain for a while. So happily, he accepted your invitation to the party between your legs, and began pounding into like there was no tomorrow, like usual.

You noted in your foggy brain how weird his stamina was. Like always, he kept cumming in short sporadic bursts of 2 to 3 minutes, but not even stopping for a second in between. It always left a waterfall of cum flowing out of you by the end, one that’s a pain in the ass to clean if you’re being honest.

Just think though, all those people with erectile dysfunction and stuff who wanna have kids, meanwhile you’re wasting the breeder of the century by just washing away his cum every time. Hmmm, actually… maybe… I wonder if?

Afterwards, after the both of you were satisfied to the moon and back, just barely awake you searched up on your phone if you could sell cum. The sperm banks rates immediately showed up and… oh man… that’s a lot. And-and that’s just for one little cup? Tenko could fill those up like a god damn dispenser. Damn, that’d be like printing your own money…..

Which is what led you to the present. Currently, you had Tenko strapped to the bed (the restraints were his idea) spread eagle with one of his old vibrating fleshlights on his spicy boner. You were able to use your engineering classes for knowledge and resources to attach a clear tube to the fleshlight that would collect the sperm and transfer it into one of your thermoses.

Despite him agreeing to this, you felt a little bad about using him like this for a profit, so you decided to make this as fun for him as possible. That, and well, you just like seeing him squirm. So while the expensive hand-less fleshlight did it’s thing, you put his scrawny thighs over your shoulder and just demolished his prostate with your fingers before grabbing his favorite strap on.

You two have been doing this for hours, pushing his body to the limits, and at this point he was reduced into a puddle of tears and “milk”. His eyes were rolled back into his head, his face a red mess, his eyes now waterfalls, and his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he screamed for you.

“C’mon baby” you said, stroking his cheek lovingly before slapping him, making him moan out. “Just one more then we’ll stop. You can do it.” Your hips were beginning to buckle, stiff and sore from the constant thrusting but you persevered. You couldn’t stop now, not when he was mewling so preciously for you, still moving his hips along with yours and thrusting into the fleshlight like a bitch in heat. Fuck, he was so beautiful like this, you almost wanted to leave him like this and keep him as the work of art he is. But you knew that wasn’t possible, so you instead savored every drool filled, eye rolling lustful second with him.

It didn’t take long before he let out a hoarse, reedy whine, signaling his closeness. You smirked, beginning to fondle his balls as you milked his body for all its worth. He whines out, his worn body tensing as the last of the cum in his balls is pulled from his cock in a flurry of white hot pleasure. He tries to scream, key word here is try, as only a few spurts of cum come out, the very last of the batch, something you thought you’d never see. You wait until it’s completely traveled into the thermos before you pull out, turning off the powerful vibrator attached to your hips.

It takes a few good tugs to get the pump off him even after it’s turned off, and his cock, now devoid of life to give, falls limp onto his stomach, shrinking slowly back into its dormant state.

You tighten the lid on the thermos before placing it into the freezer in his mini-fridge, right next to the frozen pizza pockets and vodka he keeps in there. Yeah, he’s a little naughty. Then you shoot a quick text scheduling the appointment at the “bank” before turning your attention to your sweet baby.

He’s completely drenched in sweat, the bedsheets too, but he’s too exhausted to move. So you grab some wet wipes and wipe him down till he’s passably clean before pulling his boxers back up and collapsing next to him.

You wrapped your arm around his chest, tsking as you felt him tremble. He was crying softly, letting out little hiccups as he tried to calm down. “Oh calm down, you big baby.” You said softly.

He didn’t look at you, his eyes still glued to the ceiling and exotropia’d slightly in exhaustion. You got a little worried, only teasing before, so you whispered concernedly “you doing ok?”

Your head, nestled into his neck, felt his chin bump into it as he gave the faintest of nods making you sigh in relief. You kissed his neck, fretting a little over the texture of the fresh scars, and slapping his shoulder not too hard and scolding him. It was clear from just one glance at his state that no words were going to stick, so you sighed, pulling the blanket over the two of you and promising yourself to punish him in the morning. Maybe some spanking? Yeah, that’ll do it.

You know he’s trying to stay awake a little longer, just for you. You could see his eyes straining as he waited to see if you had anything left to say. And while it was sweet, you knew he desperately needed to rest, so you decided to hit his natural snooze button.

You weaved your fingers in his dark hair poofs, and immediately his eyes fell shut like they were weighed down by rocks. His mouth fell open and the room was filled with soft, but reasonably loud snores. You didn’t mind though, not when he has just the cutest snores ever.

You fell asleep, cuddled up to him not too long after that, and when you woke up you were in for a shock. Turns out, dangerous, world ending quirk gene having sperm goes for A LOT. Mostly from people buying it so it doesn’t get in the wrong hands. You guys were actually able to get TWO games instead of one. So… score!

[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.

[sjmgirlie]

"Azriel's darkness this" "Azriel's darkness that"

Is this all people think this character is?

Considering all the instances we have been provided where his friends don't even push him/don't really try and get him to talk to them about pretty much anything, I'd say we don't know much about Azriel at all.

It's the same with any character that we haven't got a POV from. Do we really know Elain well enough to make judgements? Mor even? Not really.

What we understand about their characters is what we have seen/heard in dialogue in other POVs.

The thing I love about Azriel (and Elain for that matter) is that they have been portrayed as fixed. He is a broody and mysterious Shadowsinger that has went through trauma his whole life. Elain has been stifled but shown time and time again that she is not what people think she is. (There is a whole bonus chapter alluding to it that people like to completely forget).

Azriel has darkness, he has shadows, he is broody and doesn't say much. But what else is he from what we have seen?

He is heroic, he is self sacrificing, he deeply cares for the people in his life, and he is actually a good person. Even if he is the Spymaster and torturer of the NC. You know what else we see?

We see him having absolutely no self worth. We see him struggle with feeling inadequate for anyone. Mor has told us this, Azriel has as well in the BC. He feels UNWORTHY.

Why do you think he completely let Elain make the moves in the POV? He doesn't think he is worthy. He doesn't believe himself to be. And Rhys saying "you think you deserve to be her mate?" is literally a knife in the gut for a character like Azriel.

Azriel has shown time and time again that he cares for the females in the books I dare say more than most of the other characters. This is not an accident. This is (I believe) directly correlated with how his mother was treated.

We see countless instances of Azriel proving this with violence, because well, is he a talker like Rhys? No. He carries a lot of self worth in his ability to hurt someone clearly. Of being needed in ways only related to his work and abilities. And don't get me started on imagining what Rhys' father did to him mentally during the time he was under his command.

Yes, Azriel has darkness. But literally EVERY character in this book has darkness. Saying that Azriel's LI is solely determined based off "who can handle the darkness" is placing Azriel's character in a box with no growth. And that's not an SJM character. They all grow.

His LI will help him realize that he is NOT darkness. That there is light in the darkness that he does not see. That he doesn't need to "handle" it or have someone to "handle" it. That Azriel is just AZRIEL. That he doesn't need to be anyone else. He doesn't need to pretend all the time. He doesn't need to wear a mask every moment of his life.

Who looked to him when first meeting him as a comfort? Who did not balk from him? Who has called his scars, which he is insecure about, beautiful? Who noticed his headaches? Who enjoys just sitting in silence while enjoying someones company? Who has been showing Azriel he is wanted?

Read the series again if you don't remember.

Reducing Azriel to darkness is the same thing as reducing Elain to flowers/gardening.

Anyways, a long post again but please don't reduce Azriel to darkness because you are literally just feeding into the actual narrative he holds for himself as shown by the author rather than realizing that's the exact healing journey he is going to take. To realize he isn't just darkness. That he himself has a light.

Edit to add additional thoughts:

Main characters in SJM books, specifically ACOTAR, are always presented in a boxed view until they either get a book or are the MC in one. We got Rhys as the MMC in ACOMAF through feyre’s PoV, and we got Nesta and Cassian in their own.

Complex main characters will not have their healing arcs explored or even completely explained in someone else’s POV. Food for thought.

[phantasm-echo]

Fives undeath real not clickbait???

(disclaimer: I am not a writer, I got bored, i havent edited any of this)

He’s barely registered the fact that he’s reaching for Rex’s discarded blaster before he feels a sharp pain in his chest and suddenly he’s laying on his back, staring at the crossing beams under the decrepit warehouse ceiling. He’s still disoriented from whatever osik Nala Se had injected him with, so he can’t help but flinch when his blurry vision focuses just enough for him to make out blond hair and worried eyes hovering close to him.

Rex, he thinks distantly.

There’s yelling all around him, but it’s drowned out by his ori’vod desperately pleading nononono Fives not you too you were meant to live I was meant to keep you safe how could I let this happen Fives nonono keep your eyes open it’s gonna be alright- and all he can think about is how wrong it is to hear his brother reduced to this mess when he’s meant to be the best of them, the strongest, the one always in control.

Rex is now clutching at his face and shoulders, shaking him, trying to get his attention or something but all it does is jolt him and suddenly the pain in his chest is unbearable and he chokes out a garbled cry as the world sharpens around him and the events of the past few days floods back to him.

Right. Tup. The chips. The plot…

As the pain in his chest numbs over and spreads gradually to the rest of his body, all Fives can think about is how he’d failed. Getting Kix to contact Rex and General Skywalker was meant to fix things, it was meant to free his brothers, it was meant to help-

He’s slowly dying and he knows it.

Well, Fives thinks distantly, I got my message to them, just thought I’d be there with them when they fixed everything.

His vision blurs again and focuses back onto Rex, who looks even more frantic than before and for the life of him Fives can’t figure out why until he feels that sting again and registers that everything sounds as if he’s underwater and then it feels like he’s underwater too as it becomes more and more difficult to take a breath in and darkness starts to creep up the edges of his vision and all part of him can think of is finally.

He can barely see Rex anymore, he’s nothing but a shaking blonde blur but he can still feel the devastation surrounding him and woah those aren’t his own feelings what the fuck but it’s alright because the darkness around him is pulling him closer, deeper, until he feels like he’s wrapped in the warmest, heaviest blanket in existence and it’s so comfortable and oh is this what it’s like to feel home? 

All Fives can feel is relief as he whispers “the mission, the nightmares, they’re finally over…” and his last thought as he’s pulled under is hey since the mission is over maybe he could finally see echo and tup and hardcase and HevyDroidbaitCutup and alltherestofhislostbrothers again and and

He’s at peace as he drifts off.

Because everything is over, and he can rest now.

Right?

A gasp is torn from his throat as his eyes snap open only to immediately be blinded by the overhead lights. It feels like his chest has been torn open and he desperately scrabbles at it and looks down, only to see that oh yeah maybe that’s the reason everything hurts.

His hands are covered in blood, and it looks like one of the staples barely holding the deep Y-shaped incision on his chest closed was ripped out by his scratching. Some part of him must register that holding it closed would be optimal for his organs to actually stay in him, but all pressing his hand to the still bleeding would does is make him hyperventilate as he looks around.

For the first time since he woke up, Fives registers that there are people in the room with him. There’s at least three of them, all humanoid and wearing pristine white lab coats. They’re all staring at him in horror, except for the one closest to him, who is holding a scalpel and is leaned up against a tray of surgical tools, who stares at him in utter wonder and an excited look in their eye.

The overhead light buzzes in a way that makes the pounding in his head unbearable, and as he looks down again he registers the bloodied sheet thrown over his legs and the cold metal table he is sat on. 

What the fuck.

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

He could have sworn he was d- 

But.

But.

Clearly he can’t be.

If he were dead then his chest wouldn’t be heaving like he’d just run a hundred laps with no water, his heart wouldn’t feel like it was trying to tear its way out of his chest through force of will alone and all he can see is red, red that is still flowing from the incisions in his chest, that is leaking through his fingers and further soaking the sheet covering his lower half and- 

The humanoid with the scalpel shifts to grab what looks like a hypo and all Fives can think of in the moment is of a different table he was strapped to and the long-neck with a deceptively gentle voice injecting him with something that made his thoughts so sluggish he could barely remember his mission to help Tup and oh god Tup and that made him feel like he was just a skin suit filled with unresponsive flesh-mush and it’s only instinct that he lashes his free arm out at them and suddenly they’re sliding down the far wall in front of him with a trail of blood coming from the back of their head and there’s screaming and he turns to the others in white coats and all he can feel is terror and he’s lashing out again and suddenly blood sprays over him as one’s head implodes and the other is lifted into the air scrabbling at their neck like some invisible force is choking them.

Wait- is there a Jedi? Are they here to get him out? Why is his hand thrust out towards them and and squeezing like he’s the one choking them when wait no that can’t be right what the fuck is happening-

Someone is banging on what sounds like duraglass and yelling for god knows what and it’s making his head feel like someone’s taken a pipe to his brain and lodged it in as deep as it would go but is still pushing so he twists around and watches as they break their head open on the glass and fucking finally shut up.

The yelling doesn’t stop though and he registers that it’s coming from himself but he can’t stop because what the fuck is going on he should be dead he should be seeing all his lost brothers and finally be at peace after the horrors of the joke war he wasted his life on and where is that comforting darkness when he wants it so bad-

He doesn’t realise that the hand still clutching at the wound in his chest has actually gone and ripped into the wound until fire so hot burns through him it feels like he’s being incinerated alive except he can’t be because if he was he would be dead already and fuck but he wants that mercy right now but no he’s still on this metal table, still covered in blood, and he doesn’t know when he closed his eyes but when he opens them again he looks through the blood splattered across the glass and into sickly yellow eyes.

He freezes despite the desperate urge to run as the choking feel of cloying oil surrounds his throat and still heaving lungs, and his head hurts even more and how is that even possible- a darkness overwhelms all his sense except this darkness isn’t comforting at all instead it’s invading his mind and he can’t think anymore of except for the words spoken to him

He hears a muttered “you may yet prove useful” before he is no longer himself and all is Dark.

He wakes up to sickly yellow eyes staring right through him.

He is strapped to a table (again? Nononoonononono) but this time it’s reclined so he’s perpendicular to the ground.

He pauses. This time? He doesn’t seem to remember a previous time, and wonders where the thought came from.

His master (noononononoo not master not ever traitor traitor TRAITOR) is observing him, as if waiting for a reaction of some sort.

He wonders about that. Should he be reacting? Should he say anything? (yes yes YES RIP FREE KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMSITHTRAITORBROTHERKILLERBROTHERABUSER) 

He hasn’t been ordered to do anything, so he will do nothing. He stares back neutrally and waits despite the ache in his chest and the feel of something trickling down his skin and the growing pain behind his eyes and the feeling that something is wrong he shouldn’t be here why isn’t he doing anything-

He tries not to frown? Why would anything be wrong? He is just waiting for his orders from master.

(NONONOONONONSNAPOUTOFITWHATTHEFUCKAREYIUDOINGYOUREANARCTROOPERGUTHIM)

His master says something, and all is dark again.

This time (this time?) when he opens his eyes it’s because he feels as if he’s been struck by lightning and oh maybe it’s because he has because why else would he be convulsing in his restraints like that, why else would each of his nerves feel as if it’s been set aflame, why else would he see ice blue electricity dancing across his skin?

It’s too much, and he passes out again.

Master still hasn’t given him any orders, so he still lays perfectly immobile when he is stabbed in the leg with some sort of vibroblade but all he can do is hold his screams because he hasn’t been ordered to say anything and watch in fascinated horror as his muscles stitch back together once the blade is removed.

His master is muttering something about how fascinating this is and how of all the creatures the Force would bestow immortality to of course it had to be a clone and how how howhowhowhowhow is he doing that and he doesn’t realise he’s finally being addressed until he chokes on his breath and oily, cloying darkness feels like it’s seeping down the back of his throat and through his nostrils and ears and right into his brain and all he can think about is how he doesn’t know and oh master will be disappointed if he can’t answer and good soldiers follow orders he needs to ANSWERNONONONONONO-

Air flows into his lungs again as his master is thrown back violently before he catches himself in midair, and he doesn’t even have time to take a second breath in before he’s being electrocuted and his vision goes dark again.

[clown-friend-gt]

Pecking Order (Old Version)

More superhero stuff! I wanted to introduce a new character, Wren, who is one of Trevor's best friends besides Addie.

For a bit of background on this one, both Trevor and Wren are in what's called "Corrective Custody," which is basically juvie for teens with superpowers. Trevor is there because he accidently hurt a classmate with his newfound strength, and Wren is there because they have a tendency to get in fights, which only got worse after they got their powers.

Inmates in Corrective Custody can have their time reduced by joining the Future Heroes Training Program, which both Trevor and Wren end up doing later on in the story.

Edit: This is the old version of what is now chapter 12 of my story "Up, Up, and Away." I'm leaving it up just cause, but it's no longer canon. You can read the new version here! (although you should read the chapters that come before as well)

************************************************************************

“Time for fresh air,” a voice called over the P.A. system.

There was a short, harsh buzz as the light above the cell door switched from red to green. The door slid open. Wren tore their gaze away from the ceiling to glance that way, before sitting up and swinging their legs off of the bed. They regarded the door for a moment, trying to decide if they wanted to go outside or not. Before they could make up their mind, one of the guards dressed in white popped their head in the door.

“C’mon newbie. Time to get outside for a bit.”

Wren regarded them disdainfully for a moment before replying.

“Do I have to?” they asked.

“No, but I promise you it’ll be more interesting than sitting here staring off into space,” the guard replied.

After mulling it over, Wren shrugged and got to their feet. They walked past the guard and joined the other “troubled youths” filing out of their cells. They were all led down the halls until they eventually came to a set of double doors. The group crowded around them until a guard pushed their way to the front and unlocked the doors with a key card, letting the restless inmates push their way out themselves.

As they crossed the threshold, Wren squinted at the sudden change in lighting before their eyes adjusted. They followed the flow of the crowd out into the yard, then wandered off to stand on their own.

They looked around at the area they now found themselves in. It was a grassy field about half of the size of a football field. There were a couple of benches strewn about that were quickly claimed by various groups. To one side, there was a small basketball court where a game was starting up. Sidewalks bordered the court, field, and the side of the building. The entire area was enclosed with a tall fence topped with barbed wire.

Wren felt the tell-tale feeling of people staring at them. They scanned the yard to find the source and found several. Some people quickly looked away when Wren met their gaze, some just stared them down. Some wannabe tough guys even sneered when their eyes met, and Wren had to fight the urge to roll their eyes.

Looks like I won’t have to look too hard to find trouble, Wren thought to themselves. They began to try and come up with a plan to establish themselves so that the others would know to leave them alone. Their attention was quickly stolen, however, when they felt a familiar prickling sensation at their fingertips.

Looking down at their hands, Wren could see a light frost beginning to cover their fingertips, typically a sign that their powers were active. Their gaze strayed from their fingers to the strange cuffs strapped to their wrists. The little light had switched from yellow to green without them noticing.

Wren considered the fence again. Their powers would make it easier for them to scale it. But then, one of the guards watching them would reactivate their cuffs, right? They had seen them use the devices they kept at their waists to activate them before, so the guards surely had that capability. But then, why turn them off in the first place?

What’s that old trope in prison movies? Wren thought. First thing you do, find the biggest guy, and start a fight so that no one will mess with you? Suddenly all of the eyes on them made more sense. Was that what everyone wanted to see?

Wren wasn’t really one to start fights, but ever since they got their powers, they had no problem finishing them. That was what had landed them in special custody, after all. But that was against a bunch of stuck-up losers with no powers, could they really hold their own against other people like them?

Best plan I’ve got right now, they thought to themselves, scanning the yard again. They looked past the posers glaring at them to pick their target. Their gaze landed on a boy laying back in the grass, basking in the sunlight. He was at least twice the size of a grown man, if not more. Besides that, there wasn’t anything particularly threatening about him at first glance.

Maybe he’ll be a pushover, a sarcastic voice in their head chimed in. Either way, he looked like their best option right now. They marched over, letting more of their power flow into their hands to prepare for the fight to come.

Trevor lay out in the sun like he always did. The warm sunlight helped to ease the aching of his growing pains somewhat. It was a nice, warm day that day, and if no one came to bother him, it might turn out to be a good day. But soon after he closed his eyes, it became clear that wouldn’t be the case.

A shadow crossed his face and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. He kept his eyes shut and pretended not to notice. Maybe they’d leave him be.

“Hey, ugly!”

Suppressing a groan, Trevor opened his eyes. Someone was standing over him, blocking the sunlight on his face. At this angle, with the sun directly behind them, he couldn’t make out who it was, or whether it was someone who tried to pick a fight with him before.

He sat up, ignoring the way his ever-stretching muscles ached in protest, and turned to face the newcomer. It was someone he didn’t recognize, with white hair that turned brown at the roots and pale skin. They glowered at him with deep brown eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were a boy or a girl.

He knew how this would likely play out, but he held out hope that he could be wrong. Maybe this person just had really, really bad social skills.

“What did you just say to me?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

Meanwhile, Wren stood stiff as a board. They weren’t short by any means, but this guy was taller than they were, and he hadn’t even stood up yet. Nevertheless, they couldn’t back down now. They stood their ground.

“You heard me,” they responded cooly.

Trevor sighed and slowly got to his feet. He watched the new person’s head tilt back as they stubbornly held eye contact. They stood like that for a minute, a silent standoff going on between the two.

Then Trevor promptly turned around and walked away as hastily as he could, trying to escape the situation.

Without thinking, Wren shot a beam of ice from their hands. In the blink of an eye, a cluster of ice sprang from the ground at Trevor’s feet, surrounding them and holding him where he stood. Wren glanced nervously at the nearby guards, but they, like everyone else, were simply watching the show.

Wren didn’t get much time to think about that fact before their focus was drawn back to the sound of ice crackling. With a grunt, Trevor pried one foot from the ice, then the other. Wren’s eyes widened. They’d ended plenty of fights that way. They’d never seen anyone aside from a professional superhero break free of it.

Trevor turned to face them again, his gaze a little harder this time. Wren crouched into their best fighting stance. One hand extended in a fist before them, the other cocked back, shaped into a claw and surrounded by the cool mist that accompanied the use of their powers.

Trevor rushed forward faster than Wren expected him to, grabbing their fist in his hand and engulfing it. As Wren briefly struggled against his iron grip, he closed their other hand within his grasp. He had them trapped.

What’s this guy trying to do, crush my hands? Wren thoughts raced. Thinking quickly, they focused as much of their power as they could into their hands, trying to get them freezing cold. If they could get their hands cold enough, he should be forced to let go.

Trevor gritted his teeth but didn’t relent, his grip tightening slightly. His gaze was intense, and Wren barely kept themselves from breaking eye contact.

Wren began to panic as they felt his grip tighten; their emotions began to make their control falter as the air began to freeze around them.

Suddenly, a voice yelled, “CASTILLO! HANDS OFF!”

Trevor let go immediately, backing up and raising his hands above his head to show he wasn’t resisting. Wren stumbled forward slightly when he let go, but quickly righted themselves. The lights on their cuffs flashed red, and began to stick together like they were magnetized, just like they had when Wren first got them. Looking at their opponent, they could see his cuffs had done the same.

A few guards headed over to make sure the fight was really broken up. One pulled a walkie-talkie from their waist to report the situation.

“Director, we have a fight in the yard,” they said into the walkie.

You’re just telling them this now? Wren wondered.

“Copy that. Status?” a voice on the other end said.

“Two detainees, subdued,” the guard replied.

“Roger. Bring them here.”

The guard put the radio back on their belt and turned to the two.

“You two. Main office. Now.”

Wren rolled their eyes. Trevor trudged off ahead of them towards the doors inside, seeming to know the way by heart. The guard with the radio turned to follow, and a second guard pulled Wren by the arm to join when they lingered behind for a second too long.

Trevor had to bend over to get through the doors, then straightened out once he was inside the hall with taller ceilings. His irritated pace quickly put him ahead of the others, who had to do an awkward half-jog to keep up. After a few hallways and a few more turns, they all arrived at their destination.

At the end of the hall stood a door with a placard on it. Near the door were two chairs, like the kind you’d see outside of a high school principal’s office. Trevor slumped against the wall, coming to sit next to the chairs that were too small for him.

“You two wait here,” one guard told them, before they both filed into the office. As the door shut behind them, Wren stepped closer to inspect the placard.

“Director Douglas” it read.

Wren idled by the door for a few more awkward seconds, then chose to sit in the chair closest to the door, and farthest from Trevor.

A little more time passed, and Wren began to regard the cuffs on their wrists. Then, they looked at Trevor with a bit of curiosity. Other than keeping his wrists stuck together, his cuffs didn’t seem to be affecting him much.

“Does that turn off?” They asked him.

He didn’t answer for a second, but then he shot them a look from the corner of his eye. “Does what turn off?”

“Your, uh,” they looked him up and down, “power.”

Trevor didn’t answer for a moment.

“Nope,” he looked back towards the wall. “I’m stuck like this.”

“Is that a power?” Wren wondered aloud, “Just—being a giant?”

He simply shrugged. Then, after a bit, he spoke up, “Technically, my power is that I’m always growing, just really slowly.”

Wren stared, trying to see if they could spot this change he was claiming. When they couldn’t tell any difference, they asked, “Really?”

“Yes,” he replied shortly.

“Always?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Even with the cuffs on?”

“Yes,” he grumbled.

Wren thought for a moment. “Wouldn't that hurt?”

Trevor was briefly caught of guard.

“Yeah. It does," he muttered under his breath.

“…I’m sorry,” Wren said.

“Now you’re sorry?” He snapped, finally meeting their eyes again.

Wren looked away, somewhat ashamed. More time passed in silence. Finally, Trevor broke it again.

“Are your hands okay?” He asked.

“What? Uh…” Wren looked down at their hands. Other than the frost slowly melting off of them, they were fine. “…Yeah?”

Trevor gave a curt nod, seeming to relax slightly. “Good. I worried—” he cut himself off. “Never mind.”

“You were worried?” Wren snorted. “About what, hurting me? Do you know what the point of a fight is?”

Trevor scowled. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be a lot worse off than you are now. I just wanted to stop you.”

“…Oh,” Wren said quietly.

What is this dude’s deal? Wren wondered to themselves. They didn’t know whether to be scared of this guy or to feel sorry for him.

Eventually, they decided they should at least return the favor. “Are your hands okay?”

“What? Oh…” he trailed off, inspecting his hands.

He tried to wiggle them around so he could look at his palms, which had a weird cold-burning feeling. The cuffs stopped him from moving too much, so he pulled against them with all of his might. They separated, and he flipped his hands over, so when the cuffs snapped back together, his palms were up.

Trevor continued his inspection, oblivious to Wren’s shock at his casual display of strength.

His palms still had patches of ice here and there from where Wren’s hands had touched his. Underneath, those spots, the skin was red and slightly swollen. He looked up at Wren again.

“I don’t know.”

“Let me see?” Wren reached out to grab Trevor’s hand, and, when he hesitated, they added, “I can’t use my powers right now, don’t worry.”

Looking at his hands with concern, Wren said, “Huh. Looks like it could be frostbite.”

“You’ve seen it before?” Trevor asked. Wren looked at him as if to say ‘duh.’

Trevor swallowed. “Right.”

Wren let out a deep sigh and let his hands go.

“Man I’m—I’m sorry. About earlier. I don’t know what I was trying to prove.”

Trevor shrugged. “I get it. You come here, you want to seem tough, so you go for the big guy, right?”

Wren cringed at how cliché it sounded out loud. “I mean, when you say it out loud, it does sound pretty stupid.”

“Yeah well, you seem sorry enough, I guess, so, apology accepted.”

“Thanks,” Wren replied with a slight grimace.

Before they could start sitting in silence again, Wren piped up.

“I’m Wren, by the way.”

“Trevor,” he replied.

Trevor seemed perfectly content to sit in silence, but Wren couldn’t help but to try and fill it.

“Hey,” Wren said, to keep the conversation going, “How did you do that thing earlier? With your cuffs?” As if to demonstrate, they tried to pull their own cuffs apart, to no avail.

“Oh this?” With some effort, Trevor pulled his cuffs apart again to flip his hands back over to the way they were before. “Yeah, something about the cuffs’ ‘limited ability to maintain control over supplementary abilities,’ whatever that means.”

He did his best air quotes, which was tricky with the cuffs on.

“Basically, I’m naturally a lot stronger than the average person, so even with the cuffs on, that doesn’t fully go away.” He finished with a frown.

Wren nodded along to his explanation. “Cool,” They added at the end, not picking up on his slight shift in mood.

After that, Wren ran out of things to talk about, so they let silence fill the air again. Trevor did his best to try and keep his hands warm while they waited. Finally, they were called into the office.

The director, a middle-aged white man, chewed them out for a bit, lecturing them both on “maintaining the peace” and their “special responsibilities” and so forth. Wren rolled their eyes as much as possible to show their displeasure. At the end, they were both given a week without time outside, during which their cuffs would remain on ‘red mode’ as much as possible.

“But that’s not fair,” Wren protested. “I started it, and Trevor barely fought back.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Director Douglas stated. “At this Juvenile Special Detention Center we have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to fighting.”

Trevor sighed, expecting this outcome.

************************************************************************

During that next week, Wren didn’t see Trevor much. They had to see the nurse to confirm that like they said, they weren’t hurt. Then they had to visit a counselor to talk about feelings and shit. Not their thing. Much to Wren’s indignation, they still had to attend some classes while they were imprisoned to “maintain a standard of education.” Between all of that, they began to lose hope of seeing someone they actually got along with.

To close out their punishment, the same counselor from before had the two meet up and make up, which was easy since they had already done some of the apologizing. Didn’t make it any less awkward, though. Then they were free to go. Well, as free as they could be here.

Their second time out in the yard began like their first. They trailed out with the crowd, then made their own way out into the field. On a whim, they decided to look for Trevor. Spotting him laying down away from everyone again, they began to make their way over.

As they passed by a bench full of people, someone grabbed their shoulder to stop them. Flipping around, they were met by a sneering face.

“Going somewhere, new blood?” the guy asked.

Wren wrested their shoulder from his grasp. He was about their height with straight black hair. His right wrist was in a cast. They snorted at him.

“Why yes, prison extra number two, I was. Got any more cliché lines of dialogue to spit at me first?”

Someone on the bench, presumably the other guy’s friend, snickered at that, but stopped when the person in front of Wren glared at them.

Turning back to them, he said, “There’s an order to things, around here. And we need to figure out where you stand.”

Wren raised their eyebrows, unimpressed. “Is this really necessary?”

The guy gave them a wicked grin. “I’m afraid so, snowflake.”

That pissed Wren off. They squared their shoulders, doing their best tough guy imitation.

The other guy formed his non-broken hand into a claw, and electricity began to spark from his fingertips.

Their mind began to kick into high gear for the upcoming fight. But before they got too far with their strategizing, a shadow was cast over the kid’s face.

“Will,” a tired-sounding voice came from over Wren’s head. “Can’t you lay off for once?”

Looking up, Will grew tense, then he scowled. “Back off, Castillo. It’s not your fight.”

“How’s your wrist?” Trevor sounded calm, but his voice had an edge to it. All eyes seemed to gravitate towards the cast on Will’s arm.

Will tried to hold Trevor’s gaze, but he backed down soon enough. The sparks coming from his hand died off slowly.

“This isn’t over,” he said to Wren, then turned around sharply to join his friends over on the bench.

Wren turned to face Trevor, but he had already started to wander off. They worried that now that the fight was off, he was done with them. But after a few steps, he turned back and hesitantly asked, “You coming?”

Wren grinned and followed him over to his spot in the grass. They sat next to him as he laid out in the sun, chattering about skateboarding and movies they liked and nothing in particular. Trevor nodded along as they talked. Finally, it seemed, he got one good day.