#if not more since he sees more/is getting sick so he's holding onto religion more

[gxlden-angels]

Throughout all of this, I never thought about the potential for my family members to also deconstruct/leave fundamentalist christianity, even if they remained a more progressive christian in the end

[infinite-orangepeel]

CW: perv!virgin!eddie/camboy!steve, virginity kink, degradation/humiliation, eddie’s lowkey a creep (again), dirty talk, steve’s dick is tiny lol, religious imagery in a sexual context (brief)

thinking about virgin!loser!simp! eddie who gets zero action and has never been touched by anyone else’s hands but his own.

thinking about him rushing home from work each night to make it on time for steve’s camboy livestream.

he speeds, runs a red light or two. doesn’t pause to consider the consequences bc who the fuck cares? his cock strains against the zipper of his jeans bc he only has one thing on his mind and it’s certainly not avoiding run ins with the law.

“can’t wait to fuck you, pretty boy,” he whimpers as he turns left.

he doesn’t know the object of his affection’s real name, of course. only his username which is @prettyboy86. these days, eddie only ever cums with that name on his lips.

fuck, he’s sick in the head.

eddie’s getting more pathetic and whiny by the minute. he makes tiny little thrusts against the inner seam of his jeans to try to find some form of friction. though he has no intention of getting off before he watches steve’s show.

the zipper makes it painful and pinches the head of his weepy dick but it’s better than nothing. somehow he keeps his hands on the wheel and doesn’t get in a multi-car pile-up. somehow.

he’s so desperately in love with this boy he’s never even met, this boy who has no idea that eddie munson exists.

and to an extent, that’s part of the allure. pretty boy’s powerful. he commands an audience of thousands. people from all over the world pay $25/month just to eye a piece of him.

he never shows his face, but sometimes he’ll suck on a dildo and his lips will be visible in the shot. they’re usually slicked with sparkly lipgloss and look like they’d taste like candy.

eddie knows he must be beautiful though if the rest of his body is any indication. he’s an angel, he’s a saint. eddie worships him, prays to him with a level of devotion he’s never been able to find in organized religion.

once in the driveway of his uncle’s place, eddie throws his van in park, grabs the keys, and makes a mad dash for his bedroom. locks the door behind him as is tradition, cracks open a PBR, and logs onto his laptop.

pretty boy’s site is bookmarked, favorited, and left open in a tab from last night.

eddie navigates to the livestream waiting room and moments later, steve settles onto his haunches onscreen.

a flood of messages from similar admirers clogs up the chat quickly as eddie starts in on his own barrage of thirsty compliments:

@ethebanished: looking so cute tonight, pretty boy. i’d do anything to have your cock in my mouth.

there’s no response. steve’s not even looking at the camera or the screen. he’s adjusting something on his lower half that eddie can’t see.

maybe a cock ring or vibrating toy??

eddie’s bought him so many toys from his personalized wishlist and the one time steve took the clear glittery dildo on camera, he came in his pants instantly. didn’t even have time to stroke his cock once.

it felt intimate. it felt like steve was sending him a message, confessing his mutual love.

eddie sends a few more messages while steve holds up a finger to the audience to let them know he needs a second.

he types rapidly, without though, follows his depraved intentions and lets them run wild into the ether.

@ethebanished: i’ve been watching you since the beginning. i can’t cum to anyone else’s videos. did you know that?? you’re so special, pretty boy. no one else takes cock like you. i’d treat you so well. i’d never let you go, i swear. don’t waste time on the other boys.

@ethebanished: when i save up enough money, i’m gonna buy a custom video from you. i’m gonna make you say my name while you fuck yourself on the dildo i bought you. it’s the clear one with glitter. how does that sound?? would you like that baby?? like some dirty stranger making you cum for him?? i’m saving my virginity for you. waiting for you every day. one day we’ll fuck and you’ll thank me.

@ethebanished: i had to jack off in the storage room at work this morning. almost got caught by my manager but it was worth it. woke up so horny from a wet dream about you. you’re perfect. i have to fuck you. have to.

steve smiles. professionally whitened teeth blinding the camera. eddie convinces himself easily that it’s meant for him despite the thousands of other commenters.

he and steve have something special. sure, they’ve never directly interacted, but if they do—when they do—steve won’t be able to resist eddie’s charms.

“sorry for the delay, everyone. we had a few technical difficulties but thanks to my friend, tommy, we should be all set.”

tommy is the bane of eddie’s existence. public enemy #1. steve’s always running his mouth about “owing credit to tommy” and how “the show wouldn’t be half of what it is without tommy’s support.”

apparently, he’s steve’s camera man, editor, and resident tech guy. but eddie’s worst nightmare is steve ever including tommy in a video or stream.

eddie fantasizes—often—about replacing tommy, himself. he’s got a bunch of editing experience, owns all the fancy software, and knows how to operate a camera. plus, he’d do it for free. he’d do it just to be in the same atmosphere as steve for a fraction of a second.

fuck, his dick is leaking all over his black denim. just another pair of jeans to toss out bc pretty boy’s caused him to stain them.

if pretty boy were here, in person, eddie would have lick them clean to prove his devotion.

his attention snaps back to the screen as steve starts talking again.

“i’ve been wanting to challenge myself, lately to get a bit more up close and personal with my fans,” steve sticks his tongue out slowly and flicks it in the direction of the camera, “y’know to show my appreciation. so if it’s okay with you, i’m going to try something new today.”

eddie’s curiosity sparks. warmth spreads through his thighs, abdomen, and chest.

steve’s speaking directly to him (in his mind) and with all those pretty moles on display, eddie’s free hand wanders to tease his own pierced nipples.

he tugs at them and swirls the buds with gentle fingers. his hips buck in response. he’s always been sensitive. knows he’d cum so easily, so constantly, if pretty boy touched him.

“so one of you sweet angels sent me this adorable teddy bear,” steve nibbles on the ears of the pink plushie and eddie’s instantly jealous of whoever sent it to him, “i love how soft and cute he is, don’t you? his fur just feels perfect on my skin.”

steve lightly grazes the fluff of the bear over his inner thighs as he backs up on the mattress to display his full body for the camera. glossed lips in view. eddie gasps sharply and bites down on his knuckles to muffle the sound. he doesn’t need his uncle to know what a fucking freak he is.

“ohhh. see, that’s nice,” steve’s naked except for—and this absolutely annihilates eddie on the spot—a delicate pink ribbon that he’s tied around the base of his wet cock and a pair of thigh-high white socks.

flesh spills over the tight band of the fabric and eddie yearns to feel the squeeze of those perfect muscles around his head.

“here’s how this is going to work—i’m going to fuck my plushie like a pillow while reading comments aloud from you guys. whoever’s comment makes me cum will get a free five-minute video call with me tomorrow night before the regular livestream begins. there’s only going to be one lucky winner so do your worst, angels,” steve giggle to himself and tightens the bow on his dick, “let the games begin.”

“fuck,” eddie murmurs as he realizes how high the stakes are, “fuck. i have to win.”

the chat ramps up with lust and thrill as the audience observes steve taking the medium-sized plushie to the center of his bed. he fondles his balls, waves at the camera, and straddles the pink bear. his cock twitches in the confines of his ribbon and eddie wonders if it’s real silk. what it might feel like.

“bet you can’t wait to see my little cunt squirt on live, can you? poor teddy isn’t going to knows what’s hit him,” steve strokes the cheek of the bear apologetically and begins slowly rutting, “let’s see if he can handle me.”

it’s important to mention that pretty boy’s cock is small and that this appeals to eddie like nothing else.

eddie’s not huge, himself, but in terms of girth and length—he’s slightly above average. on the other hand, pretty boy’s dick is about three and a half inches hard. his balls are tucked right up against his body and he’s always well groomed. he’s muscular. clearly works out. has toned abs, large biceps (much larger than eddie’s), toned thighs and calves, and his ass is round like a summer peach.

eddie thinks it would taste even better on his tongue.

steve’s a seasoned professional which means he knows damn well how to put on a show. he arches his back expertly, tugs at the long brown tendrils of hair that dip towards his collarbones, and moans wantonly.

“okay—@yourgayestfantasy765 says, ‘pretty boy, you’re so fucking hot,’” steve smirks, fucks his teddy slow and precise, takes his time, “that’s so sweet. thank you!”

his words are kind, but his tone is bored and bone dry. the fact is he reads hundreds of comments like this all the time. it’s nothing new, doesn’t catch him off guard. his hips roll into the plushie’s tummy without stuttering.

it’s hard to concentrate, but eddie’s determined to stand out. racks his brain for something interesting to comment. something that will catch pretty boy’s attention.

he has to be the one to make steve cum. he has to win that five-minute video call. it would change his life to have that chance conversation with the love of his life. the only person he’s ever really wanted.

maybe he’d finally get out of bumfuck, indiana. maybe he’d finally lose his virginity and film videos with pretty boy all the time once he got some tangible experience under his—currently—un-notched belt.

eddie spies the signature tramp stamp—a row of three butterflies—between the dimples above the swell of his ass. he’s spent many long showers with his cock in his hands as he imagines sinking his teeth into that exact spot.

steve rambles off a few more copycat, lack luster comments as eddie types. he theatrically yawns midway through one to show his disinterest. the bear looks equally unimpressed below him.

“aw. you think i have a pretty cock? thank you so much, @daddydicklvr!” he blows a kiss, “but i think you can do better than that.”

eddie’s nervous. he wants this so badly. his palms are clammy. there’s chip crumbs littering the keys of his computer and it occurs to him that he should probably clean up the place when pretty boy inevitably comes over for a date.

he presses send.

“hmm—oh i recognize this username! you’ve been a longtime subscriber, haven’t you ethebanished? let’s read your comment,” pretty boy smiles genuinely and slows his movements to read, licking over his lips carefully, “‘this is going to sound crazy but sometimes i think i’m actually falling in love with you even though i’ve never met you. you’re amazing.’”

the rest of the audience immediatley thumbs down eddie’s message. the replies are even worse:

@kissmyaxx7: fuck off the stream, perv!

@nottaken_: guy thinks he really has a chance lmfao. pretty boy doesn’t date fans. you must be new here.

@titsandtats: smells desperate af in here…

@yoyostar6000: are u even trying to make him cum?

he cringes inwardly, worries he’s royally fucked up his chances, and hovers over the ‘x’ on the tab to click off.

but as he moves the mouse, pretty boy moans high in his throat and eddie finds him shivering with pleasure. his own cock jumps at the sight and suddenly he’s back in action, stroking himself from root to tip as he waits.

“in love with me, huh? i can work with that. tell me more, @ethebanished, i’m listening.”

steve’s a fucking temptress, sucks on his fingers as his thighs start to shake from effort. he’s sloppy with it—shows off his missing gag reflex and doesn’t clean up the spit the dribbles down his chest.

eddie can’t look away. doesn’t want to. his body is on fire with want and he types furiously one-handed:

@ethebanished: idk…it’s everything about u. ur smile, ur voice, ur cute little cock, ur attitude. i just feel like we’d get along great.

other audience members try to compete for steve’s attention, but he ignores them. lets their comments disappear into the chat as he reads eddie’s aloud.

“oh i’m sure you say that to all the girls and boys, cutie. there’s probably a line at your door right now,” steve’s dick is milky at the tip and he’s pressing it between his tummy and the bear. ends of the ribbon peeking out.

eddie sucks in a breath. pulls hard on each nipple for….confidence?? he can’t believe he’s about to admit this to the hottest guy he’s ever seen.

send.

@ethebanished: not quite. i’m a virgin. never had sex before let alone a boyfriend :/

pretty boy’s face—or, what eddie can see of it—lights up at that. his grin widens, reaching around to toy with his rim while he thrusts faster.

“holy shit. i gotta admit that’s hot—ah.”

eddie responds quickly:

@ethebanished: thx. no one else seems to think so. i’m kinda a loser but i promise i’d be so good to you. i’d do whatever you asked of me. idc. only have eyes for you.

steve’s little cock rabbits forwards. he pins the teddy with one hand and edges one finger into his ass with the other.

“fuck. i wish this was your cock, @ethebanished. my fingers just won’t do. i bet you’d be all messy your first time. probably cum inside me before you’d even gotten two inches in,” he whines—going deeper into the fantasy, “i’m mean, though, baby. i’d trap you inside me. i’d ride you until you begged me to stop, honey and then i’d suck you dry. how’s that sound, perv? you wanna stretch my cute cunt on your cock? i’ll teach you how to be a good boy with my pussy.”

pretty boy sticks a second finger in his ass and his balls smush against the fuzzy leg of the teddy as he grinds. his hips move in tight clockwise circles. humping the plushie with primal desire.

what eddie would do to have him rut on his face in the exact same way—

eddie’s getting close. he’s thumbing his cockhead roughly and biting down hard on the hem of his shirt. it’s almost painful to be this turned on. if he doesn’t cum soon he might just pass out or implode.

he sends one final message before he spills onto his hand and keyboard:

@ethebanished: so you gonna make me your bitch or what??

“@ethebanished says—oh fuck my pussy’s so wet, i’m not gonna last—he says—ah—oh my god,” steve shakes, groans like he’s been mortally wounded, and shoots cum all over the body of the pink plushie, “fuck yes—yes—be my bitch. gonna fucking ruin you, sweetie.”

steve humps himself through the rest of his orgasm and slowly withdraws his fingers. the little silk ribbon is somehow still attached at the base of his cock but it’s drenched. he unties it and licks his own release from the soft pink fabric.

eddie’s brain is fried. he’s still horny. he’ll likely jack of at least twice more before bed to prerecorded videos of pretty boy but he’s content.

he won.

he has a chance.

pretty boy smiles into the camera, kisses the lens with pink gloss as is his trademarked move, and squeezes the soggy teddy to his chest.

“alright that’s all i’ve got in me for tonight. but congrats to my horny little virgin @ethebanished. teddy and i look forward to meeting you on our call tomorrow! i’ll dm you the link. everyone else, good luck next time and have a slutty saturday! mwah.”

the livestream ends, eddie can hardly breathe, and his uncle knocks on the door.

“eddie, dinner’s ready! i made lasagna!”

instinctively he covers up his body.

“be out in a second! i’m—i’m working on a song!” he yells back and then pulls up a pre-downloaded video of pretty boy to prepare for his big day tomorrow.

THE END.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1, @disastardly, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @the-redthread, @asbealthgn, @bestofbucky, @shrimply-a-menace, @vampireinthesun, @carlyv, @lordrrascal , @jjoesjonas , @malachitedevil , @anxiouseds, @feraleddiekinninghours, @gay-little-bitch, @jhrc666, @pinkdaisies98, @mcneen, @perseus-notjackson, @eiddets, @corroded-coffin-groupie, @three-possums-playing-human, @stevesbipanic, @plutoshelm, @arkenstoned, @indiearr, @they-reap-what-we-sow, @gleek4twd

[ghostofchaos-past]

okay, I'm finally posting my good omens fic masterlist. then I'm going to bed i promise

this list will probably be added onto as i discover more fics, but here is what i have so far

also keep in mind i have no clue if I'm doing this right

- Since Eden (Till Armageddon) by ikarakie

the british museum needs to take their nose out of crowley's damn business. OR, a 200 year old journal full of crowley's pining and confessions ends up on display.

literally the first good omens fanfic i ever read, and it is heartbreaking and fluffy and amazing and so well worded oh my god nothing but praise for this thing

- Against the Bitter Cold by EdosianOrchids901

A pointless temptation assignment leaves Crowley stranded in the middle of a snowstorm. By the time he stumbles back to the inn, he’s so cold and disoriented that he can’t even remember why he was outside. Aziraphale is ready to lend a helping hand.

pre any relationship, sick hurt/comfort, absolutely beautiful and adorable

- love is not a sin by planetunderseige

Heaven gives him the ultimatum. Never see Crowley again, or get cast away. The choice is easy. Aziraphale falls.

ohmygod so heartbreaking, short and sad and beautifully written.

- Falling Slowly by ShesAKillerQueen98

Three months of peace after the failed apocalypse ends in tragedy as Heaven finds a new way to punish Aziraphale, one that's much more permanent. Will he and Crowley be able to pick up the pieces?

the description undersells it. normally when i say a fic broke me, I'm exaggerating. I'M NOT FUCKING EXAGGERATING THIS TIME. this is my all time favorite fic, pure angst and sadness with a slight bit of fluff at the end, absolutely beautiful and it left me sobbing. wahoo <3

- get religion quick (cause you're looking divine) by brinnanza

So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

oh poor oblivious aziraphale. i love this fic so much, the most plausible, in my opinion, to how their love confession probably would go.

- Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark yet again by EdosianOrchid901

Aziraphale is attacked by a group of humans who want to control his powers. He’s incapacitated by magic and unable to defend himself, totally helpless. But something dark and powerful bursts out of the shadows to rescue him.

angry crowley. scared crowley. its what i live for. cw for violence in this one obvs, but wow its sweet

- darling, let me hold you by @goomens

There’s no use thinking about it, ruminating over it. The bitter disappointment and crippling shame of it all. Crowley sniffs harshly, blinking the wet from his eyes and takes a deep, shaking inhale. He slowly steers the Bentley away from the pavement and drives. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but it hardly matters now.

a band-aid in these trying times. post the end of season two.

[dulcewrites]

Hey, we know from the show that Aemond’s mother is quite religious and since Aemond is very devoted to her and probably learnt a lot about the faith of the seven that most in the fandom seem to interpret as westerosy’s Christianity. How do you think (both for the modern and period au) has that impacted his idea of relationships and what one must do for the person one loves? Is that somehow reflected in his love language and the way he shows affection?

Well, like you said I view Aemond’s piety as an extension of his mother. Because of that, his views on religion would trickle down from her. The question would be: has Alicent’s views on religion changed in a different setting

In hotd, we see Alicent as pious for several reasons. 1. She is supposed the ‘uptight’ opposite of the targs (who the writers want you to root for). 2. She is from Oldtown, which used to hold the seat of the high septon of the faith. And 3. She uses it as a means of repentance (hence her renewing her faith post driftmark to rid herself of guilt). Would Alicent seek such comfort in religion if she was not in the extremely volatile environment she was put in?

Small tangent but it’s eye rolling when people (mainly team black) try to act as if Alicent is some religious zealot when she’s honestly just as religious as any other noble woman in her position. Nothing about what she does it out of the ordinary. She prays and changes some decor lmao

Now this translates to a modern Alicent that to me is your your average church goer. Depending on otto and her mother (who people theorize was the more religious of the two), she probably grew up going to church regularly. So in turn, that would probably past onto the kids when they were young. Especially if it the same idea of her essentially raising them herself is in this universe too. Once the kids grow up, and venture out on their own, they’d have to make their own decisions on what said religion means to them.

I personally don’t see this affecting Aemond much tbh, especially in a modern setting. The only way I could see it truly affecting his life is maybe in a modern Royal setting. Only bc royals are normally either seen as ordained by god and or heads of the church themselves. Therefore expected to follow certain about rules about things like divorce etc. But that is all pretty archaic thinking imo.

I see Aemond’s ideals in partnership or how it manifest in his love languages as extensions of his family issues/dynamics versus religion. Though I do have this scene in life with you planned out (semi written) between Aemond and Alicent post myrah giving birth to Baelor and being sick. Takes place in the Sept and sort of explore a grapple a lot of people have about religion. The idea of praying, but feeling like no one is actually out there. He asks the age old question if “if the faith is benevolent, why has our lives been so shit??”

This is so long winded sorry. But long story short, I only see religion affecting hotd Aemond if he do leaned into it as a means of salvation, like his mother, versus a thing to appease someone else (a surface level reason to). If after his father’s neglect or the brothel incident, he turned to faith. But so far I only get the vibe he does it for his mom, therefore it doesn’t really affect him outside being dutiful. Though the dutifulness does express itself in the way he loves. He is an action driven person and his love manifest that way

[neil-gaiman]

Dear Neil,

This was supposed to be a thank you note. It clearly got away from me so I apologise in advance:

I don’t remember when I bought my first copy of Good Omens. Sometimes it feels like the knowledge of it was dropped into my brain one night and I woke up with a copy in my hand and an immediate need to re-read. I would later go on to lend it to a friend, who would become my first boyfriend, and who lent me their collection of Discworld in return. The next copy I bought went to a friend who I knew would love it (and she did). So much that she never gave it back, but I think that’s a loss well-spent. The next copy I bought I gave to my favourite high-school teacher. He taught a mixed mythology/religion class and had a wicked sense of humour so I thought it would be right up his alley and left it on his desk the last day.

By this point if I was carrying anything roomier than my jeans pockets it was pretty likely that I had a copy stashed somewhere with me. So, it was one of the few things that came me when I packed up and moved across the globe 5000+ miles away from any friends or family. I had very few belongings, and even fewer that I liked, but I still had Good Omens. At some point it got so beaten up that I bought a second copy (a sort of “business casual” copy to keep on a shelf for guests, so that my other could stay dog-eared and crammed on my person. I bought a copy of Good Omens in Italian when my reading comprehension because good enough to read something familiar (I’m very fond of that one) and a copy in Spanish for a friend who wanted to do the same.

(I’m in the market for a copy in Russian as we speak)

Good Omens moved with me again after that, to Italy this time. And again, when I moved back to the UK. I was reading it the day that I passed my first degree, then again around passing the second degree. I’ve had a copy on me hiking in India, climbing across the Alps, thrown in with my scuba kit (an accident, but it survived after a little light drying!) on any number of planes, trains, cabs, rikshaws, and at least one motorcycle. It was on me when my partner got sick and we took turns reading chapters over the hospital bed. I’ve read it while in every kind of mood, I’ve certainly hid my face into it and cried more than once. (Directly onto it, I’m now realising that I’ve put it through a lot of abuse). Then again, it is very good at making me smile.

The TV show happened to air a few days before my first-year medical school finals, and I saved it as a treat to watch the day after, on the first study-free day in months. (I love the show, that should go without saying. The care and effort that you, the actors, and the production team put into it is palpable, and as a long-time fan that was so wonderful to see!). The show has since become an extension of the book; it’s the comfort show that another friend and I have watched on-repeat to get through the worst weeks of medical school. It’s also the show I watch with my mother whenever I visit home (she loves it too, and an extra thank-you for that! We historically have very different tastes, so this is something we can finally watch together).

But- the book still holds highest in my heart. I still bring a copy with me whenever (and wherever) I can. It should have its own passport, it has been into more buildings with security clearance than I ever anticipated. As I write this, I’m travelling again. This time Good Omens got to come with me to a new US state and keep me (and a handful of medical and aerospace textbooks) company amongst the humidity. And, just a few days ago, it kept me distracted as I waited to learn that I had passed medical school.

At which point, I thought it was about time I wrote you a thank you.

I feel like I’ve owed you a thank you for writing Good Omens for a long time now. It has saddened me for years that I will never get the chance to give the same thanks to Terry Pratchett, so I’ll thank you double on his behalf. And, thank you to the TV team for giving it another new angle. Your work has meant so much to me for such a long time that it feels almost silly to say. Whether by accident or design, it has been present for so many pivotal parts of my life that I feel intrinsically tied to it. I love the characters and the story dearly, and I’ve never found any other book that scratches the itch for fiction in my brain like this one. I look forward to bringing it to even more weird and wonderful places in the future.

-Danny C.

I just wish Terry had been able to read this too. You are so welcome.

[teeth--eater]

little oneshot. takes place during If It Bleeds :>

Tubbo hates to see Tommy sick. Of course he does, what kind of friend would enjoy seeing their friend sick? 

As much as it makes his insides squirm with discomfort when Tommy coughs up bile that Tubbo knows would severely burn the apisaid if he was to touch it, he has no desire to leave Tommy's side. 

Tubbo runs his fingers through the human's hair, as he's been doing since Tommy fell asleep. He knows it’s a comfort to Tommy, even if the prideful human won’t admit it out loud, and it reassures Tubbo when Tommy leans into his touch. 

Tubbo shifts his hand, feeling the greasiness of Tommy's hair, matting slightly in the back where it's pressed against his pillow. The apisaid frowns, the texture reminding him of Tommy's time spent in the cell, where he had no way to wash himself. Tommy had told Tubbo later, in private, that humans are compulsive self-cleaners, and can get sick and irritable if they have no way to wash themselves. He had played it off as if it was no big deal, but Tubbo had seen the way the human refused to meet his eyes, a tell of lying if his textbooks were to be believed. Tubbo also didn’t miss the way Tommy bathed almost compulsively after being freed, control over his body becoming something of a religion for him after so long without it. 

He's too weak now to wash his hair, and it twists Tubbo's insides more than the vomiting and the fever ever had. 

"Tommy," Tubbo whispers, shaking the human gently. "Wake up." 

"Blegh," Tommy says eloquently, rising up onto his elbows. "Wha'?"

"Come with me for a second," Tubbo says, tugging Tommy's sleeve. 

"Where 're we goin'?" Tommy asks tiredly, getting to his feet but not opening his eyes, instead letting Tubbo drag him along by the arm. They pass Ranboo, asleep on the window seat. Tubbo pauses to pull a blanket up to his shoulders, and the enderian hums thankfully and snuggles into the fabric. 

Tubbo walks Tommy into the bathroom and guides the sleepy human to sit in the tub. It's not something he uses, as he takes dust baths. His wings and thick fluff do not mix well with water, as he learned after a miserable experience with the fire alarms going off and triggering the sprinklers, before Ranboo had arrived, thankfully. 

Tubbo turns on the water, making sure it's warm enough to be comfortable but not enough to burn. He waits until it only just sort of hurts when he sticks his hand under it, and then turns it up a bit higher. He's seen Tommy after he's taken a shower, he's bright pink for half an hour afterward from how hot he keeps the temperature. 

"What're you doin'?" Tommy mumbles. 

"Washing your hair," Tubbo says, maneuvering Tommy to stick his head under the spray of water. Tommy hums blissfully at the feeling of water streaming over his scalp. 

"Do you know how?" Tommy asks around a yawn. Tubbo hesitates in his movement, shaking out his neck ruff slightly in embarrassment when Tommy laughs at him. The moment ends when Tommy's laugh ends in a cut-off gasp of pain, and both of them fall silent. 

"I'll tell you how to do it," Tommy murmurs, eyes closed against the dim lights of the bathroom. "My hair's already wet, so grab the bottle to your right. I wrote 'shampoo' on it." Tubbo picks up what he hopes is the right bottle and squints at the black ink hopelessly. 

"Uh... yeah, I can’t read this," Tubbo admits, setting the bottle back down. Tommy huffs out a laugh and reaches for the bottle. Tubbo hands it to him and Tommy cracks his eyes open to read the hand-drawn label. 

"Yeah, this is shampoo," He says,  handing back the bottle to Tubbo. "Put some in your hand and start rubbing it into my hair." 

Tubbo follows his instructions, emboldened when Tommy sighs and relaxes further under his touch. After around a minute of scrubbing, Tommy holds up a hand. Tubbo tries not to look at how it trembles slightly. 

"Okay, now rinse the soap out," Tommy says, sounding tired again. Tubbo will have to do this quickly or risk Tommy falling asleep under the water. Tubbo is not going to be able to carry Tommy back to his room if that happens. Tubbo guides Tommy further under the water, putting a hand on his hairline to stop the water and soap from getting into his eyes. 

Once the water runs clear and Tommy's hair is free of tiny white bubbles Tubbo pulls Tommy out from under the stream and sits him up again. 

"Now what?" Tubbo asks, unwinding a rather persistent tangle that resides on the back of Tommy's head. 

"Now conditioner. The other bottle," Tommy explains. Tubbo grabs it and pours some onto his hand. Before he has the chance to rub it into Tommy's hair like he did with the shampoo, Tommy speaks up. 

"Hold on, don’t rub it in at the roots, just do the ends. It'll get greasy again really quick if you condition the roots." He explains sleepily. Tubbo hums to show that he'd heard and starts rubbing the conditioner into the ends of his hair, careful not to get much in the roots. 

He moves Tommy's head under the faucet again. There aren’t bubbles being washed away this time, but the hair clumps together where there is still soap, so Tubbo waits until the hair rests in a sheet of brownish-blonde hair before he takes Tommy's hair out from under the water. 

Tubbo runs his hands through Tommy's wet hair and his wings flutter happily behind his back. His friend is clean again, and even though his illness is a mystery, and only seems to be getting worse, he is at least clean. If that's all that Tubbo can do, he'll do it. 

Tubbo digs a towel out from under the sink and wraps Tommy's hair in it, before they walk back to Tommy's room together. Getting up had apparently drained him, because Tommy falls back asleep almost as soon as he lays down again. Tubbo lays next to him, running his fingers through his hair, clean, slightly damp, and smelling like flowers.

[no-droids]

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS, SMUUUUUUT, religion kink, virgin kink, authority kink, degradation kink, praise kink, age gap, ohhhhh the list goes on y’all been here long enough

A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time im sorry

***

Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to be sick.

Dinner in the grand hall was difficult enough, forking down mouthfuls of expensive food he’s sure was absolutely marvelous, if he could’ve tasted it.  The s’Ziscari clearly splurged on the celebrations—expensive food, expensive decor, expensive everything, down to the silk napkin he studied and fiddled with under the table as he awkwardly waited for you to finish your plate.

He felt uncomfortable, absolutely.  He’s felt uncomfortable ever since he shuffled into this blasted, Maker forsaken robe not long after he left your quarters earlier.

Not black, no.  Not like yours.  Not like what appears to be an overwhelmingly vast majority of the people he’s encountered so far this dreadful evening.

No, his robes are blue.

A strong, eye-catching royal blue, covering his body in waves of fabric—softer than anything he’s ever worn before and leaving him feeling incredibly exposed.  The far more practical robes he traded for these atrocious garments are made of a thick, scratchy wool, a testament to the Jedi’s philosophical rejection of fine or expensive materials.  And, against all logic—to somehow make matters even worse, the sash tying this uncomfortable piece of attire closed has no place to clip his saber, unlike the leather belt he usually wears.  As a consequence, he’s left simply carrying it around by his side.

Granted, for some unknown reason, his robes are still far thicker and longer and more protective than the… stars, the ultra-thin black silk wrapped around your body, but Obi-Wan is so self-conscious about his appearance that he’s not even allowing himself to look at you.  Obviously that doesn’t stop him from refusing to leave your side the entire night, and he finds himself rather grateful that only a very few number of s’Ziscari are fluent in Basic, if only to provide him with a valid excuse to socially detach.

Of the very few people he’s noticed wearing robes resembling his, they’re all far younger than him—much closer to your age than Obi-Wan’s, and stars, everything about this celebration is unbelievably unnerving to him—including, if not most of all, your response to it.  One of the reasons he knows the food was grand, apart from the immaculate plating and lavish dinnerware of course, is because you momentarily excused yourself from the seat next to him to dish yourself out a second helping.

Even now, even in the skybox seats of this distressingly packed arena, Obi-Wan struggles to keep down what little food he could eat while you stand tall next to him and seem completely unbothered by the situation—and by the Maker, it bothers him.  He isn’t used to this.  He’s used to you being the emotionally turbulent one, the one whom he has to pacify, and it twists his stomach with the way the roles have suddenly found themselves reversed.

“I think the blue looks nice, by the way,” you lean sideways to mention casually to him, and he knows.  He knows you’re just jesting, just trying to lighten the mood, but he feels the bile rising up his throat at the fact that you even commented on it aloud.  “Fitting.  Matches your saber.  Your face, though.”  The smallest hint of a smile tugs at your cheeks.  “It’s beginning to match the color of mine.”

“Thank you for that, young one; your sense of humor is positively delightful,” Obi-Wan gripes, clutching the metal hilt tightly in front of him with both hands while he gazes out at the stadium before him, bustling with black hooded figures and a rare flash of blue.  It does not escape his notice that in complete contrast, your arms are loosely meeting behind your back, your saber dangling in one hand while the other lazily holds your wrist.  Your body is… open.  Draped in garments somehow equally as opaque as they are revealing, presented to the wide panoramic view of the audience and stage with no qualms whatsoever.

“Wonder who I got it from,” you ponder with a tilt of your head, and… fair point.  “How long is this thing supposed to last anyways?”

“Stars—‘this thing’ can’t get over with soon enough,” Obi-Wan grumbles, his eyes anxiously flicking down at the empty stage in the center of the audience.  He’s struggling with butterflies and nausea like he himself is meant to have a starring role in this debauchery.  “They’ll have… acts.  Plural.”

“Heavens,” you sigh under your breath, and oh yes.  He agrees.

He’s also painfully aware that he should be using this free time to continue contemplating his decision about… matters concerning later this evening with you, but he’s already feeling massively overwhelmed as it is.  Right now, it’s all he can do to just breathe and attempt to face one trial at a time.

But then, as if the Maker is feeling just particularly malicious this evening, Obi-Wan’s stomach drops when something quiet flashes in the Force and the roar of the enormous crowd instantly falls to dead silence.  The ominous sign rockets through him and while a Jedi should not know fear, this might be the closest he’s ever felt to truly terrified.

“Ooh, dramatic,” you whisper, but regardless of your laissez-faire attitude, his heart is positively pounding as he watches the figures of robed Force sensitives slowly file out onto the stage, and everything inside him lurches at the realization that—

They’re all wearing blue.  Every single one of them is clothed in fabric that matches his current attire, the one that made him feel like a blot on the landscape the entire dinner and subsequent mass pilgrimage to the arena.  A bright splash of color in the midst of an almost inescapably giant ring of black.

You’ve stopped talking.  Truly, he has no idea if that’s a good or bad thing, not right now.  The Force sensitives join hands and create a ring in the center of the stage while every single person in the arena sits in perfect silence, and Obi-Wan feels dizzy.  He’s not getting enough air right now, but he doesn’t even want to breathe too loudly and somehow draw even more attention to himself.

Two of the blue robes break off from their fellow acolytes and meet in the middle of the circle, and to simply avoid having a heart attack, Obi-Wan very purposefully chooses to ignore—like he’s done multiple times this evening—the subtle flicker of curiosity he experiences at the significance of the color blue and what it symbolizes to the s’Ziscari.  He can’t even bear to watch the way the two of them slowly lean in and allow their lips to touch from under their hoods.

Maker, if he turned his saber on and stabbed himself with it, could he convince you it was an accident?  Probably not—no, definitely not, what a stupid thought to have—

“How does she wipe?”  He hears your voice whisper, and Obi-Wan’s facial expression immediately screws up in confusion.

He turns to you, his tone equally hushed but the bewilderment sharpening his consonants.  “How does who what—?”

Only—you’re not even looking at the scene unfolding in front of you.  Your expression is just as confused as his is, but instead of looking down, your chin is lifted and you’re staring directly across the arena at the viewing booth opposite to yours.  He still has no idea what you’re talking about though, not until he follows your line of sight and sees the way s’Zerthia has her jaw propped up in her hands on her throne, looking bored as usual, and how the length of her newly manicured fingernails curves halfway up her scalp from this angle.

“That’s dangerous,” you remark quietly.  “They’re like talons.  Gaudy little weapons she always has attached to her that she decorates, makes them seem less vicious than they actually are.  I see them.  I certainly don’t envy whoever she picks tonight to—”

You cut yourself off with a bit lip smile and turn your face away from him, and Obi-Wan is almost mystified by how casual you’re able to be about this. 

“Whomever she picks to…?”  He trails off with a sigh.  “Do I… Do I want to know?”

���Never mind,” you tell him quickly, lifting your chin once more while still clearly trying not to laugh.  You’re trying not to laugh, while… while that is happening in the center of the audience.  “It was, uh… tasteless.”

He blinks, wondering what that could possibly mean.  Everything about this is tasteless, the entire thing is just an absolute nightmare coming to life.

Though, after a moment of silence, Obi-Wan soon realizes he much prefers it when you fill the void.

“Members of the Royal Court take turns doing it for her,” he eventually replies, decidedly looking anywhere but where the man is slipping the blue robe from the woman’s body.  It takes you a second to register to what exactly he’s referring, but when you finally do, you snort.  It’s too loud.  A few heads closest to your isolated seats turn as Obi-Wan very quickly thrusts his elbow into your ribs.  “Quit being disrespectful,” he hisses under his breath.

“You just—!”  You quickly clamp your mouth shut and face forward again, trying not to smile in an appalled sort of way.  But then—“Oh,” you blurt, not loud enough for anyone else to hear in this open setting but still loud enough for him to glance around and be slightly anxious about it.  “Oh.  Wow.  I wasn’t… expecting…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes automatically flick down to the couple, only just long enough to catch a quick glimpse of stark nudity in the center of the arena before his gaze immediately bounces back up again and focuses on the incredibly interesting steel beam currently propping up the Queen’s viewing box, clearing his throat.  “I… did warn you.”

“Well, yeah, I expected them to…”  Your hushed voice trails off and you stay quiet for too long, too long to imply you’re still formulating an end to your thought.  You’re distracted by something, but then you appear to snap back to your senses and immediately clear your throat.  “I just wasn’t expecting… the, uh.  The… positioning.”

He says nothing in response.  It… it doesn’t give him great comfort, wondering how you could possibly know enough about this type of profanity to have expected a different sort of positioning.  The stark contrast between the color of his ceremonial robes and yours still remains completely unspoken, but it quietly pulls at the back of his mind nonetheless.

“What about it?”  Obi-Wan immediately hears himself prompt and oh, no, this is completely inappropriate.  Not only should he not be encouraging this kind of talk with you, but he also shouldn’t feel so… so negative, not about something so personal to you and something that’s certainly none of his business.  Regardless, he… still has this buried, unexplainable desire to know the truth about it.  Regardless of the indirect way he’s attempting to go about it, he wants to know the truth about whether or not you broke your oath, and while he recognizes it’s completely improper of him, the urge is still strong enough to manifest itself using his vocal cords.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just…  It’s…”  He doesn’t even have a visual reference for what you’re attempting to find the words to describe.  He doesn’t want to.  He just wants to know what you think about it.  “…Bold,” you finally settle on.

Bold.  It’s bold.  Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t be analyzing your verbal responses so closely if he had something more interesting to look at besides the general coliseum-like structure of the large outdoor stadium, but there’s a certain horizon he just won’t let his eyes dip below right now and unfortunately for him, being so high up above the crowd, the upper hemisphere of his visual field remains relatively dull.

“Who would've thought,” he eventually sighs, blinking up at the star-splattered sky now and attempting to see if he can use the Force to break off a piece of a satellite and have it impale him in a tragic accident.  “Considering the s’Ziscari are such a conservative bunch.”

His eyes soon wander back to s’Zerthia, and—Obi-Wan startles to find her staring directly at him with a thin eyebrow dangerously quirked.  She motions two long fingers in a V shape at her eyes and then points down towards the stage, her expression expectant and waiting.

Obi-Wan’s teeth hurt at how hard he clenches them together, his jaw flexing but the thick blanket of his beard doing well to conceal it.  She’s playing with him, he realizes; he can see the hidden smile on her lips all the way from here.

Maker, maybe she’s right.  Maybe he’s—maybe he’s being ridiculous about this.  This is fine.  This is fine.  His stomach feels like it’s all his food might come up at any second, but he’ll do it, he’ll look.  He can at least just look, right?

His gaze slowly begins lowering, trying to take in just a few things at a time so as not to overstimulate himself.  Thousands of s’Ziscari lining the seats of the arena, almost every single one of them dressed in black.  Lower still—the platform leading up to the stage.  A perimeter of blue figures now sitting down in a circle and then, at its center, a… a naked man and woman.

Obi-Wan’s heart pounds as he struggles to comprehend the sight, never having laid eyes on a nude woman before.  She’s on her elbows and knees, forehead lowered and resting against the floor, and the man kneels behind her, one hand holding her hips and the other wrapping around his—

Stars, Obi-Wan wants to end it all.  Right here.  His aim will be true.

But then… oh, no, he’s an idiot.  He’s a complete dullard, because he forgot.  Consumed by his own sheer anxiety and unease, Obi-Wan stupidly forgot an extremely crucial detail of the incredibly little he’s been told about the Sh’inzith.

—the projecting.

All at once, he’s nearly knocked over by the strength of the two Force sensitives at the center of the arena as they deliberately cast their minds out across the entire audience, presenting every sensation and fleeting thought they’re experiencing in all its intensity.  Obi-Wan immediately works to reinforce his mental shields as soon as he feels the shockwave about to hit, but there’s thousands of Force sensitives present—all of them congregated into one relatively small area, all of them tuning into the same two signatures and then suddenly… amplifying them back until it’s impossible for him to shut out.

“Oh, uh—” he just manages to hear you mutter through the whirlwind, just the slightest hint of panic in your voice peaking through the symphony of whispered thoughts and pulsing sensations coming from the stage, “—that isn’t good—”

Obi-Wan abruptly stumbles backwards and gasps at the awful, wretched feeling of something brunt pressing up hard against somewhere elusive, somewhere he’s never felt before towards the lower part of his body, and his mind fights viciously against it as he feels you spin around and reach out for his rapidly retreating figure.

“Wait, no—it’s okay, M-Master, it’s okay, it’s—” your voice cuts off and your hands suddenly fist into the robes at his chest, your forehead dropping to his shoulder against the sharp sting just continuing to push and push and push, “—i-it’s okay, it’s oka—”

He trips over his feet in the chaos and falls back on complete instinct and you’re so tightly attached to him that you’re yanked forwards with the momentum, the two of you plunging to the ground in a clumsy heap of grunts and tangled limbs.  Obi-Wan immediately starts crawling backwards across the floor underneath you, still trying to escape the horrible, inescapable sensation digging into a part of his body that doesn’t seem to exist, but it’s like you’re of the same mind—you’re scrambling forwards in the same direction trying to get away from the same thing, frantically attempting to calm him and simultaneously deal with the agony yourself, and then suddenly—

Oh—oh, Maker—

Suddenly something gives and surges in, and then Obi-Wan gasps—his elbows buckling under him and as the both of you drop down onto the floor because stars, it’s nearly blinding with impression.  Not only the aching, hard fullness stretching sharp and deep somewhere in his lower abdomen—but now a new sensation.  A tight, wet silk he feels swallowing him between his legs, concentrated on a part of his body that… does exist, a body part that’s currently pressed up right between your spread thighs.

“Fuck,” you moan hot against his throat, trying to find somewhere to brace yourself next to his shoulders and push yourself up off him, and he tries—Maker, he tries so hard not to, but his hands shoot out to grab your hips before he even knows what he’s doing and then he’s dragging his lower body up into yours on instinct alone, clamping his eyes shut and groaning out a desperate sound he’s never heard himself make before as his head drops against the floor.

It’s staggering.  It hurts.  He can't even hear your muffled noises anymore, not over the roaring encompassing his mind and body.  All he knows is that your hips quickly jerk back and grind down into his in response, sending Obi-Wan reeling while you bury your twisted cry of pleasure and pain into his neck.

The sound of it breaks through everything else.

Obi-Wan’s hands shake violently as they suddenly release you and then frantically shove at your shoulders, trying to push you off without hurting you.  He can’t think, he can’t see, he needs to leave—

“Get away,” he rasps desperately up at the sky, blinking his eyes wide but somehow not seeing anything in front of him but blackness.  “St-stars, get away from me—”

Suddenly you’re flipping off his body and onto your back next to him, too quick for it to be a mechanical movement alone, and he doesn’t even have the space in his mind nor the processing capacity to figure out if he Force pushed you off him or if it was you who did it to yourself.  He just clambers to his feet and stumbles away in a terrified, graceless retreat, bent in half, limping and gasping and fighting for every step he takes.

***

Your Master was right to leave as soon as possible, you think.  You were wrong to linger here for just a second to try and gain your bearings, because the more you work to grasp and attempt to organize them, the more mindless and disorienting they become.

You eventually have to heave over and drag yourself after him.

The further away you get from the arena, the easier it becomes to block the projection, but Maker, it’s exhausting.  You’re resigned to start out with a crawl—one of those Jedi Core crawls you haven’t had to do since the Academy but this one exponentially slower, forehead dropped down and eyes closed, just focusing on alternating shifting your elbows and your knees forwards and dedicating the rest of your mental energy to just isolating your mind from the debilitating assault.

Consulars don’t usually see much of war—you tend to do absolutely everything in your power to avoid it.  It’s the Guardians who experience the horrors of combat most often, who deal with ambushes and onslaughts from enemies of the Republic.  But Maker above, every merciless thrust into that poor little virgin at the center of the arena is like a blaster shooting directly at you, but then couple it with the thousands of reflections and ricochets in robes lining the bleachers?  You’re in the trenches of a deadly battle you had no idea was even about to break out and you have no weapon of defense besides retreat.

When you finally get far enough away to be able to push yourself upright as much as possible and continue staggering back to the palace on two feet, you have no concept for how long it’s been.  You can still feel the projection vibrating and clawing sharply at the edges of your consciousness, but at least the majority of your thoughts are your own now, and it gradually becomes easier and easier to focus and speed up to a clumsy run.

Though, no matter how successful you eventually are at muffling the vibrant sensations and thoughts of the two Force sensitives behind you—when they cum, you stumble down to your knees again and have to bite the back of your fist to keep from screaming.

Maker, it takes you a minute to recover.  You don’t even cum, you just feel it—the burst of energy from the Force in every direction, the violent explosion from the stadium that feels like it should fracture the ground beneath you.

You’re able to get up after a moment, if only because they decide to take mercy and finally cut off the projection.  You know that it’s a temporary relief, that they’ll likely be at this all night, but you hope the palace will be far enough away from the arena to block out the sensations completely.  You wonder if Master Kenobi felt that through the Force or whether he was too determined to block it out that he was able to simply ignore the nuclear missile that just detonated less than a few miles away from him.

You force yourself forwards and you want to hurry, you do—but strangely, in your wild state of exhaustion, stark reality is almost as debilitating as swimming through that endless madness was.  It’s quiet around you but the noise of still air pulses deafeningly in your eardrums after breaking free from such a thick mental filter separating you from your surroundings.  You still have your lightsaber clutched in your hand, Maker rejoice, and your thin robes are skewed awkwardly across your body, but you eventually find your way to the doors of the palace.

Though, trying to navigate the empty halls back to your Master’s chambers takes you longer than it should.  His signature is cloaked spectacularly, concealed to a mere speck you wouldn’t even know was there if you weren’t so closely acquainted with it for more than a decade.  You follow the flickering pixel of blue light through the obstacle ridden darkness, adjusting the front of your robes with one trembling hand while you wipe your brow with the other, closing your eyes and doing your best to take deep breaths.  He’ll be spiraling right now.  He’ll need a boulder to cling to in this tsunami, solid ground to stand on while the stars are falling out of the sky.

You… find him in your quarters instead.

The door is open and his handsome profile is to you, the thick fabric stretching over his broad shoulders now an agreeable light cream, familiar and telling of his intentions.  His hands are moving.  Setting something down on your bed—your robes, you soon realize.  He’s laying out your Jedi robes neatly for you across the fur blanketing the large mattress.

Master Kenobi begins speaking as soon as you step foot into the room, the tone of his voice very clearly impatient after having waited for you for so long.

“Change out of those ridiculous garments,” he tells you hastily, neatly laying out your leather belt across your dark tunic without even turning his head to look at you properly.  “We must leave.  Quickly.  Also—tell me you didn’t forget your saber at the arena, because if so, I’m afraid it’s lost to us forever now.  Ilum is only three days from here, perhaps we can stop there on the way back to Coruscant to find you another kyber cryst—”

You drop the hilt of your lightsaber on the floor and step forward, cautiously reaching out for his figure as he continues to ramble.  “Master, I—”

Your hand is thrown to the side with a subtle flick of his wrist and you instantly jerk to an abrupt halt, holding your palms out in front of you and keeping completely still while he spins around, his jaw slack and staring at you wide-eyed.  He takes a few steps away from you in shock.

“I’m sorry—” he immediately gasps, reaching out towards you even though the rest of his body is still desperately evading yours.  “Stars, I’m so sorry—that was just… That was excruciating, young one.  Why would anyone ever willingly—?”

“It—it doesn’t always—” you cut yourself off just in time, clamping your jaw shut before you can finish your sentence.

“We must leave,” he says once more as he turns back to your mattress, not appearing to hear you at all and shaking his head, far too frantic to sound like he’s just reminding you alone.  “We can’t do that.  I can’t do that—”

“It doesn’t always have to be—”  Maker, what is wrong with you?  Your heart kicks up in your chest and somehow stutters to a halt at the same time.  It’s the lingering effects of the assault your mind just experienced coupled with your desperate urge to console him that’s making you so utterly careless, you realize, it’s making your tongue loose.

“Stars, what do you mean?”  Master Kenobi finally snaps, and your blood runs ice cold.  “How do you know that?”

It takes the sum of all your years of training to keep the raging hurricane of emotion from showing in any capacity.  You feel like he’s holding his saber to your neck with how dangerously little you’re even allowing yourself to breathe right now, how utterly and completely still you’re holding yourself in front of him.

Lie, a little voice in your mind supplies quietly, the little voice you keep locked inside an impenetrable box of everything you are but have never been allowed to confront, haven’t been allowed to openly think just in case someone is listening too closely.  Lie.  Lie, right now.  Your silence is giving you away.

Only—you can’t.  You shouldn’t.  It’s not fair to keep this from him, not when you’re asking him to do something so structurally compromising to his belief system.  If… if you tell him the truth, perhaps he won’t judge you too harshly.  Perhaps he’ll feel… reassured, knowing he’s certainly not the first Jedi to break a sacred vow when he felt times were desperate enough.

Besides.  This might be the only secret that could potentially get you kicked out of the Order, but… it still isn’t your worst one.

“Because.”  The word is out of your mouth before you can rethink it, barely above a whisper.  “I… know.”

He doesn’t respond, and no.

No, you were wrong.  You were wrong to tell him the truth, and the look on his face immediately shoots panic through your whole body.

He doesn’t look reassured.

He looks… alienated.

“‘It doesn’t always?’”  Your Master eventually repeats back to you, and fuck—the implication is instantly clear.  The implication is made so clear from the sharpness in his tone, the hard edge to it as he rounds out the vowels in the last word that makes your heart twist and throb in your ribcage.  He might as well have just asked you how many times you must’ve violated your code of honor to know the difference.

“It’s not.”  You clear your throat and flick your gaze up to the ceiling, feeling like he’s using the Force to squeeze your chest in on itself.  “That was the absolute worst possible sensation that can be felt during… It’s—it’s not like that.  It won’t… be like that.  Not.”  Are there tears coming to your eyes?  “Not… with me.”

Utter quiet.  So quiet that if you really concentrate, you can hear the distant sounds of the arena continuing on with the Ritual without you.  You bite hard at your lip and wait for him to say something, anything.  Yell at you, tell you how disgusted he is, banish you from the Order.

Instead, Master Kenobi quite suddenly… deflates.  He sighs—not a heavy, exhausted one, but a soft one.  A quiet, accepting sort of sound.

He slowly lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, running both hands through his hair, and it’s just enough to give you pause.  You glance over at him, trying not to let tears fall beyond the plateau of your lower lids with the frantic downward movement of your eyes, and you’re only just barely successful at it.

“It’s alright,” he says gently.  “It’s… it’s alright, young one.  I… suppose I am in no place to judge.  Quite… quite literally,” he murmurs, gesturing to the space around him with a lazy wave of his hand.  Maker, his figure is too watery and unfocused to make out his facial expressions, but you don’t want to blink to clear your vision just in case a sudden downpour escapes.  “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have asked.  You’re… not my Padawan anymore.  I should have no reason to… even care at all, really.”

There’s something that feels… major in that, something monumental yet incredibly well hidden, but you’re still too full of blind panic to interpret it further.  Your breathing is shaky and you wonder, quite stupidly and not for the first time in your life, if it’s somehow possible to use the Force to evaporate the water in your eyes before it turns into tears.

“I am certain it took place in your younger years, a long time ago,” he continues calmly when you don’t immediately say anything.  “You did always have a… a rather unconventional relationship with the rules.” 

Your only response is a quick jerk of a nod.  Yes.

“Yes,” you immediately agree, hoping your tone sounds convincing enough through the lingering tremors.  “It was… a long time ago.  I’ve changed, since then.  Grown up in many ways.”

It’s his turn to nod, and you manage to calm down just slightly.  You’re still breathing too hard and you’re a bit too braced, too much of a stance to truly feel like relief, but your heart rate is beginning to settle back into a somewhat acceptable rhythm.

Master Kenobi looks over at you, and he says absolutely nothing about the traces of water still glistening along your eyelashes.  He just smiles softly and pats the space next to him.

You cautiously make your way over to him after a moment, feeling more unsure now than you’ve felt this entire mission.  You leave at least a half a foot of space separating the two of you once you carefully sit yourself down on the mattress, and you can’t even look in his general direction.  You just focus on the long, draping sleeves of your black robe as you look down at your hands and wait for him to speak first.

“Sometimes,” he eventually sighs.  “Sometimes I… feel like you’re the person I know best in the entire galaxy, you know.  I’ve… I’ve known you far longer than I ever knew my own Master, young one.  I picked you out of thousands, and I’d do it thousands of times again.  Sometimes—especially since the day of your accolade and subsequent absence, I feel like I can know exactly what you’re thinking, even from across an entire star system.  And yet somehow, you… always surprise me.  Even after all these years, I am just.  Consistently surprised by you.”

You don’t know how to take that.  You just sit there in a guilty silence, still unable to turn your head or offer any sort of response.

“I chose you as a Padawan because you surprised me, you know,” he reminds you quietly.  “I had certain expectations for you, and you did not meet those expectations.  Instead, you presented an alternative I’d never before considered, an alternative that forced me to reevaluate you—and by extension, myself—far beyond what I had previously.  That is not a bad thing.  It has never been a bad thing.  As is made blatantly obvious by the fact that I’m the one currently standing in the way of saving lives, and you’re…not.”

Maker, this is thin ice.  You don’t know what to say that’ll express hesitant agreement with his sentiment without making it sound like you’re not apologetic for breaking your oath.  You’re… well, you’re not, not really.  His response itself is causing you to feel far more turmoil than any legitimate regret for your actions.

“It was—” On instinct, you almost say it was a mistake regardless of the conflicts you’re just so happening to encounter on this mission, but something stops you.  You suddenly remember your place here, your goal.  To save the galaxy from the Separatists’ reign.  And, by extension… sleep with your Master.  You can’t call it a mistake if you’re going to ultimately try to convince him to do the same thing.  So instead, you scramble to finish your sentence with a different thought, knowing his full attention is pinned to you right now.  “…A long time ago,” is all your exhausted mind is able to come up with.

“Yes,” he gives you a small, companionable smile.  “It’s alright.  Your prior lapse—or, well… lapses in judgement… will forever be safe with me.”

And still, you don’t feel relief.  Not when Master Kenobi very quickly appears to look uncertain.

“I… apologize,” he offers after a moment, “if.  If I ever made you feel like… like you could not confide in me about any struggles or… or urges you may have been experienc—”

“Maker,” you suddenly interrupt with a frantic wave of your hands, everything cringing inside you, “Maker, we don’t have to do this.  None of it, it’s okay.  Know what?  Let’s just go home—screw the galaxy, I don’t care, just stop talking.”

He snaps his eyes over to you, a sudden bark of laughter escaping him before the rest of his face even seems to register something was funny.

It evolves.  Eventually he’s covering his face and stifling ridiculous little snorts behind his hands, trying to apologize in between the chuckles but laughing even harder.  It’s almost like… just a form of pure stress relief for him.  So far beyond traumatized that it’s revealing itself in a slightly hysterical way, even if what you said wasn’t hysterical at all.

“Now you have a mere glimpse into what my experience has been like today,” he finally tells you with a sparkling grin once he composes himself, lifting his chin as he looks at you and scratching his beard with a quiet flicking sound.  “Shall I keep going?  If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what, things can always get worse.”

“They don’t have to.”  You say it without thinking, the gentle reprieve caused by his laughter flowing through you in waves and making you throw caution to the wind.  The four words serve to shut him up quite quickly however, even though it was the opposite of your intent, and your smile drops.  Maker, just freely conversing with him about these things is navigating a minefield for his mental state.

“You… you say that, and yet even—” Master Kenobi eventually responds, cutting himself off with a cough.  “Even the things I’ve heard are meant to feel… pleasant, were just.”  He shakes his head and blinks his crystal blue eyes over at you.  “By all accounts.  Agony.”

“I know,” you nod.  “I know.  Projecting that specific situation was… sadistic of them.  A distortion of the truth.  Probably rooted in deep tradition, but also a great scare tactic if I ever saw one, playing with us by presenting the absolute worst of it before anything else.  It won’t hurt.  At all.  I promise.  In fact—I-I can make it feel—”

Maker, you don’t even finish your sentence, but you must think the general idea loud enough for him to understand.  You don’t actually have a specific word in mind—good, great, amazing, euphoric?—and yet, something quiet settles over you two at the silent implication, the mere whisper of the possibility of you pleasuring him.

And him… allowing it.

“Master, I—”

“Don’t,” he quickly tells you.  “Don’t call—You don’t have to… call me that.  Just for right now, it’s.  I don’t—” he takes a breath that sounds shakier than it looks, and then he paints an easy, fake smile on his face following the exhale.  You recognize that smile anywhere, though.  While you��ve never seen him wear it before, it’s the smile that politicians make when they’re about to present a lesser truth to you, a smile shown to you in negotiations all the time that signifies something… hidden.  He’s hiding something, something important, and you have no idea what it could possibly be.  “I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called that right now, young one.  Perhaps you should be the Master, and I the learner.”

“Ah yes, the circle is now complete,” you can’t help but jest in return, wanting to keep the tone light even though the subject matter is heavy.  “Is now when we trade lightsabers?”

“Indeed,” he smiles, this time more sincere, and… you can’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it appears you’re physically closer to each other now than you were when you first sat down.

“Do they, uh… actually expect us to…”  You clear your throat and wave a hand around, “…Project the entire time like that?”

Master Kenobi quickly shakes his head.  “No.  s’Zer—Queen s’Zerthia informed me that.  Ah.  For us, projection will only be necessary during the… well, she called it the ‘closing ceremonies.’”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod.  “I… see.”

It’s like you can physically feel his body start to break out into a cold sweat next to you at the sudden… realness of it all, the realization that it has to be getting late.  Close to midnight, if you’re not already pushing it.  It’s come time to make a final decision, you both know it.  You want to console him, offer him some kind of solace or reprieve, but stars, you just don’t know how, not when you’re this much of a mess about this, too, but for entirely different reasons.  You don’t have a single clue how to make him feel better about any of this.

“I just,” you rush before you lose the nerve, “I want you to know that—e-even if you feel like you’re somehow alone in this, you’re not.  Okay?  I’m… I’m really nervous, too.  I don’t… I don’t actually know what to do at all right now.  I don’t know whether to respect your apprehension or tell you it’s unfounded.  I don’t know if I should remind you what’s at stake here or whether I should avoid mentioning it at all costs.  I have no idea what position I should take, but I’ll—I’ll take whichever one you want me to.”

And it’s odd, because when you first launched into your confession, Master Kenobi gradually began to look more and more relieved, but at a certain point, something just goes horribly wrong.  You don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, it seems to rocket through your Master and suddenly his breathing stutters.

For a moment, you think he’s going to reach back, yank your neatly folded Jedi robes up from the mattress and push the dark fabric into your hands.  Tell you he’ll meet you at the docking bay posthaste, tell you not to linger, tell you that the mission was a failure.  But then—

“Before,” he suddenly says, the word almost startling you with how abrupt it comes out sounding.  Almost like he wasn’t quite expecting himself to say it either.  “Earlier today, you asked… you asked if there was anything you could do to… make this easier.”

“Yes,” you prompt immediately.  He won’t look at you, and for some reason your heart begins beating faster and the inside of your thighs are getting warm.

“I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this,” he admits with a whisper, his voice sounding so quietly reluctant, like he doesn’t want to say the words aloud but is forcing himself to.  “But… the Council put you in charge of negotiations.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his implication.  What does that have to do with anything?  Is he saying that you’re supposed to be in charge, and therefore he’s defaulting to you?  “I’m not sure I—”

“The Galactic Republic…”  Master Kenobi enunciates very, very pointedly, still unable to look at you, “…put you in charge of negotiations.”

Specifying—or in this case, generalizing—doesn’t help much.  “I’m still not—”

“Maker, for—for the good of the Republic, young one,” he presses under his breath and finally flicks his gaze up to meet yours, sounding urgent and torn in equal parts.  “Negotiate.”

Stars, negotiate with who?  With—with him?  For the good of the…?  Is he asking you to somehow reason with him beyond what you’ve attempted to do already, or persuade him to do what’s right for—?

Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.

Shock paints your expression blank and his eyes instantly evade yours once more.  You have to sit there for just a second and double-check that you’re not dreaming.  None of this seems real.  All of it seems like an incredibly elaborate illusion of the Force, ever since you first laid eyes on him at the start of this mission.  You know you missed him but stars, did you truly miss him this terribly?  Your longing must rival something fierce to unconsciously conjure this wild of a scenario.  Is he actually here right now?  Have you been speaking to a ghost?  Are you actually here right now?  Are you going to wake up any second and remember he’s thousands of lightyears away and has been for years, risking his life on the front lines of galactic war while you’re left to play politics and negotiate treaties behind the scenes?

These thoughts aren’t safe to have in normal interactions with him, but nothing about this situation is normal, and while you know Master Kenobi has years of experience reading your signature, he most likely won’t be able to gauge the specific details of your thoughts when you can sense how intensely he’s focused on guarding his own chaotic mind from you.

So you let yourself think.  If only for a second, you sit next to him and allow yourself to just… think about him.  About how much you care for him, how desperately you ache for him—you let all these improper longings finally have their moment with you.  You let yourself confront it, crack the lid of the hidden box tucked away behind your consciousness and brave it, because if there was ever a moment to do so, it’s right now.

Your heart starts slamming up against your ribcage and your hands feel like they’re tingling.  He wants you to convince him to have sex with you.  He’s asking you to corrupt him.  He wants you to negotiate the galaxy’s survival with the last man standing in the way of its prosperity—a good man with strong, immovable morals, a man who understands the consequences that follow integrity around and won’t be easy to tempt.

“This was a bad idea,” suddenly comes Master Kenobi’s voice, quickly backpedaling after too long of a silence.  “I shouldn’t have said that.  Forget I said that, we should just g—”

“Would you like to meditate?”  You immediately ask him on a complete whim, shuffling back towards the middle of the mattress for the second time today.  You’re careful to make sure he doesn’t see you carelessly flick your neat robes to the floor with the Force, clearing the top of the large mattress.  “Let’s meditate.”

“Stars,” he breathes, shyly his head turning to follow you, “I’d love nothing more, but there truly just isn’t any time—”

You find it easier than you thought it’d be to pull a playful face at him, crossing your legs and straightening your spine.  “Please, you’re a Guardian.  You blue sabers practically invented battle meditation, did you not?”

He looks skeptical for a moment, as he has a valid right to be.  “Is this a battle?”  He eventually asks over his shoulder.

You say nothing in response to that, instead using the Force with a flex of your finger to tug at the loose cream fabric of his robe at his elbow.  “Come on, it’ll do us good.”

He looks conflicted for a second, but then ultimately decides to humor you.  “Alright,” Master Kenobi finally agrees, turning around and crawling towards you on the mattress, and you’re just quick enough to stamp down a flicker of arousal at the mere sight of it.  “It won’t hurt.”

“Of course it won’t,” you agree with just a bit too much air in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice it.  He just seats himself directly in front of you, facing you, crossing his legs close enough to yours that your knees barely touch, and—

—Maker, he’s lovely.

You purposefully let yourself think it as his eyes slowly fall closed and he takes a deep breath, beginning to tame the wild tempest of his mind.  You let the word flitter around your thoughts without instantly repressing it like you always do, and just the mere act of allowing yourself to acknowledge the truth is freeing.  He’s lovely.  He’s lovely.  You could scream it.

Your eyes trail down the lines of his ever softening, tranquil expression, not even bothering to pretend to meditate for his benefit this time.  Your gaze roams shamelessly across his face, the way his hair is combed back away from it.  The sandy, masculine beard leading down to the thick column of his throat, the broad lines of his shoulders draped in pale fabric, the way his chest slowly moves as he breathes.  Lovely.  Lovely.

And then you go… lower.

His abdomen is stretched long with how upright he’s sitting, his flawless meditation posture.  His thighs are spread wide in this position, pants stretched tight into an elusive drum over his crotch and preventing you from truly seeing anything—but stars is it a thrill even just letting yourself look. 

Especially knowing that the more his mind works to compose itself, the easier it’ll be for him to hear you.

You keep thinking, growing bolder the more you’re left alone with this box wide open.  You think about how lithe and strong his body is, how it would feel under your hands.  You think about all the different things you want to show him, all the… the mind shattering pleasure you can give him if he’ll allow y—

Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.

It doesn’t sound the way you expect, though you don’t really know what you expected it to sound like.  A sharp, frustrated bark?  An exasperated, pleading attempt to get you to stop?

No—none of those.  It’s a quiet, low growl of a sound, and the clear warning in it absolutely burns a hole through you like he picked up his lightsaber and used it instead.

You take practiced breaths, trying to calm yourself down.  Stars, he just said your name, he’s said it so many times before, and yet hearing it in his mouth with that tone in this context feels like he just strapped rockets to your ankles and told you to stay put.  You’re impatient.  You’re turning yourself on, working yourself up, trying to get to where you can actually make a move on him after dedicating so many years to desperately repressing the longing to do so.  Once he told you to negotiate this deal with him, however, it’s as if every ounce of the impeccable self control you’ve practiced so spectacularly throughout most of your life slowly started to unravel.

Reaching out tentatively so as not to startle him, you wrap both of your palms around the bend of his knees and squeeze gently.  Master Kenobi displays no physical signs of—well, anything really, keeping his body completely rigid under your hands with no noticeable alterations in his breathing pattern.  Biting your lip, you begin to slowly rotate your thumbs, making sure to keep your movements slow and perfectly symmetrical.  Complete relaxation is your ultimate goal here—coaxing your Master into a serene state where physical contact is desired, not obligatory.  He's so uncomfortable with the concept of intimacy in and of itself though, from the way his eyebrows start to furrow and his spine begins gradually tilting back and away from you, it's almost as if your ministrations are dampening rather than fueling.

“Relax,” you murmur, and stars, even though you make it sound quiet and gentle, it’s like the melodic lull of your voice appears to startle him more than if you’d just spoken normally.  Maker—it’s counterintuitive; how are you supposed to turn someone on when the mere state of being turned on turns them off?  “Relax with me, it’s okay—”

“But I just can't, young one,” he suddenly implores, his voice pressed up tight in his throat, his cerulean eyes popping open in frustration and something else—an honest, heartfelt emotion that's strikingly less familiar to you, even after years spent by his side: deep, hot, stomach-wrenching guilt.  You watch your Master’s palms run the length of his thighs; back and forth, back and forth—almost like a nervous tick, you think—and it’s oddly endearing, if not increasingly concerning.  “I just can't, this is all so wrong.  Don't you understand?  E-Even if the Council did provide a—well, a rather admittedly ineluctable blessing for this downright ludicrous endeavor, i-it’s… I don't…”  He takes a deep breath, and visually, it looks like he's attempting to collect his thoughts and composure, but you know your Master all too well.  You know what he's really doing, and at this point, it's almost… frustrating.

“What are you so afraid of?”  You clutch his knees and whisper quietly, interrupting him before he can verbalize whatever perfectly logical reason he's trying to formulate as to why you both should leave the planet immediately, what he's going to say to the Council if they ever inquire as to why negotiations ultimately failed.  He jerks his head up sharply to look at you.

“The Jedi fear nothing,” is his automatic response, though his previously intense gaze strays slightly from yours after a second of too much eye contact.  “Fear is the path to the Dark Side, you know this.”

“And yet you are afraid,” you remark calmly, studying the way he’s turned his face away from you completely now, how you can still see his jaw clench under the thick beard with his profile shown to you like this.  “I—I’m trying to understand, Master, but I—I don’t.  Even if this mission were half as important as it is, your loyalty to the Order would follow you right into an early grave.  But this?”  You remove a palm from his knee to gesture between the two of you, the mattress beneath the both of you, “fulfilling this mission and these terms to save the entire galaxy is too ‘downright ludicrous’ for the Great Negotiator?  I don’t believe it.  Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”

Only, he’s suddenly moving—away from you.  Turning and planting his palms to fur, beginning to climb to the edge of the bed and sweep his legs around under him, and your voice has an unintentional edge to it when you address his back.

“Do you know how many lives over I owe you?”  You ask, and he jerks to an abrupt halt, feet just shy of stepping on the floor.  “Do you have any idea the stockpile of mortal gratitude you’ve amassed from me?  How many times you’ve risked your death to save me from mine over the years—can you count them?  I have.  I know my debt to you, I know the weight of my life piled on top of itself over and over again.  I remember each and every one of them like they happened yesterday, and not once did you hesitate even slightly, let alone the way you’ve hesitated today.”

”And?”  Master Kenobi quite suddenly snaps over his shoulder as he grips the edge of the mattress, sounding sharp but not necessarily directed towards you.  “What is your point?”

“My point is that if you’d so readily trade your death time and time again to prevent that of even one other person, let alone a difficult Padawan who caused the Order nothing but grief for years, then what is it that makes the deaths of trillions—” you nearly say preferable to bedding me before you realize how incredibly harsh that would sound, but something about the way he seems to tense his shoulders and curl inwards implies he was following the general cadence of your agitated signature more than the specific content of your words.

He says absolutely nothing, but he doesn’t move to drop his feet to the floor, either.  If only you could punch a proverbial hole through his practically indestructible mental barriers, you'd see the real reason he's so flustered, why he's purposely attempting to deceive you.  Unfortunately for you though, they feel like they're made of triple-reinforced beskar, a countermeasure gradually increasing in strength the more you try to probe.

But then—all at once, something clicks.  Something… fundamental.  An understanding. 

Your Master is a gifted negotiator, yes.  But more than that.

He wields a blue saber.  Not a green one.

He’s a Guardian.  A warrior.  He fights.  It’s something that has never truly been part of your nature, no matter how much you struggled with it over the years—but it is a part of his, no matter how exceptionally he’s been able to mask it for even longer.

So, all at once, you stop pushing.  Your signature abruptly pulls away from him, gives him room to breathe and simply hovers within your own personal space, unassuming and careful not to disturb him.  You see your Master lift his chin and straighten his spine slightly, immediately noticing your absence and the constant pressure you’d been applying, and you honestly can’t tell if he relaxes or tenses up even more because of it.

Finally, when you feel like it’s been long enough, you slowly reach out and gently place your hand on his arm.  This time, there’s no underlying motivation attached, no inherent desire for him to fulfill any sort of obligation.  Just a warm, companionable gesture to reinforce the simple knowledge that you’re both in this together, for better or worse.

Please tell me, Obi-Wan, you quietly whisper to him through the Force, allowing your tone and energy to transfer through your open palm and into his troubled spirit as softly and gently as you possibly can—a caress more than anything even close to a sentence or inquiry.  Your usage of his first name is entirely unprecedented however, and your Master sucks in a sharp breath in response.

I don't… But then the subconscious, half-formed thought fades away almost as quickly as it’s offered to you from behind the solid, unyielding fortress of his mind.  “W-what are you doing?”

You bite your lip, wondering how honest you should be with him right now.  Though, you suppose, if you truly want him to confide in you, you should at least meet him halfway.

“You’re the locked door,” you finally settle on.  “This is me knocking.”

Obi-Wan turns around and blinks at you, looking for all the stars in this galaxy like that was quite possibly the last thing he expected you to say.  You can see the frantic thoughts pass through his eyes almost as if the clear blue was completely transparent, likely remembering all the times you’ve leaned on him for guidance, listened intently and learned from his wisdom and experience.  And now you’re a fully grown woman patiently offering him your ear, wondering if you’ve earned enough of his trust for him to do the same.

“I’m afraid I’ll form an attachment to you.”  The words tumble from his mouth even though his body all but whips away from you in the process.  “It’s unreasonable for the Council to expect this from me.  From us.  I’m afraid our relationship will forever be tarnished from this, that neither of us will ever be able to go back to the way things were before.  I’m afraid that regardless of whatever decision I make, I won’t be able to carry the guilt on my conscience and continue to call myself a Jedi and Guardian of the Republic.  But mostly, I just—I-I—”

Your heart is pounding as Obi-Wan buries his face into his hands and his muffled voice groans raggedly, “—I’m afraid I’ll like it.  I’m afraid I’ll want it again, and again.  I’m afraid it’ll follow me back to Coruscant, that I’ll save the galaxy but spend the rest of my days aching for something I’ll never be able to keep, and that’s petrifying.  Desire, passion, selfishness, possession; all of them lead to Darkness, and I can—I can feel it right now.  Your soul is so gentle, so peaceful, and yet you… you inspire such Darkness in me, dove.”

Maker, you’re trying so hard.  So hard to keep your legs from clenching together at the utter desperation in his tone, how his breathing has picked up now that the words have ripped themselves out of his throat, like the whole thing was physical agony even just to say.  You have to take a second.  You’ve been so patient this entire time, but stars—this one makes you need a moment.  You’re so glad his eyes are clamped shut behind his fingers right now because yours lose focus trying to mask the absolutely debilitating wave of arousal that sinks down hot through your stomach.

Even when you regain the ability to speak, the ability to form a safe and proper response to the bombshell he just dropped on you completely evades you.

You purposefully don't say that you're already helplessly attached to him, that the colors of the galaxy somehow lost their brilliance the day you graduated to Knight, the day you left his side.  You don't say that you want this so badly you can feel it in your neck, that it would probably break you in half if he said no to this now.  Though it's the honest-to-Maker truth, you know discovering this information will only cause your Master to further distance himself from you, and somehow that thought alone is a million times worse than being denied the opportunity to be this close to him.  Even… even if what you end up sharing is more emotional than physical.

So you take a deep breath to center yourself, and choose your words very carefully.

“A compromise, then.”

Obi-Wan suddenly raises his head, turning around to look at you and blinking twice.  “A what?”

“You told me to negotiate.  What do we do as negotiators, hm?”  You raise an eyebrow, giving him a gentle smile and trying not to curl your fingers into the fur underneath you with how hard it is to conceal your burning arousal.  Do it for him.  Do it for your Master, you’re in l—you… care about him, and you care about the things he cares about, even if doing so feels like it’ll rip you apart.  “We compromise.  Yes?  So, let’s find one.”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t see h—”

“If you were to…”  You cut him off and look down, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase this.  “If you were to… find other means to bring yourself to completion, would you be able to convince anyone listening that I was the one doing it?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even blink this time.  He just stares at you, holding himself like a statue in front of you.  Finally, he seems to find himself.  “I… I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re stronger in the Force than anyone on this planet, Master,” you encourage softly, placing a hand back on his arm and squeezing this time.  “I’ve felt it.”

“N-No,” he practically hiccups.  “No, I mean I-I… I don’t know if… if I can.”

Your eyebrows narrow, a mixture of confusion and concern coloring your expression.  “If you can…?”

He looks back at you almost desperately, his eyes practically begging you to figure it out so he doesn’t have to say it.  Finally, Obi-Wan sighs, seeming to collapse in on himself with its intensity.  “I—I’ve never… purposefully reached completion before,” he admits.  “I’m—I’m not sure how to.”

Your eyes widen, wanting to kick yourself for making assumptions.  Of course.  Of course he’d follow his oath to its strictest interpretation, why would you ever think otherwise?  “Oh, y-yes, of course not,” you stutter, sounding incredibly stupid and perfectly mirroring the embarrassed flush also painting your Master’s cheeks, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s alright,” he holds up a hand.  “We simply… view such things differently.  So long as you do not pass judgment, then neither shall I.”

You nod and look down at your hands, wondering how else you can attempt to tackle this predicament.  “What if I…”  You blink slowly, almost wanting to keep your eyes closed in case he’s offended by the idea but figuring you should have them open to read his responses.  “What if I… don’t touch you?”

Now he just looks confused.  “I’m sorry?”

You blush and clear your throat, obviously phrasing this wrong.  “If you can modify the context of your projection, then I can… get you there.  Without touching you.”

“How could you accomplish such a thing without tou—” Obi-Wan immediately cuts himself off when you lift your hand and close your eyes.

His thigh.  The right one—you focus on it.  There.  Right above the bend of his knee folding over the edge of the mattress, you concentrate all the energy from your fingertips and reach out, connecting the two together.  And then you take a deep breath and begin to draw your attention slowly upwards.

Your Master’s breath catches in his throat as you use the Force to delicately trail further up his leg, not laying a single hand on him as his muscles start to visibly tighten and quiver.

“Young one, I—”  His breathing stutters when you keep your hand raised but let your head tilt and drop down towards your shoulder with your energy, slinking down the inside of his thigh like water and getting dangerously close to his— “Stars, hang on—”

You blink your eyes open at him and continue concentrating right there, letting your focus melt warm and thick along the muscle and squeeze it—

“Maker—”  Obi-Wan gasps and drops his head back, his legs nearly spasming apart.  “Maker, hang on, I…”

“Do you…” You breathe tightly, flicking your eyes down to the way he’s fisting the fur under his hands and subconsciously flexing his hips up just the slightest bit.  Even though the Force, his body feels good.  Strong, sturdy, and braced tight under your attention.  “Do you want me to keep doing this?  I can… go higher.”

“You can…?  The—the Force isn’t—” Obi-Wan groans, his eyes clamping shut, “—isn’t meant to be used in such… in such… If I’m to break my oath, young one, it needn’t be so… so blasphemous—”

Trying to conceal the hot sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, you simply allow your metaphysical hand to continue resting right at the juncture of his hip and thigh, waiting for a real answer.  You bite your lip and wait for him to tell you to either cut it out or to keep going.  He doesn’t even have to say it out loud if he doesn’t want to—he can just slide it under the impassable door still separating him from you, the door you’re eventually going to get him to unlock himself.

His back is to you, so you can only see a bit of his face from this angle, but you can hear him loud and clear when he opens his mouth and whispers to you, barely louder than a breath.  “Go higher.”

Adrenaline rockets through your veins and slowly, your fingers curl in thin air while your gentle energy wraps itself around his cock.

Both of Obi-Wan’s hands instantly fly up to his face and he releases a tight, longing whimper into his palms, and you feel almost as desperate as he sounds.  You can sense the ghost of his thickness in your hand, and the way he’s already throbbing for it is like pure spice to you.

You can’t stop your crossed legs from shuffling and rotating your body to face his hunched spine more directly, just taking a second and allowing him to adjust to the sensation of you just holding him between his legs like this.  Your fingers rest gently along his pulsing skin while he hides from you, and if only to get a little bit more of a reaction for your own sake, your thumb just barely angles to delicately brush up under his frenulum.  

Obi-Wan shudders and makes a choking noise behind his palms, and oh good Maker, you really want to see his face.  You know it’ll probably never happen unless you take your own initiative, but you also don’t want to overstep and snap him out of this blissful reverie.  Still, something compels you to be so gentle about it that he hopefully won’t even notice. 

You start to slowly work the length of him and squeeze his cock a bit more firmly, but a tendril of your energy slowly slithers upwards, so quiet and full of caution that it hardly even counts.  Very carefully, you start to flatten the lifeforce from your other palm over his stomach and trail it up, gradually urging him to stretch his slouched figure upright and then eventually start to tip backwards, never once letting your focus on his throbbing erection falter.

Your courageous efforts bestow prosperous rewards.  Obi-Wan’s hands drag down the length of his face and he makes it almost too easy to keep pressing him back—back back back until his muscles give up what little fight they were putting up against it and his shoulders are dropping down to the mattress, his head falling into your lap.

“There we go,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough to softly encourage him if he’s listening but avoiding a break in his focus if he’s not.  “That’s not so bad.”

“It isn’t,” Obi-Wan gasps up at you, his eyes tightly closed but his jaw slack and his handsome features screwed up in rapture.  “Oh, no, it’s… it’s really… rea—good.”

You bite your lip and your cunt flexes hard between your legs without your permission, feeling so empty.  If you’re being honest, only touching him through the Force causes your hand to become increasingly bold, also feeling too empty.  Obi-Wan’s head rolls to the side and he pants hot air against the thin black fabric covering your thighs as you tighten your hold around him just slightly and start to move up and down his cock in earnest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, the dirty word and rasp in his voice contrasting brilliantly with the proper Coruscanti accent and the crisp enunciation behind it.  “Fuck, this feels so good, I—”

His fingers grab at the fur covering the mattress top and pull at it, his adam’s apple bobbing sharp along the arching column of his throat as he groans and twists his head around in your lap.  He confesses it like it’s so wrong, but it can’t be wrong when he fits so perfectly in your hand?  How can this be wrong when it’s the only pleasure you can possibly give him that’s anywhere near close enough to match the way you feel when he’s around?  Even then, it’s but a fraction.

Your gaze flickers briefly from his face to check your progress with his body, and—stars, there’s a startling wet spot staining the front of his pale trousers, his cock tenting up shameless and needy for you to ache and throb just as desperately for in return.  Fuck, he deserves this, he deserves more—

“I can—I can make it better—” you can’t help but gasp, your eyebrows slanting upwards with need.  “Oh fuck, I can make it so much better than this for you, Obi-Wan—”

“You…?”  He blinks his stormy eyes open and sounds like he’s about to explode.  “This can be—” he chokes out, “—better?”

You can’t stop yourself.  Your pussy is clamped up so tight between your legs and Maker, you want to reward him for being so good to you, give him true adoration instead of phantom touches.  You don’t think before you’re moving out from under him and slinking down onto the floor, slipping in between his spread thighs.  You use the Force with a bend of your finger to tug his pants down just enough, just enough to let the swollen tip of his cock peak through the waistband, and then your head is dropping into his lap as you let it slide into your hot mouth.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and snarls at you—and something across the room shatters as you widen your throat for him and slowly sink down his length, curling your finger to stretch his hemline further as you go.  His fingers aren’t gentle when they fist into your hair and neither is the way he immediately twists it sideways, feeling like he’s trying to pull you off and shove you down on him at the same time.

You’re stuck between going as slow as you physically can to drag this out and giving him the best oral you’ve ever given to make him dream about this for the rest of his life.  You want him to want this as badly as you have for so many years.  You want him to fall into this Darkness with you, to crave you and what you can give to him so much that he’ll never want to leave you again.

So you make it wet.  You make it soft and slow and wet, switching between sucking gently at the tip and swirling your tongue around it, and then inching his length down your throat and swallowing around the thick girth of it once you can’t fit anymore in your mouth.  Obi-Wan is just an absolute mess about it—he can’t sit still, he’s tugging uselessly on your hair, whimpering out his bliss into the quiet room while you close your eyes and ignore his squirming, just taking your sweet time enjoying him and the way he feels.

He tastes exquisite.  Maybe it’s just because all your broken, stupid brain can think right now is slightly varying forms of my Master’s cock is in my mouth and it’s fucking leaking while you slowly nurse from it with your tongue, but stars—he tastes exquisite.

He’s swollen.  Throbbing.  Aching for you.  Releasing precum from the tip like his body is producing way too much of it after decades of neglect and just needs to get it all out at once.  Shifting and writhing underneath you but managing to never move his hips or cock a single inch away from the soft attention you’re giving him.  You can feel his smooth skin pulse against your tongue as you continue your lazy pleasuring, finally giving him what you’ve both been denied for so long and steadily swallowing down the spoils of your endeavors.

“—Wait, wait, Maker—stop,” you faintly hear gasped from above you not long after you even begin, and it takes the sum of all your efforts to unlodge his throbbing cock from your throat and pull away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale automatically, trying not to slur your words as a bit of drool slides down your chin.  “I’m s’sorry, Obi, I should’ve asked before I—”

“Something’s… n-not right,” Obi-Wan interrupts you and lifts himself up to his elbows, his abdominal muscles heaving and a wild, frenzied look in his startlingly bright eyes.  “My stomach was—I-I felt—”

Heat blooms through you along with a realization, and your eyelids begin to droop slightly at just how sexy it is—the fact that this man, this fully grown, red-blooded, warrior of a man is currently teetering on the precipice of his very first ever orgasm, and you’re the only one with the power to give it to him.

You shuffle backwards slightly, grabbing hold of his thighs and squeezing to get his attention.  “Hey.  It’s okay, relax.”

Obi-Wan nods his head vigorously down at you, the exact opposite of relaxed.

“Listen to me,” you urge quietly, trying to ignore the sight of his thick, swollen cock twitching restlessly against his abdomen, precum still steadily dribbling at the tip.  Is your mouth watering?  “This is it.  You’ll need to start projecting when you’re ready.  It’ll be tricky, but not impossible.  You’ll just have to imagine you’re inside me when it happens.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head vigorously from side to side, vehemently opposed.

“No, I don’t—” He croaks, “—I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t be able to—”

“Doesn’t my mouth feel similar at least?”  You ask, looking down at his cock once more.

“I-I—” Obi-Wan sputters, “I don’t know, young one—you tell me!”

Okay, well.  He… makes a valid point.

You settle back on your knees even further, gazing at your Master thoughtfully.  His chest continues to rise and fall with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat coating his temples and a mild flush high in his cheeks, but his eyes have regained a bit of their focus.  “You can just try to imagine the, uh,” you try, your cunt nearly convulsing with burning need at the mere sight of him, “the same positioning and sensation from… earlier?”

“Alright, I can…”  Obi-Wan nods, though his hands are shaking.  “I’ll do the best I…”

You can’t help but lean forward to press a soft, encouraging kiss to his thigh, and he jerks under your touch.  You try it again, receiving the same result, and it makes you pause for just a minute longer.

“I’m nervous,” he blurts unceremoniously after a moment of stillness, as if you hadn’t noticed.  “Oh stars, I’m nervous, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” you let your voice lull, your hands squeezing gently around the bend of his knees once more.  “Calm down.  Clear your mind.”

He hiccups and you wait.  You wait with your mouth a few inches away from his cock, waiting for his breathing to slow and for him to follow your lead.

Can you hear me?  You murmur through the Force, and he quickly whimpers and nods.  Focus your thoughts.

You gently kiss at his tensing thighs once again, and he doesn’t flinch away from you this time.  His breathing slows into a calmer, steadier rhythm, letting you trail your lips gently along the curve of his leg.

Will you let me try something?  You ask after a moment, opening your mouth just the slightest bit to brush your tongue out and taste his skin.

“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his breath stuttering through the word.

And—perhaps you shouldn’t have, but you give him something; a suggestion, more than anything else.  You give him a… visual.  A reference to guide his mind through the Force.

You, still in your black robe, slowly standing up from between his legs.  Widening your stance to straddle his lap, pull you robes up just enough, and then adjust your hips just slightly over the head of his cock.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at the vision, his eyes clamping tightly shut against it in vain.  He can close his eyes, turn away, hide his face all he wants—he can’t escape the way your body looks as it slowly begins to sink down on his.

At the exact same time, you lower your mouth around his cock once more, and you try to make it as close to the sensation as possible.  You don’t even move your tongue, you simply lift your soft palate and close your lips around his girth, beginning to carefully bob up and down along his length in time to the image you’re conjuring of you riding him.

Only, you already feel his balls tightening up and his body starting to go rigid with tension once again, and you can sense him still wanting to resist his approaching orgasm.  It’s okay, Master, you encourage quietly through the vision, it’s okay, just let it come easy.

“I—I’m not—” he shakes his head back and forth against the bed frantically, his breathing getting shallower and almost immediately picking back up to where it was before you stopped.  “I d-don’t want—”

Stop fighting, you tell him, continuing to mimic the sensation of him thrusting into your aching, neglected cunt with slow and steady movements of your throat.  Don’t run from it, let it take you.

He grits your name tightly in response and subconsciously begins to rock his hips up to match your unhurried pace, his ragged breathing gasping out into the quiet room and gradually increasing in volume and desperation the longer he stubbornly tries to hold out against it.

You know not strong enough to use the Force to coax it out of him.  You can’t alter your technique and break the illusion, either.  So you have to resort to desperate measures.

There’s enough remaining wherewithal to your mind that prevents you from permanently damaging his clothing when you tear his robes open with the Force and allow the metaphysical image of yourself to rip them apart with your hands.  Obi-Wan gasps when both versions of you reach up his bare torso at the same time and dig your nails into his chest.

Master—you demand, taking his cock down your throat as far as you can go and then clawing hard down his stomach—cum.

And thank everything good and right in the universe that he remembers at the very last second to start projecting, because being this close to someone as strong in the Force as Obi-Wan when he finally succumbs to his first taste of the Dark Side is just a fucking atomic missile straight to your nervous system.

It’s all you can do to just remember to keep swallowing.

The projection he casts out through the shockwave is utterly flawless—brilliantly composed, looking and feeling so authentic and overwhelming even from this distance that there should be no issue at all convincing any s’Ziscari in the wide vicinity who are tuning in right now.

Except—then you hear it.  Through the roaring pleasure of his thoughts, a flicker of his subconscious he’s unable to mask through the mind blowing bliss.

Is she…? Maker above, she’s drinking it—

A ragged groan tears through the silence of the room, his cock pulsing spectacularly on your tongue.  He just keeps cumming, and cumming, and so you just have to keep swallowing, and swallowing.  You suppose you should’ve expected this from a fully grown man who lived a life of celibacy, but what would typically be a rather short moment with anyone else subsequently goes on long enough to where Obi-Wan is actually able to lazily raise his head up from the mattress and simply watch you continue to swallow his load, dazed and reverent in his stare, glassy blue eyes trained on the hypnotic movements your jaw and throat make around him.  The remaining traces of whatever visual he attempted to maintain immediately flicker out of existence, replaced instead by the sight of your mouth around his cock, diligently taking down each rope of cum he gives you.

When he finally stops throbbing, you reluctantly let his cock fall from your mouth and slowly stand up as the botched projection fizzles out completely.  His gaze eventually follows the movement like he’s on a five second delay.

“So, uh…”  Your voice is hoarse.  “We… need to have sex.”

“Alright,” he agrees dreamily, his eyes lazily dragging down your body.  “Alright, we can have… I… Wait, what?”

“You, uh.  I know it wasn’t intentional, but you might’ve, uh…”  You  shuffle awkwardly from side to side, wondering why you’ve chosen now of all moments to become shy with him.  You’re literally still savoring the taste of his release in your mouth.  “You might’ve accidentally projected a very specific thought towards the end there and let everyone know that we weren’t actually doing what we’re technically supposed to be doing.”

“What did… what did I think?”  The question would likely be nonsense in literally any other situation, but you understand.  And truthfully, for the life of you, you can’t find it within yourself to feel even a little bit mad about it, not when it means you can continue doing this together.  You can’t even conjure up a single shred of disappointment in his failure, it’d just be a lie.

“Doesn’t matter,” you assure him, your heart continuing to pound.  You know you should make your next move now while he’s still so loopy, the post-orgasm bliss causing his signature to vibrate with pulsing endorphins as he blinks up at you slowly from the bed.  “Though we won’t be able to do it for a little bit, just uh.  Just for general… anatomical reasons.  But that should’ve at least counted for… initiating the Ritual, so I don’t think we have to worry about time anymore.”

Obi-Wan just stares at you, his Force signature feeling more serene and spaced out than you’ve ever sensed before.  Oh Maker, how you wish you felt the same.  You swallow thickly, still tasting his hard orgasm on your tongue, and then try not to clamp your thighs together with how embarrassingly turned on you are.  Anyone with any experience whatsoever would know exactly what you’re going through with just a mere glance—you’re biting your lip with your entire body is subtly crumpled in towards your swollen, neglected pussy—and your Master has been watching you struggle through it this entire time.

“Are you alright?”  He asks dumbly, finally managing to at least push himself upright, still completely unaware or unconcerned at his softening cock on full display for you and your starving libido.  “You’re… shaking.”

“I—won’t die,” is the only serious assurance you can make to both him and yourself right now that’ll ease your suffering the smallest bit.  The last thing you want right now is to come on too strong and snap him back to his senses, bringing everything back to square one.  “Just, uh… r-really worked—worked up.  Trying to just.  C-Cool it?”

Your fingers flex at your sides because no matter what you try, you just can’t stop thinking about his.  They’re right there.  They’re so close, so strong and thick and—

“Aren’t you…”  He trails off, letting his head tilt and then drop to his shoulder with a combination of confusion and exhaustion.  “Aren’t you going to…?”

“To what?”  You prompt shortly, your hands suddenly clenching into fists to deal with another violent wave of arousal at how unbelievably drunk he still looks.  Maker, you did that.  That’s all you.

“s’Zerthia said all—” Obi-Wan murmurs, blinking long lashes lazily up at you, “—all Jedi must… participate.”

Fuck. Just hearing him provide you an excuse to give into the boiling arousal causes you to suddenly break out into a sweat.  You don’t know if he wants you to get yourself off or if he’s indirectly implying he wants to help, but you’re so far beyond desperate that you jump at the chance as soon as he so much as hints at the opportunity.

Very slowly, you move forward and lift one trembling knee to brace next to his thigh on the mattress, and then carefully swing your other leg over his lap, lowering yourself into a straddle in the same exact position he attempted to project earlier.  You’re so unbelievably cautious about his cock, making sure you don’t accidentally touch it and jolt him awake.  Instead of your newfound proximity scaring him away like you feared though, he stays so… docile.  Still so relaxed from his very first orgasm that he even rests his large palms over the thin fabric covering your thighs, letting the loose silk drape and fold over his hands as he drags them up and down.

His eyes follow your trembling fingers as you work at the knot tying the material around your body, your cunt throbbing between your legs at how he’s just… staring.  His eyelids are dipped slightly, breathing so calm and slouched under you, pliant and waiting.

The thin fabric slowly parts only enough to reveal the valley between your bare chest to him, and you watch his eyes fall down the thin strip of skin and catch on the dark line of your panties riding low on your hips.  Maker, you can’t help but remember his terror at even glimpsing the two acolytes taking off their robes earlier—the way his eyes bounced around and how his cheeks lost whatever color they had left to them as soon as he finally made himself look.  Now, though.  Now he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the soft flesh of your tummy, the way your nipples are still covered by the thin fabric of your slightly parted robe but are impossible to miss while your breasts subtly move with your breathing.

You gently call one of his wrists to your hand with the Force and Obi-Wan is either mentally or physically too weak to resist your will.  He allows you to catch his hand and slowly lead it downwards with both of your smaller ones to the part of your body that’s longed for his attention for years, though now it’s absolutely weeping for it.

You don’t want to scare him.  You don’t want to scare him.  Oh Maker, you need him to be brave for you right now, or at least just continue to be stupefied.  You can work with stupefied, but you cannot work with panic, especially when you feel your own wanting to rise up the more you drag this out.

When the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties, Obi-Wan’s hand pushes under it without your guidance.

You’re throbbing.  It’s been years in the making.  Unable to stop the way your thighs contract and you lift your hips against his palm as it steadily curves down the slope of your soft curls, the sight of the finish line so within reach makes you reckless and too quick.  You can’t help it.  When he gets hesitant and eventually slows down to a halt right above your slit, you don’t even think before you’re suddenly giving his wrist an abrupt shove with the Force, pulling his hand down before he’s ready and forcing his middle finger deep through the soaking cleft of your pussy.

Your shameless moan of his name comes out sounding so grateful—you pour everything you have into it and sag into Obi-Wan’s chest at the feeling, but he startles and all but rips his hand out of your underwear before you can stop him.  He was a hair’s breadth from touching your clit and the denial of it—the sudden turnaround from your goal is just so massively overwhelming that tears suddenly spring to your eyes.

You can just barely make out the sight of him staring down at his trembling hand between the two of you, your slick shining wet and hot along the length of his finger. 

“Stars,” he rasps, blinking his wide, sapphire gaze up to yours—and then he quite suddenly looks alarmed.  “Did I—Did I hurt you?”  Obi-Wan gasps, his energy beginning to outright seize with distress while you blink rapidly and try not to crumble on his lap.

“No—I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m just… oh, fuck, I n-need it,” you stammer.  “Oh fuck, I need it Master, I’m so sorry—I’m trying to be calm but—”

“What is it, little dove?”  He urges, reaching his hand up to your face and flicking his eyes back and forth between yours, sounding almost as panicked as you do from your desperation.  “What do you need?”

“Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I need you to just—” You can’t fit anything into words, a tear finally making its way down your cheek when you clamp your eyes shut in frustration.  You just need him to understand, to give you what you’ve been craving for so long—but when you blink your eyes back open, his troubled expression has suddenly resolved itself.

Your Master’s hands immediately grab tight to your hips and twist you around, easily tossing you back up onto the mattress.  The jostle of bouncing back into the soft fur startles you, but not nearly as much as when he climbs over your body and braces an elbow next to your head, gently placing the tips of his fingers to your temple.

He pushes carefully but firmly against your natural mental barriers, flexing the energy shields inwards gently enough to not hurt you but with enough force to let you know he’s entirely capable of breaking through should you refuse to let him in.

So you do.  You let him in without a single thought, never mind a second one.  Obi-Wan gasps as your shields all but collapse for him that easily, and then he’s finally breaching the surface of your thoughts.

“Oh—Maker above, little one,” he grits almost immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and his other hand wrapping tight around your arm as he struggles to acclimate to the blinding distress you’re experiencing.  “Collect—” he groans as your cunt clamps down at the rasp of his broken voice, “—collect yourself.  I can’t—can’t think—”

Oh, no, it’s too much.  It’s way too much, even just having him inside your head without being able to read him in return—it’s too much for you.  You start hyperventilating and instead of wanting him out, you just want to drown out the sensation of everything else.  The endlessly pulsing, aching throb between your legs that you’ve been dealing with for so long, the way you can feel his cock dragging against your tummy from this angle and how much you already want it in your mouth again, the way your nipples are so hard right now that even this soft fabric feels so rough and sharp against—

Your robe suddenly rips itself off your chest, and you whimper up at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into thick fur and writhe under him, almost completely naked and just desperate for him to do something, to at least just use his hands or his mouth to make you feel bet—

Obi-Wan’s head drops and his blazing mouth opens hot around your nipple, his tongue rolling soft and slick up under the hard bud.

You choke out the first part of his name and you barely even have a flicker of a thought—a brief flash of a rabid, baser desire you’re not even able to consciously recognize before you feel his jaw opening and his teeth closing gently around it, biting down just hard enough to make you spasm bright and urgent between your legs.  “Oh, fuck—”

As soon as you feel the pleasure and twisting ache spark deep in your core, Obi-Wan flutters his eyes shut and wedges his hand back into your panties, humming low in his throat when your legs jerk apart for him.

This time, your clit is the very first thing he touches.

He zeroes in on it.  The tip of his finger starts to rub it exactly how you’d do it to yourself, exactly the right angle and speed and pressure that your body suddenly feels massively overheated and dizzy from it.  It blindsides you.  It makes sense he’d be able to do this, after all, but for some reason, the whole thing just absolutely blindsides you.

“Maker,” you whimper at the ceiling, soft and pitched high in your throat, eyes rolling back when Obi-Wan gently bites down on your nipple again and continues to work to relieve you even as every muscle in your body feels like it’s tightening up.

“Stars—” he whispers when he pulls away, “This—this feels incredible, Padawan.”

You moan and roll your hips against his hand, on cloud nine at just how he’s slowly allowing himself to become filthier with you, to lower himself in all his righteous beliefs and descend into delicious sin with you, and—

—wait, did he just…?

Your cunt clamps down hard with realization as he continues massaging your clit better than you’ve ever even done it yourself.  Maker, it shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does, hearing that word in this context.  Padawan.  Padawan, holding her legs open while her Master explores her pussy.  Padawan, moaning desperately as her orgasm buzzes deep down inside with a rising, threatening resonance.  Padawan, Padawan, Padawan—

“Oh, you liked that,” Obi-Wan remarks tightly, taking a second to tug on your clit.  You nearly start to cry again, your insides pulling up and going rigid at the sensation.  “I heard it, little one.  You like it when I call you that?”

“Oh I like it when you do f-fucking anything,” you choke out helplessly, your words starting to slur together.  “Oh fuck, you’re so amazing, you’re so good at everything, you’re the best Jedi in the whole entire galaxy Master, you’re so much better th—”

“My, you’re agreeable like this, aren’t you?”  Obi-Wan grits, his touches growing stronger and quicker and rocketing you straight to the edge of madness.  “Shall I take that to heart, my darling little Padawan?  Or did you say such flattering things to the oth—”

“Wait!”  You suddenly exclaim, desperately trying to push his hands away.  “Oh, nonononono—wait, wait, wait, I—I-I’m about to cum—I need to—”

His hand yanks itself out of your underwear once more and you take giant, gasping breaths and try to compose yourself at least somewhat, but then your Master is quickly scrambling down your body and using the Force to rip your panties down your hips—

“Obi-Wan, wait—” you choke out, “that isn’t—you don’t… h-have to…”

He looks up at you, dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’ll be able to—y-you don’t—”  You have to take a few gasping breaths and remember how to speak Basic.  “I used my mouth on you before because I… I wanted to.  If—If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to.  It’s not… oh fucking stars above, it’s not n-necessary.”

“Are you telling me this because you don’t want me to?”  He immediately asks, though you both already clearly know the answer to that considering how exposed your wild thoughts are to him right now.

“Ah, no I, uh… I just.”  You try to clear the thickness from your throat and you feel your body tremble while you focus as much effort as possible into trying to explain.  “I just want to be sure I’m not taking advantage of you, that’s all, I—I want you to know the truth about these things.  It’s not… necessary, b-but.”

“But.”  He repeats the word meaningfully as he glances back down at your weeping cunt, nodding slowly to himself.

And then your Master leans in, flutters his eyes shut, and slides his warm tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.

“Obi—Wan—!?”  You gasp, somewhere between a squeak and a squeal, your entire upper body launching upwards around his head as your clit is immediately enveloped into a slick, dexterous furnace.

Hold still, you hear his voice warn through the Force, sounding so much closer than you’ve ever heard him before.  Whether that can be attributed to the fact that the command came directly from wherever he is inside your head or whether it’s simply because his tongue is now tracing gentle circles around your clit as you whimper pitifully into the quiet of the dimly lit room, you’re not sure.  All you know is that his mouth feels like velvet between your legs and his beard is scraping across your thighs and your fingers have buried themselves in his hair without your conscious permission.

Hold still, young one, he urges once more, but you just close your eyes and moan shamelessly at it this time, opening your legs wider for him.  His voice, it’s… it’s maddening like this, coming directly from your own thoughts.  Deep, precise, somehow sounding so true, so much clearer and full-bodied without your pesky ears in the way.  Your hips are subconsciously rolling slowly against the lower half of his face when Obi-Wan apparently decides he’s had enough.

An invisible energy wraps around each of your individual limbs and snaps them against the mattress without any warning.  You whimper high in your throat, arms and legs held so firmly against the bed with the Force that your internal struggles aren’t able to be translated outwardly; he doesn’t allow your body a single centimeter to move under him, no matter how hard you fight it.  Which means you have to lay there and just take the way Obi-Wan’s hot mouth continues to lick and kiss at your clit slowly, taking all the time in the universe to properly explore you between the legs he’s forced apart.

“Obi—” you croak breathlessly at the ceiling, feeling a familiar heat start to burn hot and tight through your core, “Obi, I—I have to p-project—before I—ah!—before you—before you ma-make me cu—ugh, f-fuck—I have t-to—”

Then project, he encourages simply, gently fluttering his tongue over your clit.  You gasp and he hums, murmuring through the Force once more to you.  We’re not hiding anymore.  They’ll all know I’m using my mouth on you like this.  It’s alright.  Let them know.

You realize you’re going to cum the second you hear your Master’s voice say the words using my mouth on you like this while he slowly sucks on your clit, and you barely have enough wherewithal to gulp in a giant breath and begin projecting your signature as far across the palace and surrounding city as physically possible before your body shatters hot into searing euphoria under him.

Obi-Wan groans deep in his throat and holds you perfectly still under him as you cum with a ragged, hoarse wail of his name, giant waves of white hot bliss beginning to radiate through the Force from you with spectacular power.  The contractions are so much more pronounced when it’s one of the only sets of muscles in your body he’s granted permission to move.  It’s like everything is concentrated and multiplied there because of it.  You can feel each individual spasm your floor muscles make as they convulse against his tongue, how each blazing shot of ecstasy that shatters through your body wrings more and more wetness from your cunt into your Master’s mouth.

Never.  Ever ever ever.  Has anyone done something so mind blowingly sexy to you.  Nobody.  Ever.  He’s a virgin, you frantically remember as Obi-Wan purrs softly into the folds of your pussy while it cums all over him.

Your thoughts, young one, you can just barely make out his voice remind you gently, just as gently as he sucks on your clit through the aftershocks, somehow sounding even more aroused than he did before.

After allowing your projection to flicker out of existence with a putter, you’re completely dazed.  Incapable of moving regardless of the way he keeps you pinned with the Force long after he pulls away, slowly moves back up your body and waits while you work to regain your bearings.  You don’t even want to open your eyes right now, knowing he’s looking down at your peaceful expression while you work to catch your breath.  You’re too stupid with pleasure you almost don’t even process the soft touch of something against your lips.

You’re lovely.

The thought is so quiet you don’t even recognize it isn’t your own.  Not until he keeps pressing his lips to yours so sweetly, not knowing to do anything else when your mind is too fractured with ecstasy to unconsciously act as his compass like before.  Everything is innocent and gentle and not reminiscent of the fact that the robes you’re both wearing are wide open and your mouths tasted of each other even before he kissed you.

Instead of melting into the soft touches, though, they just start to burn you alive, the thick fog of your orgasm clearing more and more with each gentle press of his lips and your need for him steadily growing.  He’s kissing you.  Master Kenobi is kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds at a time before pulling away, pausing to look at your face each time to make sure your eyes are still closed, before leaning down and carefully pressing his lips to yours again.

The only part you can’t stand is that he won’t even let you move your jaw to kiss him back.

Kiss me, Obi-Wan, you urge desperately through the Force, not wanting to interrupt to speak.

“I am, little one,” he replies between kisses, and the sincerity in his tone tells you he’s not purposefully teasing you.  No, this is him kissing you, genuinely, the only way he knows how to.

Let me— you start to struggle in earnest against his hold on you, —please, let me—

The warm breath from his nose puffs softly against your cheek with a quiet little sound from far back in his throat, and then you suddenly gain the ability to move from the neck up.

You immediately part his lips with yours and Obi-Wan pulls back just the slightest bit in response, but your neck lifts up to compensate as you lick deep into his warm mouth.  He gasps at the foreign sensation and loses his concentration for a split second, enough for you to break free of it completely.  Your hands quickly fly up to cradle his face as soon as they can move and your fingers hook around the thick beard blanketing his sharp jawline, urging him back down into you.

Your legs come up to wrap around his lower back and he sags against your strong will with a needy groan, dropping down closer and obediently keeping his mouth open for you to taste.  As soon as he presses his body into yours, his cock strains and drags against your lower stomach, already throbbing hot and leaking precum along the soft hills of your skin.

Maker, you want it but somehow you… you don’t.  You just want to savor tonight as long as you physically can, keep holding him and kissing him like this for another few hours at least before you try to take his cock, but he’s unintentionally grinding it against you while his tongue shyly dances with yours, needy and already raring to go in his own timid way.

Do you want it, Master?  You finally murmur to him, running your fingers through his hair and gently biting his bottom lip, scooting your hips up to let him rub himself against something better than your tummy.  You feel… ready.

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head.  Your feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, and Obi-Wan finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck.

“Yes, I—” he moans into you skin, “Oh stars, I want it.”

With a gentle wave of your hand, you use the Force to drop his hips down to the proper angle and tilt the head of his cock to line him up perfectly.

And now this is the part you don’t want to rush.  This is when you take Obi-Wan Kenobi’s virginity.  You’ll savor just being able to remember this for the rest of your fucking life.  You’ll see him in Council meetings years from now and be reminded that you’re the only person in the galaxy to know the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room.  You’re the only one who will know that sound, that sound is yours, that sound belongs to—

“Padawan,” he grits, hips stuttering into you while you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “your thoughts—”

You groan up at the ceiling and your pussy tightens at the reminder that he can still hear you, but your body is just too bold and desperate for it.  Your thoughts begin to flare bright, growing more possessive by the second, and you can’t even wait for him this time.  Every single muscle in Obi-Wan’s body goes rigid when you tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow.

It stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you as Obi-Wan instinctively tries to lift off you and away from it, but you’re clinging too tightly to him.  Your whole body hovers off the mattress to stay with him. 

“You said—” he gasps, “—it wouldn’t h-hurt—oh—”

“It doesn’t,” you groan, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you.  “Oh, Maker, it feels so fucking good, Obi—feel it—”

His elbows shake where they’re locked and braced against the mattress but he drops his head and holds strong like this while you work your muscles to take him as far as you can from this shameful angle.  Your body feels like it’s on fire while you desperately cling to him and the length of your robe brushes against the mattress while you just keep trying to get him deeper inside you—

Suddenly something grabs hard at your hips and tries shoves you downwards and off his cock, but you want it too badly.  You summon the hidden strength of your energy and then channel it into your legs where they’re hooked around the curve of his lower back.

Obi-Wan chokes at the unexpected resistance and his elbows buckle, dropping you both down to his forearms with a jolt, but you’re too busy mentally clashing with each other for it.  The result is… well, it’s maddening.

Every time your pussy is able to swallow him more than halfway, you pull back and let his energy shove you down his length—but then dig back in right before you drop completely and use the Force to bend your legs and fight the uphill battle to his cock once more.  Your Master gasps, beads of sweat gathering at his temples while you fight him with every ragged breath in your body to keep fucking him.

Except—he’s the fighter.  And you should’ve known.

You’re no match for the sudden blast of energy from him, easily hinging your legs apart from around his back and then ripping you down off his cock with a wet sound, bouncing back down into the mattress once more.

In order to stop the desperate tears of defeat from coming to your eyes, you immediately clamp them shut and twist your face away from Obi-Wan’s, but he makes a low growl and uses the same ferocious royal blue energy to keep your knees pinned open and wide against the bed. 

And then drops his hips and rocks back into you, giving you those last few precious inches of his thickness you weren’t able to get at before.  It hits sharp nirvana up inside you with his thighs pressed tight to your hips like this.  His name rips itself from your throat while Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed with the Force while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. 

He’s so gifted, so strong in the Force, he’s able to use your mind as his anchor and give you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced.  And in return, you want to do the same to him.  You want to read his thoughts, instantly be able to give him everything he never knew he needed—

“You do,” your Master chokes out, “darling, you already—”

Everything inside you surges up at the admission, aching that much harder to hear him, to hear everything the way he can hear you.  The tips of your fingers find his temple, slick with sweat, and you press just hard enough to tell him your intent.

“Let me in,” you whisper, wicked arousal swirling tight in your lower muscles as they start to bear down on his cock.

“I—I can’t—” Obi-Wan gasps breathlessly, “I can’t—”

“Open—open the door, Master,” you beg, “please, open th—”

“Fuck,” he cuts you off, his voice rising in pitch while his his hips snap just a little harder against yours and his rhythm falters, “—It’s too good, Padaw—I’m going t-to—stars, are you—are you r-ready?”

Some terrifying, swirling darkness manifests itself deep in your thoughts.  It rises up, part of the desperate, hidden subconscious that you’re typically capable of stifling.  No, it says, don’t let this be over.  Not yet.  You don’t want to go to sleep alone, wake up and remember you’ll never have this again.  You need there to be a next time, and a time after it.

You try your hardest to push the longing downwards when you recognize it, but your Master is too quick, too talented to deceive when he’s this close to you.  He easily plucks it from your mind and expands it, enlarges the chaotic string of thoughts until you feel them pulsing at the edges of your consciousness.

And then Obi-Wan sees it all, immediately playing out in your memories as you helplessly watch on.  Every desire you buried for him unearthed, every whimper you stifled with the back of your hand when you touched yourself at night and thought of him amplified.  The years of repression, the blind hope that simply ignoring it would make it go away.  How hard you worked to deaden the burst of affection that radiated through the Force when you finally saw him after two years apart.  The circumstances behind the night you lost your virginity—not a long time ago, as he suggested before, but only just last year.  So desperate in your loneliness and longing for his presence that you began routinely sneaking around and fucking other Knights—Guardians with blue sabers whose souls were just marginally close enough to Obi-Wan’s, and you thought of him the whole time.  Every time.

But, perhaps, worst of all.  The… fantasies.

He sees himself dropping to his knees and congratulating you for passing your trials by burying his tongue inside your warmth and telling you how proud of you he is.  He sees you opening his trousers and slowly licking his cock while he meditates, trying to get him to break his concentration.  He watches the two of you fucking in every conceivable position, how incredibly ready you always are to take him when he needs it.  Most importantly, he recognizes your inherent, blazing desire to drag this out as long as physically possible, to permanently brand every moment in your memory to get you through his impending absence.

And then… then Obi-Wan does something unexpected.  Something incredibly uncharacteristic.

You watch as he morphs the fantasies right before your eyes.  He's still on his knees with his head between your legs, but now he’s telling you how proud he is of you for negotiating the mysterious, confidential deal that ended the Clone Wars.  You’re licking his cock as the ship autopilots itself through the week-long journey back to Coruscant from s’Ziscari, letting him slowly cum in your mouth as he sprawls lazily in the captain’s chair.  He’s taking you against the wall of your quarters after a mindless and dull Council meeting; you’re riding him quietly in his bed after lights-out at the temple; he’s rubbing your clit while he sits behind you and advises you on matters concerning your own Padawan you’ll be choosing sometime soon, two fingers deep and squeezing a bared nipple when he whispers in your ear how much he absolutely adores you.

Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill the empty spaces of your mind, a lovely pale blue tenor to harmonize gorgeously with the soft green alto of your own consciousness.  The resulting color of your combined energies fills your soul with Light, a stunning turquoise of a color you’ve never loved more, one you wish you could live in for the rest of your life.

For every debased thought of yours he sees, he shows you one even more revealing.  The way he used to dream of you at night, especially after a close battle where many Jedi and Clones fell, and then he’d wake up in a cold sweat with an erection pulsing feverish and so terribly shameful between his legs.  How he tried to shove a pillow down there once to somehow relieve himself of the aching hardness, and then had to rip it away and launch it across the room with the Force when he realized he’d been dragging himself against it and thinking of you.

“I’m gonna—cum—” your voice scrapes across your throat, and you can already sense him throwing his beautiful consciousness out like a net.  You match him with what little mental strength you have remaining, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your ankles around his lower back and pulling him down into you.

Obi-Wan’s energy keeps swirling a brilliant aquamarine with yours, presenting his every subconscious thought to you, one right after another, so quick you can barely keep up.  How he’ll always be with you, no matter what.  How the Maker himself won’t be able to drag him away from you now.  How quiet jealousy still tugs at his heart just thinking about the fact that you broke your oath—before you both could do it together.

Everything swells up inside you and you scream when it finally crashes over, your blended signatures sealing themselves together permanently and then detonating in a debilitating shockwave that ripples the air around you.  You’re blinded and deafened by its vivid energy, powerful and dazzling every shade between blue and green and Light and Dark, all balanced perfectly together.

You lay there in the gentle afterglow afterwards and feel your pussy still clamping tight to him, pulsing in random intervals while Obi-Wan slouches into you and every muscle in his body trembles with the comedown.  Everything is right.  Everything in you sparkles.

“Stars, Obi,” you start chuckling up at the ceiling, the sheer joy overwhelming you and bringing tears to your eyes.  “Stars, did we just—”

“We just won the Clone Wars, my dear,” he slurs into the crook of your neck while his cock still throbs inside you, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping up his spine, every single thought in his mind completely dead at the moment.

“How long do you… do you think it’ll take before it’s over?”  You ask quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair.  Obi-Wan groans and buries his face deeper into your neck.

“Few months, maybe.  Time for s’Ziscari…”

He stays like that for just a second, and you press your nose to him and breathe him in, marveling at how utterly gorgeous his signature is right now.  Clear blue with the lightest touch of teal, rippling like quiet water in a crystal calm riverbed.

Lovely.

You keep softly playing with the hair at his nape, and then quickly wrap your arms around him when he goes to try to brace his forearms next to your shoulders and lift up just the slightest bit.

“Wait, don’t—it’s—”  You bite your lip and feel him sink back down into your body without another word, clearly having only attempted it for appearances.  “This is good, let’s just… stay for a second.” 

He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even move, and—a few months, you think.  A few months of his absence, of wondering where he is but never being able to ask.  It burdens your heart, but you understand it’s necessary.

The Council may… grant me a position with a more permanent location after this mission, he responds quietly to your dip in the Force after a moment, too tired to even talk anymore and exhaustion weaving his every thought.  On Coruscant.

Your heart pangs with sudden hope, and you know he can feel it.  “They would do that?”

I could ask to oversee the s’Ziscari’s assimilation into our ranks, he offers alongside a stifled yawn into your collarbone.

He’d… request that?  To be closer to you?  But why?

He doesn’t hesitate before offering the words to you simply, not even considering them before they’re the only thought in his mind.  Because I care for you more than there are stars in the sky.  I always have.

Lovely.

No, no, not even, that’s just.  Love.  By itself.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly into your neck, and your soul feels like it grows wings.

You both lay there in silence for a long time after that, and it takes you even longer to realize he hasn’t succumbed to sleep yet, even as the aching fatigue weighs heavy on his back.  He’s resisting it, keeping his eyes purposefully open against your neck while yours are blissfully shut.

“Master,” you eventually whisper up at the ceiling, and his cock twitches inside you.  Oh stars, you’ll have to remember that.  “Go to sleep.”

I have one more confession.  The thoughts are slurred and distorted, barely conscious as he desperately tries to outlast the sleep trying to pull him under.  I didn’t even want to mention it before because I didn’t know how this was all going to go, but…  He blinks slowly against your neck even as his eyes droop, only just a few seconds from passing out with exertion.  The Sh’inzith lasts six days, dove.

Your eyes pop open in shock just as his finally fall shut, and Obi-Wan stops fighting.

[mammonshuman92]

- Watched - Pt.4

(Mammon x GN!MC)

** TW: swearing, kidnapping, religion, abuse, blood, death (if I missed any I do apologize!)

He smiled wickedly as he turned around, going back to the table he’d been at earlier and picked up the same knife he’d held to you when he kidnapped you. The only other weapons you could see on the table were a baton and a taser. There was also a thick book you could only assume was a bible and a large jar of water. The most concerning however, was the gas can, thick work gloves, and what looked a lot like a body bag.

“This may call for a more extensive purification.”

-

Your heartbeat quickened, breathing becoming slightly erratic. Your eyes widened at the scene laid out before you, but you tried your best to hold your resolve. 

Whatever he plans to do, even if this is where your time on this Earth comes to an end, you didn’t plan to give him the satisfaction of conforming to his insane, backwoods ideologies. For your most beloved demons, and the love of your life, you were ready to fight until the bitter end.

After leaving the coffee shop, Mammon made his way back to your house to come up with a plan. As he rushed back, he got a brilliant idea and immediately made a phone call. 

Given their status and connections, he was sure that at least a few of his brothers would be able to dig up info on this Alex dude and the ATA, however he couldn’t risk any of them finding out what was going on, for fear it’d get back to Lucifer, so he had to be extremely careful.

“Ugh, what do you want, Mammon? I’m in the middle of a raid right now.”

Levi seemed like the least likely to get too curious and ask questions, especially since Mammon was the one asking. No way would Levi want to end up being part of one of his usual schemes. And since he rarely comes out of his room or socializes with others, Levi was definitely the best one for the job. 

“I need a favor.” Mammon could hear the slight clacking sound of Levi’s controller in the background.

“Nope. No way. Your “favors” always end badly; for everyone involved. Goodbye.” He declined immediately, wanting to hang up and get back to his raid.

“Wait, Levi! It’s real important!” The second born begged. Levi could hear the desperation; the emotion in his brothers voice. His interest was piqued now, along with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

“What is it?” He asked with a sigh, casting his controller aside.

“I need ya to dig into a group called the ATA.”

“ATA?”

“Yeah, it’s the “Anti Treaty Association”, they’re in the human world. And see if ya can find anythin’ on a guy named Alex who might be associated with ‘em.”

“Anti Treaty..? As in the peace treaty? Mammon, what did you-”

“I’ll explain everythin’ later, okay? Just.. please, Levi? I need ya to look into it.” The level of sheer desperation in Mammon’s voice was concerning, but he didn’t push the issue.

“Okay, okay. Hang on..” 

The sound of Levi’s fingers rapidly clicking across his keyboard flooded Mammon’s ears for the next few minutes.

“Okay, so the group was founded not long after the Devildom exchange program was formally announced. They started small but grew in number quickly; looks like mostly religious extremists. They hold protests at any event involving relations between our world and the human world. Let’s see..” Levi  went quiet for a few seconds as he scanned his monitor.

“It looks like some of the members have a clean record, aside from a couple parking tickets, but there are a few bad apples. Most of the charges consist of harassment, disorderly conduct and destruction of property, all of the incidents taking place at protests. All of them were first time offenders, and have stayed out of trouble since then.”

“Anythin’ about an Alex?”

“Hmm, nope. Do you have a last name maybe? Or literally any other info? I can’t do much with just a first name, especially a common one.”

“Umm, he drives a really old car and he works at a take out place as a delivery driver.” Mammon proceeded to give him the name of the restaurant.

Levi began tapping away on his keyboard again, scanning all the social medias and websites associated with the group and the take out place, looking for anything related to the clues Mammon gave him. Without much to go on, he wasn’t very hopeful and began to lose courage, then he finally got something.

“I got a hit on a few social media accounts related to the ATA. I was able to find some pictures with a crappy older model car in them that were taken at some of their protests a few months back, one of the pictures had a shot of the license plate. After doing a quick search of public record, the car came back as registered to a John A. Smith, who actually died a few years back..” 

Mammon sighed, feeling dejected. That information was all he had, and it may not have even been enough to be helpful.

“Wait..” Levi suddenly said, pulling Mammon from his thoughts.

“His obituary says he had one child; a son named John Smith Jr. I can’t find him on social media under that name, but if we assume the middle initial “A” stands for say, Alexander, then I may have something. I found an Alex Smith, and it’s honestly gotta be him. He’s a member of the official ATA group page, and several others like it. His profile picture has a crappy looking car in it, granted it’s mostly cropped out, but it looks a lot like the one I ran the license plate number on. I’m confident that this is your guy.”

Mammon felt like he could breathe a little easier. Another piece of the puzzle had, hopefully, come together.

“Where do I find him?”

“Not sure. His last location was near the middle of nowhere, but it hasn’t pinged anything for quite some time. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“Thanks, Levi. I owe ya big time.”

“Yeah. Uh, Mammon? I know you said you’d tell me later, but is everything alright? You’ve never asked me to do something like this before. It kinda feels like you’re looking for someone..”

He waited for his brother to stutter out some kind of excuse to explain it away like he always did when he got himself into some kind of trouble, but he didn’t. Which only made more red flags pop up for Levi.

“If anyone asks, especially Lucifer, this never happened and ya haven’t heard from me, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay, Mammon..”

He didn’t like the feeling he had, the gut instinct and the hair that stood up on the back of his neck that told him something was seriously wrong.

After he hung up with his brother, he decided to dig a little deeper. He traced Mammon’s phone and found him at a location nearby the restaurant he’d had him research. His awful, suspicious feeling was confirmed when his brother’s location came back as one in the human world. A little extra digging of public land records and it pinged as your house. His heart sank as he thought about the urgency and desperation in his brother’s voice. 

He traced your phone, but it just showed the same location as Mammon. But, if you were there, why would he be so frantic? His stomach churned when he realized that there were only a few things that would cause Mammon such distress, and seeing as how he was apparently in the human world, at your house, desperate to find some random dude, it couldn’t be good. Whatever was going on definitely involved you. That thought alone made him sick to his stomach.

“I hope I’m wrong. Please be okay, MC.”

-

*bzzz* *bzzz*

Mammon opened the new text message from Levi, which contained the coordinates to Alex’s last known location.

“MC has gotta be somewhere near this location. If not, maybe I’ll be able to pick up their trail.” 

He was pacing around the living room, going over possible plans for his next move. Thankfully it would be dark soon and there was also a pretty big storm rolling in, which would provide the perfect cover for him to scout from the skies. Heavy wind and rain would make it nearly impossible to pick up your scent though.

He went into your bedroom to retrieve something of yours that would be heavy with your scent, like your favorite jacket or maybe a pillowcase. As he looked around the room, he spotted a strip of pictures shoved in the frame of the mirror on your dresser. A warm smile spread across his face.

It was of the two of you, not too long after you’d officially started dating. He remembered that particular day very well. You’d decided to walk the cobblestone streets of the Devildom, much like you often did together, but this was different. There wasn’t anymore of that “trying to pretend neither one of you had feelings for the other” junk. It was just..real. You were actually his. He reminisced about how warm your hand felt in his, the way his stomach erupted in butterflies when you looked at him with pure excitement after you’d stumbled upon the photo booth. The way you threw yourself at him, locking your lips onto his for the last picture; the shade of red your cheeks turned when you pulled apart.

That day was one of his favorite memories of you. You were so happy and full of life; looking at him with such excitement and love.

The haunting reality came creeping back in on him, sending his beautiful trip down memory lane, spiraling into despair. There he stood, alone in your bedroom, while you were gone. Taken, by some psychopath. His whole world, snatched right from underneath him as he sat down the hall.

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. How could he? He should’ve been there. He shouldn’t have let you answer the door. He should’ve done something, anything. 

“I knew somethin’ didn’t feel right, and I should’ve listened to what my gut was tryin’ to tell me. This is all my fault..” He ran his finger over the pictures on the mirror, letting a few tears escape before aggressively wiping them away. 

“I will find ya, MC. And I promise that I’ll make ya safe again, I swear it.”

He felt a sudden vibration in the floor followed quickly by a deep rumble from outside.

The storm’s comin’. It’s time to move.

He grabbed the shirt you had worn the day before from the hamper and quickly smelled it to make sure your scent was strong enough. From the way it made his heart twist in agony, he was sure it would do just fine.

He shifted into demon form and headed straight for the door. With the approaching storm, it was dark enough now that he could fly and remain unseen. Since he was by himself and up against the unknown, having the element of surprise would come in handy.

“When I find that piece of shit, he’ll understand why I hold the rank of the second strongest of the Avatars.” He growled into the dark of the night as he stepped out onto the front porch.

With that, he shot up into the night sky, stealthy and silent.

-

“Extensive purification? Is that what the body bag is for?” You asked audaciously.

Naturally, you were scared. This mad man kidnapped you at your own damn house in broad daylight and drug you to what you could only assume was the middle of nowhere to tie you up and torture you. So yeah, you were pretty fucking wigged out to say the least.

But, did that mean you would back down? Let him know you were scared so he had the extra control over you? Make him feel like he was winning?

Absolutely not. You’d never give him the satisfaction. On the inside you were shaking, writhing in terror; begging for Mammon to come and save you. But on the outside? You were taking none of his shit, and playing zero games. If you were going to die here, you planned on going out as uncooperative as you could. Fuck him.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” He turned around to face you from where he’d been at his make shift work table, with the taser in his hand. He closed the gap between you, keeping his eyes locked on yours, and leaned down until he was just inches from your face. “The night is still young though.”

“Then why not just kill me now? Get it over with.”

“I want to cleanse you; save your soul.” He said, as if you were crazy for not grasping that concept.

“But why? Why are you so worried about my soul? You prodded.

“Because you have chosen to lay with demons and abandon your humanity.”

“And? Who I choose to love and spend time with isn’t yours, or anyone else’s business.” You snapped back.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. Your part in all this; the exchange program, being close with a bunch of high ranking demons; you as a human are committing the highest level of treason by aiding in the progression of uniting the realms. You are opening the door for corruption, chaos and sin to pollute our world.”

You laughed lightly in disbelief.

“When has our world ever been free of any of those things? Do you honestly think the Celestial Realm would be part of the treaty if He wasn’t on board with it? Stop blaming others because you’re close minded. Your blatant hatred for others is your fault, your sin. No one else’s.”

His face turned red and his expression changed into one of anger at the mention of Him. He stormed off toward the work table.

“And by the way, none of this-” You wiggled your fingers around as best as you could in an attempt to gesture around you, “is free of sin. Pretty sure He would frown upon this. Maybe even more so than my relationship with his sons.” You couldn’t help but smirk at your own jab.

He turned back to face you, bible in hand and quickly walked back to where you were hanging, and knelt down into your face again.

“It’s time to begin.” He said with sick, sadistic smile on his face; ignoring what you’d said.

With one quick movement, he lifted you off the giant hook your hand restraints hung from; letting go of you when you were a few feet from the ground, slightly knocking the wind out of you. Although you were being a little mouthy, you still felt pretty weak from being trapped inside that trunk. Not to mention that your shoulders were killing you from being suspended for so long.

He pulled you across the concrete floor by the hand restraint, stopping once he reached the stock tank. He opened up his bible and laid it on a little table near the side of the tank. He picked you up easily and climbed into the water. Even with as hot as it is, the water was frigid. It was only about four feet deep, but being restrained and unable to move freely, you would easily drown if Alex didn’t keep hold of you.

He stood at your side, facing you with his hands firmly grasping your arms right below your shoulders. He started reciting scripture from memory, glancing back at the open bible a few times for reference. He began to repeatedly dunk your head below the surface of the icy water. He recited the same passages over and over again, making it easier for you to figure out when to hold your breath. Although, a few times he seemed to hold you under a little too long, leaving you gasping for air when you returned to the surface.

When the never-ending baptizing finally did come to an end, he plucked from the water and returned you back to where you had been suspended. You were shivering uncontrollably and your head was pounding. No doubt from lack of oxygen after having to hold your breath, then gasp for air more times than you could possibly count. The added weight of your dripping wet clothes added to the searing pain in your shoulders.

He went over to the work table and grabbed the big jar of water you’d seen earlier. He dipped his fingers in it and flicked it at you whole reciting scripture. You assumed that it was holy water.

As you listened to him drone on and on, you found it hard to stay conscious. You haven’t really felt right since getting out of that scorching trunk; you most likely had heat exhaustion.

“Does being saved from eternal damnation bore you?”

“No, just you.” You replied weakly, looking up at him and trying to muster a smirk.

“Is that so?” He challenged.

He abruptly turned around and went back to the work table, returning a moment later sporting the thick work gloves you’d seen earlier, carrying the taser in his hand.

“Then I suppose we need to take it up a notch.”

-

Mammon went straight to the coordinates Levi sent him, but found nothing except dirt roads and cow pastures. Even from an aerial point of view there wasn’t much to see. After circling the area several times, he landed atop a tree in a densely wooded area. Although it was pretty dark out here in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization, he still couldn’t risk being seen as Alex could be watching; waiting for him to come for you.

“Where are ya, MC?” He quietly asked aloud, eyes continuing to scan the darkness that enveloped his surroundings.

With every passing minute his heart grew heavier, his chest tighter. It felt as if he couldn’t breathe properly. As cliche as it sounded, you were his literal heart; his entire world. 

Before you came to the Devildom, he thought he had it all figured out. Stealing and gambling, partying every night, spending money like there was no tomorrow, making shady deals with witches. He was living what he considered the luxurious life of a high roller and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Then you came along, and he was forced to be your guardian or sorts and look after you. It was such a pain. You made it harder for him to give Lucifer the slip so he could go on gambling binges and live up to his title. But, being the weak, magic-less human you were, you needed constant protection.

It didn’t take long before being your protector became something more than what he was ordered to do. He needed to be the one to watch over you, the poor helpless human. His human. As soon as he got a taste of what it felt like to be around you, he couldn’t get enough. He was hooked. 

Your smile and the sound of your laughter, the face you make when you’re concentrating or how you pooch your lips out when you’re getting irritated. The never ending kindness you showed him, especially when he was less than friendly at first. Even during those early days, just simply being near you brought him a sense of peace and warmth. The energy you radiated was intoxicating. Before he realized what was happening, he was a lost cause; completely wrapped around your finger.

If someone were to have told him he’d end up completely smitten with a human, he would’ve called them crazy. The Great Mammon would never waste his precious time on something that didn’t involve Grimm and how to obtain and/or spend it, much less a human. Smitten is precisely what he was though, to say the least. Not that it bothered him in the slightest.

He’s been around for thousands of years, and never once has his heart beat the way it does now. He’d always known love because of his siblings, and even the great loss of a loved one when Lilith died. While he would move mountains and do anything for his family, and even lay his life down for them, the way he felt about you was completely different. He would do all those things for you as well, and so much more. You knew him on a different level, a way no one else ever had in all his existence. 

Relationships were never really his thing. Sure, he’d had plenty of flings, but most of them only cared about what they could get out of being with the Avatar of Greed, not that it really bothered him. He pretty much only got involved with people when the bitter loneliness became too much to bear. Love isn’t typically something that happens for demons, not that he was looking for it anyway. But, sometimes it was nice to have someone to hold, to feel the warmth of another. Even if he didn’t remember their name. Not that they, or he for that matter, really cared.

Which is why he was so perplexed by the feelings you stirred up inside him. He was one of the strongest rulers of the underworld, who could probably have any succubus he wanted, so why was he becoming increasingly enthralled by you? A completely ordinary human. Or so he thought, anyway. No ordinary human would’ve been able to knock him off his feet the way you had. You were special. You made him feel.

You were kind, warm, headstrong and funny. You’d even put your own life in danger to save those who were much stronger than you, like that time with Beel and Luke in the underground tomb; not because you thought you would win the fight, but because it was the right thing to do. He’d never witnessed such bravery, such selflessness in a human. Especially not when it came to protecting a demon, someone who would be deemed unworthy of such an act simply because of what he was. This once weak, irrelevant human, was now one of the people he respected most. You’re undying love and kindness for others was one of the infinite things that made him fall for you.

He clutched your shirt tightly in his hand, bringing it up to his face and burying his nose into the fabric. He breathed in your scent, filling his lungs as much as he could. He needed to keep the smell fresh in his mind, in hopes of picking up your trail. Tears began to prick his eyes. All the memories of you were nearly too much to handle. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t.

He had no idea what this freak had planned, but he knew it couldn’t be good. The clock was ticking. The more time that passed, the harder it would be to find you. He looked out into the night again, hoping to see anything that might point him in your direction, but there was nothing. The only sounds came from the cows in all the pastures around the area, and a very faint humming noise off in the distance. He couldn’t see any signs of the car or any other clues, but he refused to give up.

“Alright, MC. C’mon, talk to me. Where are ya?” He said, getting ready to take to the skies once more to scan the area. Then it hit him, sending a shiver down his spine. He whipped his head to the right, and breathed in deeply.

MC!!

He took another long breath in, to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. It was definitely your scent. It was very faint, and muddled with something else, iron maybe? But there was no doubt it was yours. Like a shot, he flew in the direction your scent was coming from. The incoming storm was making it hard to stay on the trail, but he was not going to lose it now. He was almost there. Almost to you. There’s no way he was backing down.

A minute or so later he could see the faint glow of a light in the distance. It looked like it was coming from a barn or something. Your scent was getting stronger and stronger as he closed in on the building.

That’s gotta be it!

He landed on top of the building with a thud; coming in a little faster than he intended thanks to the increasing intensity of the storm. He paused a moment, waiting to see if his brilliant entrance had caused any kind of movement. When he didn’t hear anything, he moved to the edge of the roof to have a look around. There was a lot of overgrowth around most of the building, and some spots in the roof seemed to give a little. If he wasn’t careful he might end up crashing through the ceiling. It wasn’t a barn, but more like a warehouse or something.

He walked the perimeter of the roof, looking over the side for any kind of clues. There was nothing out front, and the sides of the building were all overgrown with vines and other greenery. He peaked over the side of the roof near the back of the building and tensed. He could see the car that matched the description of Alex’s, hidden underneath loose foliage in what looked like a poor attempt to conceal it. 

I knew it He thought, his heart beginning to race.

He remembered seeing an industrial ventilation fan on the side of the building before he landed, and quietly rushed over to it, crouching down slightly on the maintenance access platform. 

By now, the storm was raging full force. The rain was coming down in sheets, the thunder booming as lightning lit up the night sky. The fan was pretty rusted but thanks to the thunder, he was able to crack open the slats slightly without being heard. The sight he was met with made his blood boil, prompting him to let out a guttural animalistic growl that rumbled deep in his chest. The iron smell mixed with your scent he’d smelled earlier, was blood. 

Anger like he’d never felt before burned deep inside his very being worse than the raging storm around him, truly making his demon side come out. He never had any intentions of letting this psycho walk away from this, but now it was going to be a lot less humane. The witch’s words came rushing back to him.

‘Bring me the heart of a mammal, not of our world, that thrives on malice and sadism. If you cannot fulfill your end of the deal, I will place a curse on you until the ends of eternity that will make everything of value you come in contact with turn to ash.’

Mammon smiled viciously. Looks like he’d be able to fulfill his end of the bargain with the witch after all.

-

The “cleansing” quickly shifted from that of something considered somewhat normal, to something very far from it. Nothing about it could be considered holy anymore.

“Are you going to denounce your demonic pacts and sinful ways and conform?”

You lifted your head weakly to glare at him, “Never.” You snarled between staggered breaths. His face twisted in anger.

Blow after blow landed on your weak, fragile body. You spit out yet another mouthful of blood, the wet sounds echoing in the large room as it splattered onto the floor. Needless to say, you were in pretty bad shape.

Blood ran down your face from a laceration on your brow bone. Your lip was busted pretty bad and you had at least a few cuts inside your mouth from your teeth puncturing the skin on your cheeks and lips. You assumed you had some ribs that were at least cracked seeing as it had become pretty painful to breathe. All the spots he tased you in burned like fire, no doubt blistering up badly. He’d held it in the same spot for so long that you could smell your own hair and flesh burning.

There wasn’t much you could do in the way of fighting back, but you sure tried like hell in the beginning. But now you were way too weak, barely even able to scream out in pain. You’d already come to terms with the fact that you probably wouldn’t make it out of here. The reality of never seeing Mammon again swarmed you, tearing away the last bit of resolve you had left. You forced yourself to remember all the time you’d spent with him, making sure he was the only thing you thought of as you began to slowly depart from this world.

You would forever be grateful for the time you had with him and all the amazing memories you were able to make. Movie nights, staying up too late talking and laughing, trying and failing to hide from Lucifer after pranking him.

The way his too big of a hand completely engulfed yours, the way he looked at you when you were both all dressed up for some fancy party at the Demon Lord’s castle and how much he tried to hide his face so you couldn’t see his blush while he held you close on the dance floor.

Sneaking into each other’s beds when one of you had a nightmare, the way his body felt against yours when he cuddled you; his warmth and smell. The way he tried to hide his enormous smile and pink cheeks when you’d gush like a groupie over his newest spread in a magazine.

The time he was a flustered, stuttering mess for three entire days in the beginning of your relationship, unable to hear your name or see you without turning various shades of red because every time he did, flashbacks of loving you for the first time just days before came rushing back to him.

Those intimate moments were your favorite, for more reasons than the obvious. You got to see him in a different light. He was still his usual goofy, lighthearted, prankster self, but he was so much more than that too. He was so sweet it could make your teeth rot. He was gentle, slow. You could feel the love leave him, his heart pouring over into yours. There were always stars in his eyes; pure adoration. Something you could never quite grasp; how someone who had seen the literal heavens could look at a normal human like you in such a way; with such breathtaking awe.

You always felt like you didn’t deserve to be loved by someone as amazing as Mammon, but you would always be eternally thankful. In such a short time he’d brought so much happiness and light to your life. As happy as those memories were, you wished more than anything that you’d get the chance to make more, but sadly it didn’t look that way.

As Alex was coming in to land another blow, a loud thump could be heard from above you; his fist stopped in the air a few feet from your face.

“What was that?” He questioned to himself quietly. He stayed silent for a moment as he listened for more noise, but there was nothing. “Must’ve been thunder.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to you, pulling the taser from his pocket.

“It really is a shame that you refuse to comply.” He said as he jabbed it into your ribs, causing you to use what little fire was left in you to cry out in pain. “You really were a fine specimen, until you wasted yourself on demons.” Another jab of the taser, this time on your thigh.

You choked out a weak, raspy laugh. “And I’d do it again, a million times over you sadistic, psychotic freak.” You spat, voice breaking. He reared his hand back to hit you, but was interrupted by another loud noise, this time near the entrance. 

He turned toward the sound and decided to check it out this time, picking the knife up from the table on his way. He was only gone for a few minutes, but you were grateful for the break. As much as you didn’t want to give up, your body just couldn’t take much more.

He slithered back through the entrance, soaked from the down pouring rain and complaining about hearing things.

“If you didn’t have a guilty conscience, you wouldn’t be so paranoid.” You said between several pained breaths. Your voice was small and frail, but you still managed to lace some venom in your words. He snarled, storming toward you and sticking the knife under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him. You used what energy you had left to glare at him.

“It’s too bad really, that even in your darkest moments, your last moments, what’s-his-name wasn’t here to save you.” He snickered, tracing the knife from your chin to your jugular, applying just enough pressure along the way to coax out a small line of blood.

“That’d be The Great Mammon to you, human.”

Alex whipped around toward the entrance at the sudden voice, the color draining from his face as a look of sheer terror washed over him.

“M-Mammon?” You choked out, a massive lump forming in your throat. You looked around Alex, the most beautiful yet terrifying thing coming into your field of vision.

It really was him.

Seeing him in demon form was nothing new to you by now. However, the look on his face was something you’d definitely never seen before. It almost looked as if there was an aura around him; a definite shift in atmosphere at his presence. His natural sin was Greed, but right now he embodied Wrath. 

It was so easy for you to forget that he really was a demon, as you’d never seen him in such a state before. The sight of him now; raw, malevolent power seeping from him, the low guttural growl, emitting such a heavy, nightmarish presence. He was scary. Even to you.

“MC..” There was pain in his voice; his face distorting in agony when he looked at you.

He charged forward, only making it a few steps before Alex swooped in. He got behind you, reaching around and keeping the knife at your throat; Mammon froze.

“Not another step.” Alex warned. “I have no qualms with spilling the blood of a traitorous demon whore that turned their back on the human race.”

Mammon stared at him blankly for a moment, then burst into laughter. It wasn’t his normal, happy laugh. It was dark, and oozed ill intent. He turned his attention to you once more, his expression softening just enough to not utterly terrify you.

“MC, do you trust me?”

“Since my first day in the Devildom.” You smiled fragilely, noticing the way his mouth briefly tugged up at the corner when your words reached him. He locked his eyes on Alex once again, dark expression returning.

“Close your eyes. No matter what you hear, don’t open them.” He instructed as he slightly crouched, getting into an attack stance; you nodded in agreement, doing as he said.

You could hear Alex huff behind you. “I will slit their throat, or did you hear what I said you filthy, abomina-”

He was silenced mid sentence by a sudden impact that jostled you slightly where you hung. You could hear gasping breaths and Mammon’s same sadistic laughter as earlier, followed by several ear splitting cracks and tearing sounds as Alex screamed out in pain; wet, squelching noises and heavy thuds rang through the room as several things hit the floor. It went on like this for several minutes, until the screams finally ceased.

You pretty well knew just by the sounds, that you were finally free; that psycho would never be able to hurt you again. 

Moments later, you were lifted off the large hook and being cradled gently in arms that you knew all too well. Mammon sank to the floor, his wings wrapping around you protectively, shielding you from the gore you didn’t need to see.

“MC..” He whispered, tears running down his cheeks as his eyes scanned over your frail, broken body.

As much as you wanted to savor the moment of finally being safe, once again in the arms of your demon, the reunion would have to wait. You had been through so much and your body couldn’t take any more. You began to fade in and out of consciousness, no longer able to hold on.

“MC..? MC! Stay with me! Please, please hold on just a little longer.” He begged, his voice cracking as he patted his hand against your cheek gently. You tired to put a hand on his cheek to soothe him, but your arm fell limp halfway to his face as you lost the fight to stay awake. You heard him yell your name a few times as you drifted, his voice fading away slowly.

-

What is that infernal noise?

You had suddenly become hyper aware of an out-of-the-ordinary noise somewhere close by. An alarm clock perhaps? No, it was more of a beeping sound than a shrill ringing.

You lazily opened your eyes, immediately regretting it and squinting them shut because of a blinding white light that was shining in your face. You blinked several times as you tried to adjust.

As you scanned the room slowly, it started to look as if you were in one of the rooms in the Demon Lord’s castle, but it appeared to be set up as a hospital room of sorts. The blinding light was coming from one of the big lights they use at the dentist office. You soon discovered that the beeping noise you’d been hearing was actually one of several monitors you were hooked up to. 

Everything started to fall into place and make sense, memories coming back of the events that brought you here. The monitor closest to you started to sound an alarm, indicating your heart rate had picked up and your blood pressure was rising. Seconds later the door flew open, a figure rushing into the room.

“MC.” He said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Barbatos moved to your bedside and silenced the alarms, opting to check your vitals himself.

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing his index and middle fingers to the underside of your wrist, checking your heart rate.

“Fine, I guess?”

“You guess?” He repeated, taking a small light from his pocket and shining it in your eyes, checking the dilation of your pupils.

If you remembered correctly, which you’re very sure you did, your injuries were extensive. There’s no way you could forget that level of pain. You felt tired, kind of groggy from sleep, but there was no pain.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About three days.”

Three days?! You thought to yourself, a little shocked.

That’s still not nearly enough time for your wounds to heal. You must have looked as confused as you felt, prompting and explanation from Barbatos.

“Your injuries were rather extensive, so Mammon brought you here after rescuing you. Lord Diavolo had the best doctors in the Devildom tend to you with magic. Although they healed you perfectly, you weren’t showing any signs of waking up just yet, so we decided to keep you here to monitor your condition.” You nodded along in understanding as he spoke.

He placed the light back in his pocket and moved away from the bed. “I shall notify Lord Diavolo and the others that you have awakened. Please excuse me.” He said as he bowed, then left the room.

You sat up in the bed and criss crossed your legs, careful not pull out your IV or tangle any of the wires to the other monitors. You let out a long, heavy sigh. Before you could be consumed by your thoughts of all the memories of the last few days, the door to your room flung open once more. This time, it was the one person you wanted to see most.

“MC!” He shouted, voice cracking with emotion. Mammon crossed the room in an instant and sat in front of you on the bed.

“Are you okay? Do ya feel any pain?” He asked frantically, his eyes scanning your face then darting to the monitors, hands hovering over you as if he wanted to help but was unsure how. You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers in his. It seemed to calm him a little.

“I’m okay.” You assured him. Although you’d been put through the wringer, you felt so at peace. Not only were you in the safest place in the entire Devildom, but the one thing that threatened your peace of mind, was now no longer a problem.

“I-I uh, I was scared.. that I was too late. That ya weren’t gonna wake up, that I’d...that I’d lost ya..” He confessed, voice catching in his throat as tears fell from his eyes. He carefully scooped you up and held you in his lap, holding you as close as he was able to with all the wires and such. You sat up a little and snaked your arms around his neck, pressing your lips firmly to his.

While you were held captive, you had been so sure that you’d never get a moment like this with Mammon ever again. You were happy beyond words to be back in his embrace once again with his lips on yours. Smelling his wonderful scent, and feeling his warmth on your skin.

After a few minutes of your lips moving in synchronization, he broke the kiss, and pulled back to look you in the eye. A serious expression washing over his face. “MC, I’m sorry I didn’t-”

You held up your hand to stop him, “No, Mammon. You’re not going to blame yourself. I won’t let you. Everything that happened was his fault, not yours or anyone else’s. He was sick in the head, with a twisted ideology.”

He nodded, “I know, I know. It’s just..” He shook his head as he tried to choke back more tears that threatened to spill. You knew exactly what was running through his mind.

“Mammon, there is no one else in the three realms I’d rather trust with my protection, than you. As a matter of fact, there’s no else that can even compare to you in my eyes. As I already said, none of this, none of it, is your fault and I’ve never once thought it was. I love you, Mammon and there’s no one else I’d rather entrust my life with, or spend it with for that matter.” You placed your hand on his cheek and smiled at him, tears now streaking your cheeks. He leaned into your touch, his hand resting lightly on top of yours for a moment before pulling your hand away and placing several light kisses on your palm. 

Barbatos returned soon after, with a doctor in tow. Once they unhooked you from all the monitors and removed your IV, Mammon took you back to the House of Lamentation where everyone was awaiting your return.

It felt so good to be back. The HOL was technically your second home, but nowhere has ever felt more like home than here in the Devildom, surrounded by all your favorite people. And thanks to Lord Diavolo extending your stay until further notice, you were on cloud nine.

Although all your physical wounds were gone, the mental ones were sure to stick around for awhile. You expected as much though, having gone though quite a traumatic experience. Although, it made it a little easier knowing that Alex would never again be an issue.

It was clear that his soul wouldn’t be fit for the Celestial Realm, and you had fears of him being reincarnated in the Devildom and finding you once again. But, Mammon quickly laid those fears to rest, informing you of what he’d done that night after getting you safely to the Demon Lord’s castle.

He said he preformed some kind of ritual that ensured Alex wouldn’t be reincarnated anywhere; his soul having been wiped from the worlds. As if he’d never existed. He also mentioned something about Alex helping him to fulfill his end of a bargain with a witch. He didn’t really go into detail about the whole thing, but assured you that everything would be fine, so you didn’t push the issue. He’s a high ranking demon, after all. This surely isn’t his first rodeo. You were just ready to start the healing process and put an end to this awful chapter in life.

And with Mammon by your side; loving you, protecting you, helping you heal; you couldn’t think of a better way to begin such a beautiful new chapter.

~ fin ~

[pedrosbish]

the king

summary: the new ruler of Mand’alor, Din Djarin, needs to marry in order to be fully accepted as the king and you happen to catch his eye (*fem!reader)

warnings: angst, swearing

word count: 1.7k

taglist: @over300books​, @mouthymandalorian​, @ordinarymom1​, @zapsalis-d​, @goldielocks2004, @whore-for-anime​, @ilikethoseodds​, @withasideofmeg​, @theamuz​, @obsessivelysearching, @bellreads03​, @parkjammys​, @ajeff855​, @persie33​, @thatonedindjarinfan​, @jedi-jesi​, @pinkninja200​, @boomtownboy​, @chaemaire​, @softly-sad​, @liltangerineart​

CHAPTER SIX

The silence that followed Din after Paz broke the news of Bo-Katan’s threat to return to claim the throne of Mandalore was overwhelming. The air within his helmet seemed not enough and too stuffy, too warm, as his lungs and mind begged him to remove it, to leave Boba’s throne room to escape into the vast desert plains of Tatooine. 

He was fully aware of Bo-Katan’s ambition to claim the throne, to take over Din’s place as ruler. If you had asked him to give it all up a few months ago, when he was completely new to the idea of being a king, he would have gladly given it away without another thought. But now, when he had gotten to know the people of Mandalore a bit better and sat more comfortably on the throne, he couldn't. 

And he knew that keeping the throne would mean losing you. 

The Mandalorians were creatures of habit, a people built on the Creed and with following it meant that most traditions were viewed as too important to lose, to change. He used to be one of them, following it and living by it until Grogu and Bo-Katan and her friends came into his life and made him question everything about his covert, made him question the idea of not allowing others to grow close to you. 

He knew that if he told his people of his plan to make you his riduur, their new queen, there would be an uproar and he would lose the respect of his people which is something that Bo-Katan wanted as equally as taking back the Darksaber and the throne. 

The thoughts swirling within his mind made his body feel light, made him feel sick to his stomach as he nodded his head at Paz, the com link fading into nothing. Fennec’s eyes on him didn't help the feeling either, as she stood in the corner with her arms crossed, her lips set in a thin line before leaving the room. He stood there in the middle of the room, for how long he doesn't know, before shaking out of it, only now noticing Boba behind the throne, pouring himself a drink. 

“I don't know what to do.”

The hiss of Boba’s helmet has him averting his gaze until he remembers that he can look. The man, so withered with trauma and guilt, looks at him over his shoulder, the usual frown on his face a little deeper now at overhearing the news. He sips at his drink as he sits on his throne, a hand under his chin to keep it propped. 

“You Mandalorians,” he starts as he gazes intently at Din. “Follow your religion to a fault and you think that it protects you. But it doesn't.” Boba sighs and takes another sip of his drink before setting it on the ground and crossing his arms. “You're lucky to have found that feeling that only a few of us have the privilege of experiencing in this galaxy. At the end of the day it’s just a chair that you sit on but that-” he points at Din’s chest, where his heart sits beating. “That is a feeling that you can't find anywhere else.”

“But my people, they would never accept it.”

Boba chuckles, slapping his hands on his thighs before standing. “Fuck them, kid. You're the king, so make them accept it.”

Din’s thoughts continue to swirl through his mind at Boba’s words, that feeling following him even to his ship as the two of you ready for your departure. With one last pointed look in his direction, both Fennec and Boba wave you off as the ship take off into the sky, the two suns glaring in the distance until they disappear behind the ship.

The journey back to Mandalore is silent, with the two of you being too scared to speak, to ruin the energy still fizzling but slowly dissipating between you since last night, both of you trying to hold onto it before it goes away completely. The time passes slowly and Din nearly sighs in relief as the plant comes into view and he glances back at you to let you know that you're nearly home, only to find you passed out in the chair, hair falling into your face and quiet snores escaping your open mouth. He feels his heart clench at the sight before he squashes it down and turns to navigate the ship. 

Paz greets the two of you as you walk down the ramp, the moonlight lighting the ground, and he barely glances at you as two guards lead you home. He doesn't miss the frown on your face as you glance back at him, but he keeps his eyes focused on his al’verde as he tells him of his new potential riduur who he has to court in public. 

Din lies in his bed that night, unable to get to sleep his mind wanders to thoughts of you, the look on your face when he barely acknowledged you as the two of you disembarked from the ship and the guards led you away burned into his mind as he attempts to close his eyes. 

The light seeping through the open windows has his stomach filling with lead and it deepens further into his chest when one of the maids knocks on the door to bring his breakfast. He barely touches it and instead decides to get ready for the day, heading to the throne room for the first meeting of the day. The council talks of Bo-Katan and her threat, informing Din that marrying this daughter from one of the tribes is the best solution, even if temporary. 

The Mandalorian is nice, telling him of her duties in the tribe and letting him know that her family is grateful for considering her as his riduur. She greets the people as the two of them walk through the huts and out into the fields past them, Paz and another trailing behind them quietly. She tells him of what she would do to help him rule, promising him as many foundlings as he wants to ensure the continuation of the throne. But she's not you. 

All of it filters through one ear and out the other as your house comes into view. You are there, crouching as you plant herbs in the bare patches of dirt below your windows, rubbing the back of your hand across your forehead and leaving a smudge of dirt on it. A chuckle escapes his lips at the sight and the woman he’s courting follows his path of sight, a frown forming on her face under the helmet before she loops an arm through his. 

The action has him looking down at her, the smile that was on his face disappearing as he remembers that he should be focused on her. He turns his visor forward, eyes on the growing crops in the fields in order to not let his attention sway back to you. It's only when he hears your door slam shut does he glance back at your house, the toppled over pots and discarded tools sitting on the ground making his heart clench painfully within his chest. 

That night he turns in bed, restless, and the idea of you feeling hurt making his eyes snap open as he sits in bed, duvet resting on his legs as he swings them over and reaches for the boots sitting at the bottom of the bed. The sun lays on the horizon, painting Mandalore in colours of orange and pink even in the late hours of the night, a perk to the warmer months on the planet. 

His feet carry him to your house and he knocks on the door, fully expecting you to ignore him so when you do open it, he sighs in relief. A frown works its way onto his face when he sees the red around your eyes which are purposefully not looking at him and he almost reaches out to you but draws back at the last second, hands curling into fists at his sides. You stare silently at him, small sniffles escaping you and he feels a lump forming in his throat as you wordlessly step to the side to let him in to your home. 

“Cyar’ika-” he starts and his stomach drops, twisting in on itself when you hold a hand up and a quiet plea for him to stop comes out of your lips. He takes a step forward and you take one back, his eyes beginning to sting with unshed tears at the look on your face when you finally manage to drag your eyes up from the ground to look at him. “I-I don't know what to do.”

He can see the gears turning in your head as your eyes dart around the room, your hands fiddling with your tunic, as slow tears roll down your cheeks. He wants to go to you, to hold you in his arms, but he knows that it isn't something you need or want right now. You wipe away your tears before looking at him once again and he feels like the wind is knocked out of him at the determined yet dejected look on your face. 

“Your people, Din, need you more than I do.” He finds himself shaking his head at your words and he takes the steps to stand directly in front of you, cradling your cheeks in his hands. His heart leaping when you close your eyes at the touch, sighing softly before looking up at him, your hands resting on his and gently prying them off of your face. “They deserve to be ruled by one of their own, you deserve to marry one of your own.”

“But I love you.” he whispers as he places his forehead on your own, his hands gripping onto yours. “I want to be with you. I want you to be my riduur.”

You nod, hands holding onto his equally as tight. “I know.” Hands drop his and he desperately wants to take them back into his but he squashes down the feeling and watches, instead, as you take a step away from him. “But you have to choose whether you want to rule over your people properly or have me.”

[diavolosthots]

I saw the amazing fic about Diavolo meeting his mc’s strict religious parents. Could you please do that for Levi too?

I got it. I realized that i will probably pull most of these "sources" from the bible since thats the easiest religious text to find these demons in.

Warning: religion

Defend Me ( LEVIATHAN X GN!READER )

He felt uncomfortable from the get go. Meeting people in general completely throws him off and his anxiety went through the roof when you told him you wanted him to meet your parents. Your parents! How could he leave a good impression on them? “Hi I’m a demon. I play video games most of the time and have social anxiety. Achievements? Well I’m also the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy, but don’t worry! I treat them with the utmost respect because truthfully I don’t even know how I landed with them in the first place, but here we are, and I don’t want to lose them.” He can’t say that! He would sound like an absolute fool! They will think he’s way too weird for you the minute he walks in, anyway. He screams gamer-otaku-with-no-life, for goodness sakes! You can’t tell me that’s what they would want for you!

That’s why he pushed it off. For months he made up some ridiculous excuse of why he couldn’t go or why you should stay home with him. He even once went as far as to say your parents were sick and got Satan involved to actually get them sick! Nothing bad… just the seasonal flu, but still. Can’t you see that he really doesn’t want this? Well, you can see it, but you just don’t really seem to care. This is important to you and thus he, reluctantly, agreed to participate. He agreed to let Hell rise up and to try and be kind to your parents. Now.. as much as you wanted to believe him, you actually had your doubts. You knew your dad was going to tear him a new one and your mom was probably going to make fun of him too… but… you had faith in him that he could take the less.. Harmful jokes and hopefully not get too aggravated with the more rude ones… you prayed that, since he isn’t Satan, he won’t take too much offense to them.

“Ready?” Levi shook his head, looking at the bouquet of flowers in his hand, “are these okay? That’s what humans do right? They bring flowers for the mom? I saw it in a show once…” You laughed softly; he saw everything in a show once and thinks that this is how the world works. Well, he wasn’t completely wrong and it just shows that he can be a gentleman. “Yeah.. they’re fine. Okay, here we go.” You rang the doorbell, waiting for your mom to open the door, but it was actually your dad. “Dadd---!” “Hold on sweetie, who is this?” Your dad immediately stepped out and eyed Levi up and down, which made him more than uncomfortable, but he just clenched the flowers in his hand and forced himself to smile, “My name is Levi, sir. I’m their b-boyfriend.” You cringed silently. He was doing so good! But that stutter. 

Your dad eyed him once more, his eyes landing on the flowers in Levi’s hand, “ah. Listen, kid, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but those flowers are not going to make up for the absolute wreck you are and under no circumstance are you coming into my house with that cosplay jacket on.” You gasped loudly, slapping your dad on the arm, “dad! Those flowers are for mom and it’s not a cosplay jacket, it’s just a jacket!” You shake your head, taking Levi’s hand and dragging him inside, but Levi was still too focused on the fact that he just got made fun of not once, but twice, in the same sentence. “Mom! Come meet my boyfriend, and please be nicer than dad.” Levi could hear laughter from a room nearby and was soon greeted by a grinning woman; at least she looked friendly.

“Don’t be too hard on your dad. You know he’s just looking out for you.” Levi gained some confidence back, smiling softly as he held out the flowers, “These are for you, ma’am. My name is Levi.” Your mom gave him the same up and down look your dad gave him and he suddenly felt uncomfortable again, but your mom took the flowers and smiled at him anyway. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you. Oh! And these are so pretty! Come. Sit down. (Y/N), have you offered him some water? Oh dear, where are your manners?!” He could see you throw your arms up in frustration as you tell your mom that you literally just got here, and walked off with her. He suddenly felt so alone, kind of weird too, in a strange house, but he decided to enter the room your mom just came out of and noticed it was the living room. He also noticed that it was turned to some kind of christian music channel and a quick glance around told him that Jesus was watching him from every angle, literally, “so. Besides banging my child, what else do you do?” Levi almost choked, quickly turning around as a deep red flushed over his cheeks, “I-I don’t… ‘bang’ your child, sir. We uhm… we’re far from that step.”

“And that better stay that way, kid, unless you want to become friendly with my gun collection.” Levi shook his head, trying to avoid eye contact, “no, sir. I’m great.” Your dad scoffed, calling back out to your mother and you, “what’s taking you two so long? Another minute with this softie and he might turn into a puddle.” You rolled your eyes as you walked up with glasses of water that you sat down on the coffee table, “leave him alone, dad, he’s a good guy.” “yeah and apparently made out of cotton candy. He can barely stand straight, and you want to date that?” Levi felt bad; of course he knew you could do so much better than him. Hell, he’s told you that before, it’s just that you don’t listen! “He’s a good boy? Yeah I can see that. His name is Levi for goodness sakes; what’s that short for anyway? Seriously sweety, you could do so much better than that thing over there, but I suppose being taken away from a good home and thrown into that useless exchange program does kill a few brain cells.”

Oh no. Oh no, see what we’re not going to do is insult you. “What did you just say?” Your dad’s gaze flicked over to Levi’s, grinning smugly at him, “what? Got your panties in a twist, kiddo? Let me say it again, yo--” “No. No, no, no! See what we’re NOT going to do is bash on your own child!” Levi gets up, obviously getting angry, “You can throw my name around all you want, which, by the way, is Leviathan in full, and yes, I’m exactly that sea monster mentioned in that God awful fanfiction you call the word of the Lord. They!” He angrily points at you, feeling his blood boil beneath his skin, “are the best thing that has ever happened to you, considering you couldn’t get your cock up anymore if you wanted to with that elephant of a body you call ‘attractive’. I might not be the smartest, hell, I’m not even attractive, but I know for a fact that your child is the smartest, most considerable being that has ever graced this terrible excuse of a planet and I am NOT, “ he clenches his teeth, turning into his demon form and lashing out with his tail as he pulls your father up by the collar, “letting a measly excuse for a human being tear that beautiful soul down.” He roughly pushes your father back down, hissing at him as storms flashed behind his eyes. 

“Levi..---!” He grabbed your hand roughly, dragging you out of there and onto the street, not caring that people are seeing him as something other than human, other than normal. “Levi!” But he only shook his head, watching the portal open and dragging you through it. “I’m sorry, (Y/N), but I cannot just sit there and let him talk bad about you! What kind of father is that? I mean don’t get me wrong, I had my fair share of shitty parents, but at least my father didn’t think I was a complete waste of space.” He was breathing heavily, his body still tensed as you reached out for him, kind of scared but also slightly… turned on. “Levi… you’re so sweet.” you laughed softly, wrapping yourself around him and nuzzling into his neck, feeling him calm down and no doubt, feel a little embarrassed. “I didn’t think you’d stand up to him, but… It’s nice to know that you have my back.” 

He frowned, wrapping his arms and tail around you tightly, “Of course I have your back. No one gets to speak so terribly about you, not even your father… I knew there was a reason why I hate socializing. No offense but I can guarantee that man isn’t going to the pretty clouds in the sky, no matter how much he pretends to be a saint.” You shook your head, still laughing softly, “no offense taken… he was always a little… harsh. I wish you would’ve paid attention to his face. He was so shocked to see you, not only defend me and yourself, but also just being able to pick him up…. It was worth the little bit of hurt.” He shook his head, kissing down your shoulder, “You should never ever have to deal with that. I mean it. You’re the smartest and most considerable. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.” “Well… don’t let anyone tell you any different either.”

“Now you’re just asking too much from a shut-in otaku like me…” 

[thominho-incorrectquotes]

Will you recommend some Thominho fics that is not in AU? I don't know if I understand that correctly but I want to know if there's any fics you can recommend that is still book/movie related with familiar settings or something. I'm new to shipping and such so I'm not really sure what I'm talking about😅

Haha yes, don't worry, I understand what you mean^^ The term we usually go for is canon compliant, I think.Here some of my favorite fics, canon compliant:

SFW:

Secret Garden by ring_my_bell 

I'll never leave you alone by Safr2n (this is one of my fanfic)

  If you'd only listen by SelenicSoul83 

  Whichever faded first by SelenicSoul83 

After all this, you're still here with me by Safr2n (again, one of mine) 

Let's go run away from everybody by Safr2n (mine) 

A scared little shank by SelenicSoul83 

  You are the miracle I was hoping for by Safr2n (mine)

  I'd rather die than forget you by Safr2n (mine) 

Cuddling, but not quite (aka Minho is hurt and Thomas has to comfort him somehow, doesn't he?) by well_uh 

Thomas could only worry about Minho by Safr2n (mine)

  Lightning (and the Thunder) by Thomasnewtminho29

 as night falls by Phoenix_Allura (Artemis_Autumn_Marie)

 I can't sleep without you baby by Safr2n (mine)

  I need you, always by Safr2n (mine)

  Touch-starved by Safr2n (mine) 

All I See is Stars by Izcana 

Adrenaline Rush by TheAverageOne11 

Nights by Safr2n (mine) 

More Than Buddies by Iconic_Name_I_Hope 

i can't read your mind (but you'll share your thoughts anytime) by Phoenix_Allura (Artemis_Autumn_Marie)

 Tattoos and Memories by CelestialVoid On the Cliff by Wenirdo

The Talk by CelestialVoid 

Do Guard Dogs Doggy Paddle? by Delia_Maguire

 Dethroning The King by Delia_Maguire 

Can you hear me screaming please don't leave me by Thomasnewtminho29 a love like religion by komet 

In your bunk by Firebull 

Dethroning The King by Delia_Maguire

 In Sickness and In Health by Delia_Maguire 

Parties and Plot Gaps by Delia_Maguire 

This is real by Thomasnewtminho29

 In His Arms by orphan_account 

The Kids Aren't Alright by SpangleBangle 

But There's One Thing Missing, And That Was The Moment I Knew by OmegaJay 

Never Look Back by Antarctica_or_bust 

All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed by OmegaJay 

Don't Stop Doing Whatchu Doing by OmegaJay 

Out Of The Dark - There Came Light by Delia_Maguire 

Not The Work I Was Expecting by orphan_account 

Just A Coincidence by maleficent_angel 

Soulmates by MomoMoon115 

Can't Stop (Though I Don't Want to Stop) Touching You by Konsukiyomi 

Subject A7 'The Leader' by MomoMoon115

 let's finish what we started by getmean

 I love you by graveltotempo

 find your way home by nyckolodeo_n 

Holding Onto You by Hannah_Hibari_Thominho 

shelter as we go by starkspangledbanner14

 Five Kisses Minho Gave Thomas And The One Time He Should've by cometstail

 I'll be there for you by 185cmbaekhyun 

Through Silence (We Will Heal) by carrieonmywaywardson 

save tonight. by gazingatamidstamist 

Until dawn by DaeMoon 

How Toe-riffic by FoxEyes 

Quick Kisses by kugure 

We're a pair of dorks (in love) by FoxEyes 

Never Gonna Be Alone by LahraTeigh 

You did the right thing by subjectA21_theGentle 

Addendum by BurningFairytales

 "Thomas." by jimkrk 

Together At The End Of The World by XProSkeith

 Awkward by arcticnewt 

I Get The Big Bed (unless you want to share) by Captainwhovian (CaptainCaptian) 

Heaven by Chiazu

NSFW:

Yearning For Your Touch by CelestialVoid 

Dog Days Are Over by Mariela

 Round Two by emotionssuck 

The Greenbean Tour by orphan_account 

Setting Fire to Our Insides for Fun by Lafyel 

Moonlit by ThatDamnKennedyKid 

Slow Animals by sexyvanillatiger 

A Night in the Glade by emotionssuck 

Shutting Out Fear by ladyoneill 

Maze by BlueTeamSucks 

Are You Nervous? by emeryishot 

Begging for more by juddy 

You'll Thank(Blame) Me Later. by writingscisaac 

Tell Me Again by Snarling_Stilinski 

Thoughts Like Fire by shuckfaceparadise (isaacfignewton)

There you go! I know it's a long list, but I hope you find some fics you'll like!Thank you^^

[moonflower-31]

Tender Kisses - Spencer Reid x Reader

Requested? No

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: The reader and Spencer had a great date planned. And you just cannot wait. That is, until you come down with the flu a couple days before. Que Spencer being the best boyfriend ever.

♡♡Also! I do requests! Any kind at all. Though right now I'm a little rusty at smut so... yeah. Send me an ask if you have an idea you wanna see me write♤♤

~~~~

Today was supposed to be great. You know, a date with the best boyfriend in the world and probably the best food. You see, you and your boyfriend, Spencer, were supposed to go on a date to the nearby fall festival. It was in your hometown and you hadn’t gone in years. So you wanted to go with him. Make it even more special for you. But no. Some asshole decided to sneeze on you and give you the damn flu. 

You rubbed your puffy eyes as soon as you finished sneezing. You sniffled pitifully and groaned. You shivered from your fever. The doctor had said you had a rarer strand but it was still treatable. But the thing was, it was gonna take about a week or more. So you were down for the count for a week or two. And you hadn’t seen Spencer for a week because of the previous case. Now you wouldn’t see him for even longer. 

You clutched at the blanket around you, shivering again. You couldn’t go out with Spencer today. If you got him sick, he’d never forgive you. Him and his germs. You also didn’t want him to get sick anyway. He had a job to do. He didn’t have the time for sick days. You, unfortunately, did. So here you were. 

You grabbed your phone from your nightstand and checked to see if Spencer had texted you. He sure had. 

Spence -Hey, are we still up for that ‘fall festival’ of yours? I thought you were going to be here ten minutes ago.  

You felt your heart ache with longing for you not to be sick. As if you could will the sickness away so you could spend the day with him. But no. Mother nature decided you were gonna have a weekend inside. 

(Y/N) -Hey, Sorry. Something came up. I can’t make it. I promise I’ll make it up to you. 

You sighed and set the phone down on your nightstand once again. You didn’t tell him you were sick. You loved him, more than anything. But with how you were feeling, you didn’t feel like being babied or told the statistics of the flu you’d searched up on your own in an attempt to maybe hope you had a strand that went away quickly. 

Just as you began to try and relax into your blanket cocoon, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. 

Spence -Is something wrong? I can come over. 

Curse him and his kindness. 

(Y/N) -Kinda. But don’t come over. I’ll be okay. You’ve got work. 

You felt a cough coming and pulled your phone away from your face. You then let out a long series of throat-rawing coughs. You rubbed your throat in pain, finding your phone had buzzed twice since you began coughing. 

Spence -If something is wrong I want to come over. 

Spence -I’m off today by the way. 

You rolled your eyes. He was so stubborn. Guess that just proved how devoted he was. 

(Y/N) -You don’t wanna come over, trust me. Trust me on this. 

You finally just set your phone on vibrate and laid down in your blankets, shivering like it was the coldest night of the year. You smiled to yourself as you imagined Spencer’s most-likely response to that thought: 

“Actually, the coldest night of the year is the shortest day of the 365 day pattern. It’s called the winter solstice and it’s been used in a multitude of religions as a passage of time or a surge in spiritual presence.”  

You snickered and shook your head slowly. You for sure missed him and his statistics, no matter how sick you were. You groaned in your uncomfortable state and rolled over to ignore whatever buzzing might continue to come from your phone. You loved him, sure. But he was stubborn. 

An hour or so later you heard a soft knock at your bedroom door. You groggily opened your eyes and saw in all his glory: Spencer Reid, with his arms crossed and a playful look on his face. 

“So this is why you didn’t want me over?” He asked, teasing you as he got down onto your eye level. 

“Nghhh… What do you think? I’m sick,” You sniffled, holding back a cough. “I’m germ-y,” You croak. “And I don’t wanna get you sick. You can’t afford sick days.” You remind him. He chuckles playfully and reaches over, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I don’t care if you’re sick. You’re my girlfriend. If anyone has germs I want to be around, it’s you.” He teases, kissing your nose. You immediately turn your head to your elbow and sneeze, immediately rubbing your tired eyes. 

“What happened to my boyfriend and what did you do to him?” You asked softly. He laughed softly back, caressing your cheek. 

“He’s right here. And he’s going to take care of you, whether you like it or not.” He insists, giving you a playful look. You groan and shove him gently away, cuddling deeper into your blanket cocoon. 

“This is exactly what I knew you’d do. You’d take care of me instead of having a fun day out with Morgan or JJ.” You complain. “I don’t want you sick. All it took was one sneeze from a guy who didn’t even know he had it to get me sick.” You reason. “Imagine what a thousand sneezes from me will do to you?” You ask him, almost testing his germaphobia. 

Instead of the reasonable response of ‘Oh you’re right, I should probably go and leave you alone so I don’t get sick’ plus whatever statistic he found appropriate, he instead pressed a kiss to your lips. “Then I’ll take a thousand sneezes. Besides, Morgan is out with Garcia. JJ’s with her family. I-If I’m honest I’d like to be with mine.” He insists, making you blush heavily. 

“Spence…” You whine. 

“Don’t ‘Spence’ me. I’ll be right back. I’ll make you something to eat.” He promises before he stands up, kissing your head before he turns to head to your kitchen. You shook your head and smiled to yourself. 

He returned shortly after with a bowl of warm soup. He set it on your nightstand and pulled out a container of cough syrup and the bottle of medication I had left on the table after returning from the pharmacy. “You need to treat that cough along with your fever. These pills won’t do you much good if you don’t take them. Especially on an empty stomach.” He insists, pouring the exact amount of cough syrup into the measuring cup/lid. He lifted it up to your lips and indicated for you to open. You rolled your eyes again at his way of treating you like a child. However, you still opened up to let him pour the medicine into your mouth. 

It was extremely nasty. Which is why you preferred to just tough it out. Guess this is what you got for dating a guy so infatuated with statistics and facts. He knew what was best for you; even if you didn’t want it. You coughed and groaned at the taste, making him chuckle softly. You peeked open an eye and glared at him. He shook his head and sat on the bed beside you. “You still have these too. Ibuprofen, or acetaminophen is great at lowering fevers. So I added a few.” He explains as he puts a few pills in your hand. You groan at the brightly colored fever reducing pill in your hand along with the tylenol. You hated this part. You gave Spencer your best puppy dog-eyed look and slightly pouted your lower lip. Sure, you looked like a child. But you didn’t care. 

Spencer laughed at the look you gave him, picking up the cup of water he had managed to bring it as well. “You aren’t getting out of this, (Y/N/N).” He says heartily. You pouted fully, closing the pills into a fist and crossing your arms like a child in time-out for drawing on the walls. Spencer grinned at this, pressing a kiss under your ear. “Stop pouting or I’ll kiss that lip for you.” He teases, nipping at your ear playfully. You felt a small shiver run down your spine as you groaned. Why must he do that when you were sick? 

You huffed and took in a puff of air. You grabbed the glass of water, taking a swig before you put the pills in your mouth. You swallowed uncomfortably, almost coughing afterwards. You put the cup back into Spencer’s hand with a grumpy look. He smiled at you amused, an eyebrow raised the entire time. “There, happy?” 

Spencer grinned wider and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer as he whispered “Very.” 

You groan and try to shove him away. He instead just pulls you closer and presses multiple kisses to your cheek. “Stoppp…” You whine, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. He smirked and pulled your head to lay against his chest. 

“No.” He persists, running a few fingers through your hair. You sigh, enjoying the tenderness of his fingers gently massaging your head through your hair. He hummed softly a tune you could only recognize as Bethoven’s Symphony number 9. Before you met Spencer, you wouldn’t have been able to differentiate one of Bethoven’s works from another other than a name you might’ve seen on youtube. Now you could tell just by the tone and rhythm. 

You closed your eyes and hummed along with him, forgetting a few parts that he helped you with. Thank god for his eidetic memory. Even in small moments, it helps. He kisses your head as he finishes with the tune, rubbing your shoulder through the blanket that hadn’t fallen from your left shoulder. Otherwise, you had no covering since the blanket had fallen and Spencer was warm. You whine softly as he moves, upsetting your comfy position. 

“You need to eat, you know.” he points out, having grabbed the bowl of soup he had brought in earlier. You didn’t feel like eating. Although your stomach growled in protest to that thought. You just didn’t feel up to it. But you ignored the feeling and turned enough for Spencer to spoon feed you. You never said you were a complete stubborn woman. 

Spencer smiled again as you let him lift the spoon to your lips. From the way he looked at you, you could tell it was his plan the whole time to spoon feed you. You swallowed the soup he helped you eat, humming at the warmth. You still didn't like being babied, but this felt nice. For some reason. 

"Why couldn't you just feed me while we were cuddling? That was comfy." You whined. He shook his head and chuckled, kissing your cheek instead as a response. 

You huffed when he didn't respond, taking a moment to take the new spoonful he had gathered in the metal spoon. "Spence…" you whined, only getting another playful chuckle in response. 

"You're only decreasing the probability that I give into what you want by begging." He informed. You pout again and let a small smile place itself on your lips. He grinned and kissed you gently. 

"Is my probability up now?" You ask, laughing a bit. He chuckled again, getting you another spoonful of soup. 

"Definitely." He says sarcastically. 

"No fair. And all I wanted was cuddles." 

"No you want to get out of eating." He rephrases your statement. You, knowing he was right, just took the spoon from him and shoved it in your mouth in protest. He let out a cackle of laughter, turning your head towards his face to press kisses on your cheeks. 

"You're too cute for your own good." He says with a sigh. You giggle in response and take out the spoon. Spencer takes this opportunity and grabs the spoon back from you faster than you could realize he was going for it. 

"Spencer!" You gasp in mock disbelief. He grinned again. You were surprised his face didn't hurt yet from smiling so much. You loved his smile, especially this cheeky one. But you didn't want him to know that right now. You were fake mad at him. For stealing a spoon. 

"What? I saw the chance and figured my probability of getting it back was more than 75%. So, naturally, I took it." He teases, poking your nose. You huffed and took the bowl from him gently and lifted it to your lips, sipping most of it. 

"There. No more soup." You huffed. But in the mix of your insistence to be stubborn, and your sick brain, you played right into his hands. He had wanted you to eat more, and you had. 

"Good. Now you can come here and cuddle with me." He says in a happy and teasing tone. You glare at him annoyedly and playfully. 

"Now you'll cuddle with me? Seriously?" You ask. He nods, pulling you close by your hand. 

"Cuddling, in it's more specific term has actually been proven to release oxytocin, which can help when you're sick to keep your symptoms from getting worse. They also have been proven to help with lessening pain with the distraction." He explains, petting your hair to help relax you. You hummed happily as he began to rattle off facts on cuddling. Anything that comes out of his mouth was something you wanted to hear. You just loved hearing his voice. Maybe there was some truth in the whole cuddling as a distraction concept. 

"Oh yeah?" You said semi-groggily. He smiled, kissing your forehead before speaking up again. 

"Yes, actually. It's proven to lessen stress and lower high blood pressures. The oxytocin released acts like pain blockers. It can help stop pain signals as well." He explains as he helped you to once again lay your head on his chest. 

"Sounds nice…" you reply tiredly. He smiled and adjusted you and him to lay near the head of the bed. 

"You know… it also helps with sleep. Lessening the presence of nightmares." He adds, knowing you were close to falling asleep. 

You mumbled a few words before they turned into incoherent mumbles. You curled up against his chest and clutched at his shirt. He couldn't help but admire how peaceful you looked. He didn't like seeing you upset in any form. Especially the one where you're sick. But he was glad to have been here for this one. 

He pet your hair gently again as he continued to hum. You were beautiful. Inside and out. And he was the lucky one to be able to see it all as much as he wanted. Especially this form of beauty: you curled up peacefully in his arms away from all the evil he faced every day. Though he couldn't keep it that way forever, although he would damn well try, he was going to protect you and hold you as close as your physical bodies would let you. And love you, more than the human brain was capable of comprehending. 

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 7 - The Fog, Pt. I

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: Enough with fluff, time for some angst... with smut in flashbacks but detailed enough to satisfy y'all 😌. TW// mentions of suicide, canon typical violence/events, death of a child - overall a lot of blood and gore.

Summary: Things take a dark turn for the reader on patrol one day.

Word Count: 4.119

Author's Note: PLEASE READ!! I'll be moving to another country next week, so my updates might be delayed from time to time... I'm putting a soundtrack from the walking dead below called "The Pulse (I)", the sounds in the beginning (you'll know what I'm talking about once you listen) are what the reader hears; I really didn't know how to describe the sounds so I decided to put the soundtrack there and also linked it on a word when the time comes. Finally, I'm assuming Ellie was born sometime between the end of spring and summer because of the outfits they wore in that cutscene in part ii, so I set this chapter's date to September; wanted Joel to have some nice time with his daughter :")

Enjoy!

Walt made sure to stay away from you after your conversation. You were absolutely shocked and angry - you hated Walt for that, but you could only laugh at the situation when you told Maria what happened. How ironic it all was. You thought maybe if Joel hadn't come along, you could have ended up with Walt but you weren't sure if you'd be as happy with him as you were with Joel. You would've been sad or upset after finding out about this new 'information' if your feelings for Joel weren't this strong, but you were simply glad Walt didn't open up to you before Joel and Ellie came. Your relationship with Walt was damaged for sure now, but it wasn't completely in disrepair.

Joel and you, on the other hand, weren't the type to kiss or hold hands in public. You weren't too sensual with each other in front of others, but behind closed doors, it was a different story. Who would've thought Joel Miller would be a cuddler? It definitely wasn't you, or Tommy or Ellie. Nobody knew for awhile of course, but Tommy eventually caught Joel and you in your kitchen one day, weeks later. He was hugging you from behind and placing sweet kisses on your neck as you tried to focus on the task in front of you, but he was making it significantly hard.

Tommy teased Joel to no end about being a love sick puppy around you and kept asking when the two of you were going to get married. You'd blush and laugh, but you never even thought about marriage in the first place. It had only been around ten months since you two made things official between yourselves, but the idea of labeling it sounded silly at that time- plus, it was still a little early to think about marriage. As Eugene had put it, you were in the sex, beer and rock 'n roll phase of your relationship and you needed more time to figure everything out before settling down together. You two stayed at each other's houses most of the time of course, but still. There were still sides to the both of you that neither of you discovered yet as well.

Sex, beer and rock 'n roll? Well...

"Really? Now?" Joel.

"Yes, now!" You whisper yelled, then slowly sneaked your hand under his shirt and began kissing his neck. "Come on, baby, please? I need you..."

You were leaning against Joel, practically rubbing your whole body against his as you moaned whispered in his ear. Of course, he couldn't help himself when he saw you were this hungry for him, so he gladly obliged.

You kissed Joel's lips softly, but just as you pulled away, he held your neck and kissed you again harshly. You knew, you weren't in for a gentle treatment the moment you felt his hand around your throat lightly. Joel sat you on the desk and spread your legs, settling between your thighs and grabbing them.

"Tommy won't stop bustin' my balls about this if he catches us," Joel grunted.

"He won't- if we're quick enough," You smirked and took his jacket off in a rush. You two were currently at a back room of the ski lodge lookout, where Tommy told you he'd meet you both in half an hour.

"Lay down for me," Joel growled and pulled your pants down to your knees while you did as he told you, getting support from your elbows as he slowly unbuckled his belt. Your arousal was present ever since you woke up from a rather naughty dream in the morning. You didn't say or do anything about it, hoping that it'll go away throughout the day. Guess what? It didn't and here you were, Joel between your wide open legs and pumping his cock while teasing you with his other hand. You wouldn't say you had sex too often like rabbits, but you had sex when there was a mutual tension between you that needed to be subsided and it was so perfect every time.

Today though? You were just horny for the man and the hunger in your eyes was enough for a tent to build up in Joel's pants.

Your wetness was a natural lubricant for his easy entrance into you. He absolutely loved you around his cock, the way your walls took him in and clamped down around his length and, of course, the noises you made.

Joel stepped over the barrier made by your pants, grabbed your hips and set off with a fast, brutal pace. Your arms shook as they struggled to keep you up, sweat trickling down your forehead and finally gave out, making you lay down completely. He leaned down to kiss your neck, hips snapping into yours and stroking all the right places in fast motions. He pulled your v-neck blouse up just above your breasts and his teeth immediately met with your hardened nipples, making you moan loudly.

"Shh," Joel chuckled. "It's like you want us to get caught, baby."

Your giggles soon turned to high pitched whines of his name, his fast and rough pace gave you an indescribable amount of pleasure. The table you were currently spread across on began hitting the wall behind you louder and louder with each thrust along with his skin slapping against yours but neither of you were in a state of mind to care.

"Oh Joel!" You cried out, holding onto his arms for dear life as he fucked the living out of you.

Joel growled - you would've thought he was angry if you weren't in this situation right now: "Fuck, (Y/N)-"

A few profanities and thrusts later, you came undone a moment before he pulled out and with a couple of strokes, came on your inner thigh. You thought you'd seen stars as your legs twitched, hanging off the table. Joel collapsed on your body and you two stood like that, trembling and trying to catch your breaths.

"That- that was-" Joel tried to speak.

"Mind blowing?" You chuckled.

"That's one word to describe it," Joel slowly pushed himself up and placed a kiss on your forehead, helping you up.

No one ever caught the two of you in the act, of course. You two were incredibly careful while teasing one another in public - it could be a look, a smirk, the slightest spreading of his or your legs, a touch, a word- anything would be so carefully executed that nobody would even notice. After sex, your mind lingered too long on Joel and that usually wasn't good because it sometimes led to daydreaming while doing chores in town. Not on patrol, of course, but this one morning Joel had fucked you so good, you couldn't help but spend the rest of the day aching for more.

You were still a little sleepy so you let him have it his way. He took off whatever clothing he had on him and stripped you of yours, then spread your legs open: "Ain't you the loveliest little thing when you wake up..."

You grinned at him, stretching as he kissed your belly once, then proceeded to eat you out like a man who hadn't eaten in days. He took his time and didn't rush anything, earning soft gasps from you with his skillful tongue: "Oh god, Joel-"

One of your hands went through his hair while the other was on your forehead as if you were about to faint. Your cheeks were burning, his hands had a tight grip on your waist so he could keep you from wiggling out of his touch. This was pleasure in its purest form, you thought. The sight of him buried between your legs were absolutely delicious and the feeling even more so. He didn't let you come, however. Instead he sat on the bed and licked his lips: "Turn around for me, baby."

You whined at the loss of contact but did as he asked. He got on top of you, then caressed and massaged your back and kissed down your spine as his hands moved lower to your rear: "You ready for me, doll?"

"Yes," You sighed dreamily, a light smile on your lips. Joel pushed your legs together and you felt the bed dip on each side. He was hovering over you on his knees: Slowly, he pushed into you, almost moaning at the feeling of how tight you felt around him. You were already a mess by the time he was buried to the hilt. He fucked you thoroughly and slowly - he had all the time in the world and didn't want to rush anything. You liked it when he was taking his time, it extended your orgasm to it's limit but this position was about to see to a quick end on both sides.

He gently grabbed your chin and pulled your head up so he could tease your lips with his. You were on your elbows and moaning softly, whining when he didn't kiss you: "Joel..."

A quiet chuckle left his lips: "You want a kiss?"

You simply nodded and moaned instead of answering when his pace got faster. He gave you your kiss, your jaw in his careful grasp and fucked you until you came with a high pitched moan. Joel came on your rear, finishing with a long, hushed groan.

Those two and your first time with each other were the best sex you two ever had, you both agreed on it during a drunken chat.

Joel wasn't too hard to handle. During his time in Jackson and then his time with you and Ellie had really helped him open up and get comfortable with his emotions around people he let in. He hardly ever got jealous, but the way he got jealous would be sweet rather than a mood killer.

"I'm real lucky to have the most beautiful woman in town all for myself," He'd say, before kissing your brow and putting his arm around your waist. You enjoyed it, being his. New arrivals who'd try their chances with you would instantly know that you were 'his gal' and he was your man. You two really helped one another fit better in Jackson - you socialized with others and got to be vulnerable around each other. You taught him how to love again and he taught you over and over that all hope wasn't lost.

Until September 23rd, 2035. A date you'll never quite forget.

Red, orange and brown leaves had fallen off trees and blanketed the soil you and Joel were walking on. You two were set off to patrol a new place Tommy and Joel had discovered a few days back and it needed clearing from the infected. There was also a child, Miles, missing along with his father Samuel. They'd been missing for four days now and your thoughts were very troubled because of it, ever since their disappearance was announced. You really liked Miles, a sweet twelve year old boy he was.

"Doll, you okay?" Joel gave you a concerned look. Your grip on your rifle was hard and you had zoned out apparently, missing everything Joel had been talking about.

"Yeah," You nodded. The sun was shining through the trees and right onto Joel's beautiful face, which made you smile. "I wish we had a camera."

"I heard Tommy found one, he said someone was working on it this morning," Joel replied. "Why'd you ask?"

"You look so beautiful like this- and we don't have a picture together."

"Yeah, you're right," He nodded. "We'll be the first ones to use it, I promise you... I actually want a picture of me and Ellie too."

The way he loved Ellie like he did Sarah made your heart break. He had mentioned how he was absolutely destroyed and almost took his own life after her passing, also the story of how him and Ellie came across two brothers, Sam and Henry, before they found you which turned you into a concerned mother duck around the kids in Jackson and more of a wife to Joel than a girlfriend.

"Yeah, I want a lot of pictures with a lot of people: With the kids, Maria, Tommy, even Eugene!" You chuckled and made him laugh, but suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you saw two bodies lying on the ground and a third one away from them. "Joel, look."

Joel's smile immediately dropped at the sight. You two shared a look before you got in position and carefully walked over to the bodies with your rifle pointed at them, Joel right behind you. The closer you got, you noticed how there was a third body under the other two. You didn't recognise any of them, so you carefully leaned down and moved one of them away to see an awful scene in front of you.

"Oh god, Miles?" You whispered. His eyes opened slowly and you immediately moved the corpses off him.

"Miss (Y/N)?" Miles' voice cracked.

"It's alright Miles- It's me, I got you-"

"(Y/N)," Joel called over to where the third body was, only to see Samuel lying on his face.

You gave him a devastated look, but stopped Miles from seeing his father's body and picked him up bridal style: "Good god, how long have you been here, darling?"

"A few hours?" Miles held onto you while Joel was trying to figure out a way on how to get Samuel's body back to town. "You need to be careful miss, those men could be still here."

"What men?"

"The men that attacked us," Miles continued. "My pa thought they were bandits, but they wer-"

Blam!

You didn't understand what happened first. Blood got into your eyes and splattered all over your face - an incredible force almost pushed Miles out of your hold but your grip stopped him from falling.

"Dolly!" You heard Joel yell, but you couldn't open your eyes, too much blood-

You wiped your eyes on your arm as best as you could with Miles in them, but when you finally managed to open your eyes, you almost screamed: There were two holes on the sides of Miles' head and a bullet, covered in blood, on the ground.

"Oh- Oh god," You trembled, you couldn't take your eyes off the poor boy's head, but Joel pushed you on the ground suddenly and saved you from another bullet.

"Take cover- run!" Joel yelled, pushing you in the direction of a huge rock only a few feet away from you. You reluctantly let go of Miles' body and ran with him. Once behind the cover, Joel whispered: "Dolly- Dolly are you okay?"

You sure as shit were not, your face looked like the statement too.

"You heard the boss: Bring the woman alive, get rid of the other one!" A shiver went down your spine. Who the hell were they? Was FEDRA finally caught up to you?

"Oh fuck," You tried to breathe, wiping at your face. "Joel-"

"I'm right here darlin' but you gotta focus, we need to get outta here," Joel held your face between his hands. "C'mon (Y/N), focus."

You took a few deep breaths and concentrated. You heard about seven to eight footsteps beginning to surround you. You readied your rifle and Joel did the same, but before attacking, you threw a smoke bomb right onto a man who was the closest to your position, then moved in his direction as a smoke cloud hid your movements. This gave Joel time to cover you as you killed the first man, bullets flying in your direction. You quickly jumped back to your cover, a bullet barely slicing through the flesh of your leg as you landed beside Joel.

"Please tell me you have a nail bomb," You whined.

"Always," Joel said before sending it off to where three of the men were, the shards embedding themselves into their skin and making them cry out in pain. Quickly taking the chance, you fired at the men until you ran out of bullets. You took out Kurt's your knife and advanced at another man with a baseball bat in his hand. You were quicker with a knife - it took you almost five seconds to cut open the man's vital veins and have him collapse onto the ground. Just as you were about to turn around to see where Joel was, you felt someone grab you by the waist and slam you to the ground.

"Oof!" You immediately collected yourself and swung the blade to your opponent's throat, but he grabbed your wrist and rolled you and himself over, pushing himself away from you. You quickly got up on your knees and reached for your blade when the same hand caught your wrist once more. You were, once again, mortified at the sight in front of you: "Gabe?!"

"Hiya commander," Gabe growled in despise and headbutted you, completely taking advantage of how off guard you were.

"Fuck!" You cried out and kicked him in the face before he could get to you when you collapsed. While you two were on the floor, making sure your bones weren't broken, Joel was shooting his way to you. He was going hand to hand with a man who's neck was going to be broken by the heel of Joel's boots in a matter of seconds. You stumbled but got up and immediately got on top of Gabe with your knife in hand. You went to stab him in the throat but his arms blocked you from doing so.

"(Y/N)!" Joel pointed his gun at Gabe, but was interrupted by another man suddenly tackling him.

Your vision was red - you were like a raging bull, wanting nothing more than to kill Gabe for what he had done. You were angry at yourself too, mostly at yourself but he still played a part in getting your family killed. You couldn't even hear your surroundings anymore as you repeatedly hit and forced your knife holding hand down to his throat while grunting angrily.

Another unexpected move from him had your back slamming onto the ground with his ankles wrapped around your throat. How the hell- Since when was he this flexible?!

You gasped for air with a loud cry, drawing a distressed Joel's attention back to you. You were scared now, actually scared because of the move Gabe pulled, so your survival instincts kicked in with full effect. The tip of your boot met with his jaw, hard, as soon as it got free from under your thigh. The moment you felt his lock weaken around your throat, you rolled back, grabbed his leg before he could recollect himself and with everything you had, struck his knee with your elbow. Gabe screamed and kicked you with his fine leg, but he was weak and you kept striking the same spot, crushing his bone ferociously.

"(Y/N)!" Joel pulled you away from your shoulders, but you pushed him off with your back. "(Y/N), stop!"

You grabbed Gabe's throat, nails digging into his skin and pressed him down: "Got you, you fucking rat."

"(Y/N)-"

You ignored Joel and choked Gabe to his death: "Is there more of you, huh? Where is he?!"

"You'll be seeing him-" Gabe choked out, struggling against your grip. "Very soon."

"We need to move!" Joel pulled you off of him, but you pushed him away with your hands.

"Fine," You replied through your teeth after calming down. You gave a final look at Gabe and when you saw a shit eating grin on his face, you, with the speed of light, leaned down and grabbed your knife, then shoved it through his throat with a roar. You looked him dead in the eyes as he choked on his own blood and died.

"(Y/N)..." Joel's eyes were wide as he watched you wipe the blood on your knife on Gabe's jeans. You got up, more blood smeared on your face and jacket, but just as you began walking away, you heard more footsteps from inside the woods.

"Shit, hide," You kneeled and took cover behind a fallen tree, Joel right beside you.

"Who are they?" Joel whispered as you reloaded your rifle with a hard look on your face.

"People I thought were dead," You replied, not looking into his eyes. "They escaped me once and I paid dearly because of it. I'm not leaving until they're dead."

"No, we can leave now and come back with Tommy and other's-"

"And let these assholes find out where we live and terrorize the town?" You growled angrily. "Let's make one thing clear: I'm not letting anymore people die because of stupid mistakes I make. This ends. Now."

You discreetly scanned your surroundings: There were, once more, around eight men searching the area for you two. You took a deep breath and sneaked off to take down your first target. Joel was really tense but still carried out his fair share of executions until one of the men saw you and alerted the rest, bullets flying in the air. Most of the men were already down, but suddenly more men filled the area. Where the hell are they coming from?!

You were more than willing to take him up on that offer, but you obviously didn't trust him: "You think I'm dumb enough to believe you'll stay true to your word, you son of a whore?!"

"Hold your fire!" A very, very familiar British accent that haunted you to this day reached your ears and your eyes went wide. "Oh (Y/N)~" He sang and called for you. "Are you still alive, sweetheart?" You gulped and tried to breathe, a sound lightly ringing in your ear the more he talked: "I know you're out there, I have an offer for you: Come with me now and I'll leave your friend alone."

"Come now, my mother flipped in her grave because of you and your team too many times already, poor woman..." You peeked at him from behind your cover carefully as he continued: "Oh for god's sake- bring him out!"

You watched in horror as two men dragged Joel out to the open from his arms. When did he even get captured?! God, you thought, I was so blinded by revenge I couldn't protect him.

"Dear lord above," The man chuckled, quite shocked. "I never thought I'd see you again."

What?

Joel remained quiet even after the men pushed him onto the ground, then the leader pulled out his pistol and pushed the tip against Joel's head: "Alright, new deal: If you don't come out in the next three seconds, I'll blow his bloody head off."

"Alright, stop!" You immediately got up, desperation taking over you. "Here I am, let him go."

"Now, why should I do that?" The man snorted. "He betrayed me and ran off to be a goddamn smuggler, I should just blow his head off."

"No!" You yelled, your voice cracking. "He has a daughter and a wife- your deal is with me, let him go."

Joel looked up at you as best as he could while his head was pressed on the ground. You couldn't believe he, your lover, used to run with them- with him.

"Are you possibly the wife you spoke of?" The man grinned at you.

"No, you imbecile-!" You lied through your teeth and he seemed to be buying it so far. "You've already destroyed enough families, just let the man go... You'll be satisfied enough while killing me."

"You're quite right," The man nodded thoughtfully. "I'll enjoy ripping you apart... But you know what? Since you're cooperating with me so nicely and, well, since he used to be my second in command -brothers in arms and whatnot- I'll spare him."

You exhaled in relief, not letting it creep up into your expression however. Suddenly, he kicked Joel in the nose and knocked him out: "In two hours, I'll send a man here and if he's still knocked out, I'm going to kill him."

You knew Joel would be up in less than two hours, so you kept quiet and stared at the man, hard. There's got to be a way out of this...

"Well, shall we?" The man snapped his fingers at someone behind you and they kicked the back of your knee to bring you on your knees while your hands were behind your head. The man took your rifle from you and with the back of it, hit you in the head, making your vision go black.

[comfortwriting]

A Walk To Remember - R.W

Ron Weasley x Fem Reader - Part 2/2

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Part 1

Based HEAVILY on the movie: A Walk To Remember.

Warnings: mention of cancer, death, heavy theme of religion and god, blasphemy, fluff, sadness.

“I still can’t believe you kissed her” Hannah laughed, irritating Ron and making Lavender bitter. “You’d think after working so hard on her appearance she’d stick to it”

Ron couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t keep allowing his friends to slander you like this, you were kind, patient and saw light in most darkest places. Ron couldn’t have them beating on someone who had done nothing but go out of her way to help others.

“Shove off, Hannah.” Ron replied “she’s fine the way she is”

Although Ron was blown away by your dolled up look during the performance, he didn’t ponder on it - since that night it didn’t matter how you looked, it didn’t matter if you were covered in makeup or bare faced - you were the most stunning girl he had ever laid eyes on.

He truly felt as if you were the light in his darkness, the hand that was pulling him out of every awful situation he could’ve gotten himself stuck into; it was thanks to you that he had been staying out of trouble.

Seamus scoffed and laughed, pulling a face at Dean. “One kiss and you’re suddenly all into her” Seamus walked over to Ron “she’s changing you and you don’t even realise”

“You don’t know her like I do.” Ron replied “If you did you’d show her some respect.”

After walking away from Ron, you didn’t go back to Hogwarts for the rest of the week. You started to feel more sick, more tired, you didn’t have the energy to walk up the stairs and to stand behind a simmering couldron for hours at a time.

Instead you laid in bed, your dad reading to you and helping you with your work, stroking your hair and praying each and every night for you to be given more time.

By the early evening you had gotten enough energy to sit outside in your rocking chair on the porch, watching the sunset and questioning wether it would be your last.

Ron walked out infront of you and stepped onto your porch, holding a big square box in his hands with an orange ribbon formed into a beautiful bow keeping the lid on.

Ron walked over to you and handed the box to you “I uh, got this for you”

You took the box from him and smirked, pulling apart the ribbon and taking off the lid.

Inside the battered box you were met with multiple hand knitted sweaters, all with the letter ‘R’ on the front, your heart melted and you could feel your cheeks getting red.

You looked up at Ron and smiled, you hadn’t felt this good all week.

“Thank you!” You chose the maroon sweater and pulled it over your head, instantly engulfed in the warmth and beautiful feel of the fabric.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Ron tapped his hand against his pant leg, feeling slightly awkward, his ears reddening.

Your father came outside, his eyes falling on Ron.

“I think it’s best that you get on your way Mr Weasley.” Your father cleared his throat, walking over to you and taking the box off you.

You continued to smile and wave at Ron “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Ron nodded and felt like for the first time in his life he had achieved something worth celebrating, despite the countless things he had achieved before.

“See you then.” He smiled, walking away.

Your father waited for Ron to disappear into the shadows before he helped you out of your chair, taking you to your room he sat the box down at the end of your bed.

“I warned you about him, y/n.” He reminded you.

“Dad it’s just a collection of sweaters, okay?” You tried to remind him, snuggling into your new one that smelled like Ron. “God wants me to be happy, dad. Ron makes me happy.”

Feeling better and stronger than the previous week, you returned to Hogwarts wearing one of Ron’s sweater, keeping you safe from the cold breeze.

Lavender spotted you and instantly ditched her class, storming over to you with her hands in fists.

“Where have you been?” She asked you “I’ve been looking everywhere!”

You stared at her and wondered if she was looking right through you, if she had gotten you confused with someone else but then again she spent every day taunting you so how could she mistake you for someone else?

“I’m sorry? What?”

Lavender’s eyes hovered over your jumper, her eyes burning into the large ‘R’.

“Havent you heard?” She looked saddened, grabbing your hand and pulling you down the halls.

“Heard what? Please just tell me, and slow down.” You panted, trying to slow down.

Bursting into Ron’s common room your face dropped as you caught a glance at what was on the hundreds of sheets of papers were floating around the room, falling swiftly to the floor.

Lavender caught the paper and shoved it in your face, laughing cruelly at you.

“You look rather dashing.”

On the paper was a lude drawing, a caricature of you alongside your God, the very image shattering your innocence and self esteem.

Everyone in the common room burst into laughter, all of them staring at the drawing and back at you, pointing.

Turning around to run away Rom bumped into you, holding you in his arms.

“Ignore it love, I’ll sort them out alright?”

You nodded and stared at the floor, covering your ears with your hands, you closed your eyes and started to collapse in on yourself - all this stress wasn’t good for your health.

Ron stopped the drawings from dancing across the room that mocked you and your faith. Seamus and Dean stopped laughing, Hannah and Lavender’s faces turning sour.

“What’s up with you, mate?” Seamus asked, a holding a drawing in his hand “don’t you like it?”

Ron snatched the drawing from his friend, glaring at him.

“You bumped your head or something?” His tone gruff “do you have any idea how disrespectful this is?”

Seamus shook his head and scoffed, trampling on the drawings as he stepped closer to Ron. “Are you seriously choosing the bible freak over us?”

Ron couldn’t hold back anymore, his anger had been pent up for so long it was spilling out like an over flowing cup of tea.

“I’ve had enough of you, toss pot!” Ron swung for Seamus and almost knocked him through the wall.

Dean got in between the two of them, Seamus filled with rage and sporting a bruise whilst Ron was left with a bruised knuckle.

Ron thought you were worth fighting for, worth everything in his life, but you took a hold of his arm and pulled him back.

“They aren’t worth it, Ron.” You cried “let’s just go”

Ron walked you to your dorm room, holding his hand in yours. The two of you sat on your bed, Ron stroking your hair and calming you down. Ron’s eyes met with yours and felt like millions of fairies were sparkling in your eyes, dancing around in circles.

“Y/N, would you fancy going on a date with me?” 

You smiled, your heart feeling as light as a feather, your life finally looking up after it fell apart two years earlier but that one thing, you secret kept clawing at you, reminding you that you couldn’t go through with it.

“I wish I could, I really want to Ron, more than anything but I’m not allowed” you bowed your head and messed with your hands, lacing and unlacing your fingers. 

“Look, we wont snog or do anything that would be deemed as sinful-”

You shook your head and chuckled at Ron taking your faith into account, feeling so flattered that he didn’t question your beliefs anymore after bashing you for many years of your life.

“It’s not that, it’s my dad, he won’t let me.” 

“I know you dislike me, it’s why I want to ask you, you know, and not go behind your back but - can I have your permission to take Y/N on a date?”

Your father shut down Ron immediately “not a chance”

“I’ve said sorry hundreds of times, Mr Y/L/N.” Ron paced around your living room “You believe faith is important and your daughter does, can’t you have faith in me?” 

“I can’t believe you actually asked my dad!” You beamed, stepping into Madame Puddifoot’s “I can’t believe I’m in here!”

Ron smiled and pulled out a chair for you, feeling his heart skip beats, you feeling comfortable in another one of his sweaters and looking around the room, the stars in your eyes twinkling.

“Well I wasn’t going to go behind his back after you said no, can’t risk getting another Howler from my mum and dad now can I?” Ron smirked, handing you a menu “whatever you want is on me, love.” 

The two of you were drunk on love leaving Madame Puddifoot’s, walking through Hogsmeade, hand in hand and a giggly mess. 

“I’ll never forget how cute you looked in your dress robes at the yule ball” you chirped, pulling Ron into your arms “but I don’t recall seeing you dance that night.” 

Ron cringed “I don’t dance” but he still swayed along with you and held you in his arms. 

“Your list then, what else is on it?” Ron asked, the two of you finally reaching Hogwarts.

“Well, I’d love to be able to see a Niffler in person. I’ve only seen them in my books and the last time Hagrid had them I was sick.” you replied, sneaking off to your dorm.

Ron stopped you, both of you so exhausted but not wanting the night to end. He searched your kind, twinkling eyes, leaning in the two of you kissed, sparks shocking your lips. This wasn’t like the kiss you shared at the theatre, this kiss was the start of something beautiful - something your father warned you about - something Ron promised wouldn’t happen. 

Pulling away from the kiss Ron pursed his lips and blushed “I love you, Y/N.”

You were so afraid of this happening, you didn’t want this to happen whilst you were walking on the path God had put you on, but you didn’t know how long you had left. 

“You promised me you wouldn’t” you replied softly, tears welling in your eyes.

Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Hannah’s eyes stalked you and Ron like a hawk. The two of you finally displaying your love and relationship to everyone around you, you constantly wearing his sweaters, holding his hand, laughing with him and sneaking kisses whenever you had the chance.

“You’re going to love this” Ron smiled, accompanying you to Hagrids Hut.

You felt excited and you couldn’t wait to see what Ron had been hiding, taking the large wooden crate from Hagrid you could hear scratching noises and little breaths.

Opening the box you almost wailed with joy, inside laid a Niffle, holding gold in its hands, looking proud and mischievous.

“Oh Ron! Hagrid!” You beamed, trying to contain the fireworks that were exploding inside of you “Thank you so much, I can’t believe it!”

You held the Niffler in your arms, stroking it gently and loving it as if it were your own. Hagrid and Ron were overjoyed and felt like they could watch you for hours, this had to be one of the happiest days of your life.

After ticking off another box from your list Ron couldn’t help but ask, dying to know what was number one on your list.

You felt slightly embarrassed but you trusted him enough to no longer hide it from him, your no.1 was to get married, to be able to wear your mothers wedding dress and be with her on the happiest day of your life.

But unfortunately, the happy days wouldn’t last forever.

Walking through Hogsmeade you felt your palms get clammy, the nausea inside of you swirl like a tornado, your energy crumbling away once more.

Ron kept talking away about Nifflers, talking about bringing you back to the burrow to meet his family but he stopped when he realised you were miles away.

“Y/N, you alright?” Ron asked, looking concerned “don’t worry, you’re going to pass your N.E.W.Ts”

You stopped outside Honey Dukes and shook your head, pulling Ron aside. “It’s not that”

You felt like your secret was creeping up your stomach, up your oesophagus, threatening to come hurling out of your mouth like vomit.

“Ron, I’m sick.” You revealed, hoping he would catch on.

But the golden haired boy didn’t understand “Want me to take you to Madame Pomfrey?”

You found yourself growing more frustrated “No, Ron. She can’t help me, I.. I’ve got cancer.”

Your secret finally jumped off the top of your tongue, springing off the diving board and landing on Ron’s heart, splitting it into pieces.

Ron felt his whole world spin, your news echoing in your mind, he didn’t want to believe this, he couldn’t.

“What, they’ve made a mistake—“

More tears spilled down your face “I found out a year after the Triwizard Tornament. They gave me two years, they can’t do anything to get rid of it, the treatments aren’t working anymore.”

Ron could feel his heart ache, screaming out for help, for mercy.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice shook, choking on tears.

You pursed your lips and tried to swallow the huge lump that formed in your throat.

“Because I didn’t want everyone to treat me differently, to have another reason to stare at me, another reason to talk about me.”

Ron shook his head, feeling cross with himself for everything he had said and done in the past. “But I’m your boyfriend, you should’ve told me!”

“I made you promise you wouldn’t fall in love with me!” You raised your voice, feeling yourself go dizzy for a moment “don’t give me a reason to be angry with God!”

You walked away and ran back to your dads, ready for him to welcome you into his arms, softening the horrible blow the best he could.

Ron hurried, storming into the common room, doing something he thought he wouldn’t ever do again. He searched for Harry.

Ron found Harry in his dorm room, Harry put down his book and stared at the lad who was once his best friend.

“You’ve got to get Dumbledore to help her, Harry.” Ron panicked, pacing around the room.

“Help who? Ron what’s happened?”

Ron wiped away more falling tears with the back of his sleeve “Y/N is dying of cancer, Harry we’ve got to help her—“

“There’s nothing he can do Ron, you can’t put a stopper in death when it comes to this, you already know this Ron.”

Ron felt even more enraged and stormed out, cursing Harry, telling him it was a waste of time even trying to make amends.

Like clockwork, as soon as you told Ron the truth, you started to deteriorate. You couldn’t complete your classes anymore and you were forced to drop out of Hogwarts, you were staying at your dads in Hogsmeade permanently now and all you did was sleep.

When you weren’t sleeping, you were throwing up, struggling to look after yourself, you didn’t even have enough energy to pick up your bible and read it.

The days didn’t stand out to you anymore, they sort of just blurred into one - the only comfort you got was when you saw Ron’s angelic face smiling at you each time you closed your eyes to doze off.

The news of your illness spread through out Hogwarts and Ron found himself with more love and support than he thought was possible. Dean and Seamus sat with him outside in the stands whilst the Quidditch pitch was empty, the two of them promising Ron they would help him no matter what and that they were so sorry to hear the news.

Hannah also apologised to Ron and offered her support, going as far as telling him that he looked the happiest he had ever been when he was with you, that you brought out a part of him that no one had ever seen before, the part that only Harry and Hermione had seen.

Lavender took her time but finally reached out to her ex, putting her bitterness and jealousy behind her. Lavender hugged Ron and poured her heart out to him, expressing how sorry she was, how neither of you deserved such a thing. In her hands she held onto the photos she had taken on the night of the performance, handing them to Ron, she urged him to see you and walked away.

Turning up with flowers and handfuls of ‘get well soon’ cards, Ron was greeted by your father on your porch.

“I know you don’t want me here but tell her I’m not leaving her, I never will.”

Your father smiled and instead of turning Ron away, he welcomed him inside and allowing him to come and see you.

“How are you not angry at God?” Ron asked, the two of you cuddling in your bed, surrounded by poems and bible verses about having strength and keeping faith in the lord.

You sighed and looked into his gorgeous eyes “I accepted that Gods plan for me is bigger than the plan of my own.” You replied “you were sent to me for a reason, Ron. You’re my angel.”

Ron stroked your cheek with his thumb, planting a kiss on your nose, instantly remembering why he fell in love with you - you were accepting, you were patient, you couldn’t feel hatred towards anyone, you were the most purest person he had ever met.

“Are you scared?” Ron asked, not wanting to imagine a life where you did not exist.

“I’m scared of not being with you.” You replied, snuggling into his chest, tracing circles into his chest.

Ron knew that this moment was the right moment, it was either now or never.

Pulling away from the cuddle, Ron climbed out of your bed and dived into his back pocket, pulling out a little white box.

Pulling the box open, he got on one knee and looked up at you as you peered over the bed, your eyes twinkling at the beautiful ring that was waiting eagerly for you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” He asked through tears.

You stared at the beautiful ring and looked back into Ron’s eyes, you nodded your head.

“Yes.”

As the wedding got closer and closer, you became more sick. You lost lots of weight and you could no longer eat solid food without being sick, you could only suck on sweets that dissolved into your mouth - but even then you would bring up bile.

But no matter how bad you got, Ron stayed by your side, he helped you you feel as good as you possibly could do in your condition. He sang to you, he read to you, he even started praying at night with you.

After going out shopping to help your dad get everything he needed for the wedding, Ron walked into your bedroom to find Dumbledore and Harry sitting beside your bed, the two of them talking to you and telling you to take the medicine they had given you to help you hold on for your special day.

Ron stopped in the door way, his jaw dropping to the floor. Dumbledore nodded at Harry, encouraging him to go and talk to Ron, the two of them taking leaving you and Dumbledore for a moment on your own.

Ron couldn’t speak, he didn’t care to either. Instead, he pulled Harry into a tight and desperate hug, almost squeezing the life out of him. His head resting on Harry’s shoulder, his tears sinking into his shirt.

“Thank you, Harry - thank you.”

Harry held Ron and patted his back, promising him that no matter what, everything would be okay in the end.

As much as your love for Ron grew, you still wasn’t getting any better, but the potion Dumbledore gave you ensured that you were finally able to achieve the most important part of your list, the one thing you never thought was possible.

On one side, your family and friends surrounded the hall and Ron’s on the other. Everyone attending the wedding was so excited yet couldn’t help but feel nothing but sorrow for you.

Gripping onto your fathers arm, the music began to play as he walked you down the isle and although your mother wasn’t there physically - you could feel her presence around you, you had part of her clinging onto you - wearing her beautiful sleeveless lace white dress.

Reaching the altar, you blushed seeing Ron in another set of dress robes - this was the Ron you knew, the Ron you were once so desperate to find.

Whilst repeating your vows out loud, the amazing memories the two of you shared flickered in your mind, the first time you both met, your first class together, your first kiss, spending hours talking outside on the porch, all of these memories you were so lucky to remember until the end of your days.

“I do.”

“I do.”

Sealing your eternal love with a kiss, you could finally tick box number one off your list.

Ron took you by the hand and led you over to the dance floor.

“But I thought you said you didn’t dance?” You smirked, trying not to get your hopes up.

Ron laughed and looked over at Neville “I got lessons from a familiar bloke, he’s quite a good dancer.”

You shook your head and couldn’t stop laughing, accepting Ron’s offer for a dance.

“Love is like the wind, you can't see it but you can feel it.” Ron reminded himself, holding back tears and tightening his grip on your bouquet of sunflowers.

One month after the wedding, you began your journey God had set out for you, leaving Ron behind for a moment that would feel like only a minute for you but a lifetime for him.

But that month was full of love, laughter and happiness that the two of you wouldn’t change for the world.

Ron walked over to your place of rest, putting down the sunflowers and rubbing your headstone.

He opened up one of your books you had given him, full of the bible verses he once couldn’t bear to hear, the love poems he refused to read, and snippets from the script the two of you had spent hours learning together.

He looked down at his wedding ring and smiled, looking back on the page in your book.

“Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous.

Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish.

It does not take offense and is not resentful.

Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth.

It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.”

He read out, pulling out the photos Lavender had taken of the two of you, watching you and himself perform on stage, wishing he could go back and do it all again.

Taglist: @reeophidian , @amourtentiaa

[stillebesat]

Catch Me (If You Can) -part 2

December Drabbles Day 20 Sanders Shorts: Remy Sanders Sides: Logan, Roman Blurb: Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick. Fic Type: Sick!Fic, Guardian!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Sickness, Fainting, Mentions of Religion Taglist in reblog.

To Catch Up: Part 1 

“You’re sure you--”

An exasperated sigh sounded near Remy’s ears, a jarring dissonance from the murmuring waves beating against the shore, the noisy chatter abruptly cutting off with the slamming of a door somewhere in the distance as Remy gently floated back to consciousness, becoming more and more aware that he must be on some sort of rocking boat. A very cool, soft, rocking boat. 

He couldn’t decide if that was a nice feeling. Being on a boat. While the coolness pressed against him was nice...his stomach was definitely against the back and forth motion. 

“He’s not that heavy, Roman, I got him.” Came the cadentic voice that could only be from his Angel.

His Angel who had caught him when he fell. 

Remy’s eyes fluttered, his lips twisting into a slight smile. His Angel. Carrying him...up and up and up to….heaven? Yah. Heaven. Heaven would be so nice with his Angel there. 

“But shouldn’t we ha--”

Cool bands tightened protectively around Remy’s shoulders and legs as the rocking stopped. “....Probably, but I--”

A series of keys jangled together soon followed by the sound of a lock clicking open. “Because when people faint--” 

“I’ve received the lecture from Virgil before--I know what I should have-- I just---”

A soft chuckle from Red--no Roman? Roman. “I didn’t expect you, Dr. Serious, to react so to a little flirting.”

“Shut up.” 

“Pretty sure you would have left me on the ground.”

A soft growl. “Yes.”

“Wow.” Roman clicked his tongue as a door creaked open. “Harsh.” 

“You’re irritating, he’s sick. There’s a difference.” His Angel stated, shifting Remy in his arms as he moved forward.

Sick? Wait. There was something….something wrong. WRONG! Remy inhaled sharply, eyes flashing open only to shut just as quickly at the harsh light. NO NO NO! He wasn’t sick! He hadn’t just faint--Gah!! HIS IMAGE. All those PEOPLE had SEEN!

Remy bolted upright in his angel’s arms, refusing to let this wonderous man keep carrying him despite the tightening of his grip around Remy’s limbs. No sir! He squinted, catching a glimpse of a modest living room with a dark couch and large flatscreen as he struggled to stand on his own. He needed his feet back on the ground! He could salvage this.  

“Whoa! Whoa! Shades you can’t--” Red said, suddenly appearing in front of him, hands briefly resting on him to push him back into his angel’s arms. 

“I’m fine!” Remy rasped out like a man with one foot in the grave as he shrugged off Roman’s staticy touch. “Just need some soup and--” His knees betrayed him by buckling just as he managed to get his feet to the ground.

“And rest.” His Angel said firmly, his grip on Remy’s arm the only reason why he hadn’t completely collapsed to the beige carpet like a melting snowman. “I cannot in good conscience let you leave when you are possibly concussed, obviously dehydrated, and in ill health judging by the pallor of your skin, the heat you’re giving off, and the redness of your eyes.”

His eyes? But his Angel shouldn’t be able to see--oh no. Remy jerked, reaching up to touch his face. Oh no no no NO! “Where are my sunglasses?!” He demanded, whirling and placing a hand on his angel’s chest to balance himself, only for it to turn into clinging to the fabric for dear life as his vision went black.

A cool arm wrapped around his back, holding him close. “If you would allow me to take you to the couch to lie dow--”

Not without his sunglasses. Remy gritted his teeth, blinking his vision clear. “But I need them!” He couldn’t let people see how unwell he was. That he was...he was…

Sick. 

“Then Roman can grab them.” His Angel stated calmly as he rubbed Remy’s back. “You need to rest.” He added in a soothing undertone.

Oh, that was so not fair! Did this guy know how much power his voice held over him?! Remy rested his head against the man’s shirt, fighting back a soft whine as he closed his aching eyes against the bright lights. He shouldn’t give in like this. He needed---needed---

“I can?” Red asked. 

“They’re on the counter by his soup downstairs. Grab both please.” 

“But don’t you need--” 

“Roman. Go.” 

Red loudly sighed, slipping past them. “Okay okay. Fine. I’ll go play delivery boy.”

“Thank you.”  

“Whatever, Specs. Go take care of your heartthrob.”  

Heart...throb? Him? He must have misheard. Remy hardly felt like a heartthrob at the moment. A headthrob would be a far more accurate description. “I’m not sick.” He mumbled, tightening his grip on the angel’s shirt. “I’m not.” 

His Angel hummed. “Given the symptoms and behavior you’ve exhibited since you walked in...I’m inclined to disagree.”  

Remy stiffened in his Angel’s arms. S-since he walked in? Had the entire diner realized he was--that he--from the start?! He moaned, slumping further. “Great. Just kill me now.” There went his image. How would he ever recover from such a disaster?! If his fainting fit wasn’t already making the rounds on the Socials it would be soon. His life was definitely O-V-E-R over.

“That would defeat your original purpose of coming in to get better.” His Angel said, gently pushing against him to get him to take a step back, guiding him to the couch. “You will probably feel different after--”

“You toss me out the window?”

“--you rest.” He clicked his tongue. “Are you always this dramatic?” 

Was he always--? Remy laughed, though it sounded more like a hag’s squawk from how dry his throat was as he looked up into those radiant sapphire eyes. “Babe...you don’t even know.”  

His Angel raised a single eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m beginning to think I do.” 

Remy blinked. What was that supposed to mean? 

He shifted his grip to Remy’s elbows. “Can you sit?” 

Remy glanced over his shoulder to the brown couch now right behind him that had no right looking as soft and comfortable as it did. Far softer than the wooden plank masquerading as a couch in his own apartment. “Do I have a choice?” 

“Of course you do. Though I do not believe the floor would be as comfortable.”

Harsh. “Why would I--”

His Angel exhaled and moved. Before Remy could do more than yelp, he found himself laying down on the couch before his brain could process just how he’d laid down. The man called Specs knelt, tugging at Remy’s shoes, pulling them off. “Judging from the way you're shivering, I highly doubt you’d make it to the street before collapsing if you tried to leave now. Hence. The couch would be your best option as a place to rest.” 

But he couldn’t afford to rest! Remy shoved himself up onto one elbow, blinking away the way his vision tunneled from that simple effort. “I can’t just lay here, Angel!” He complained. “There’s places I have to be!” 

“Places filled with people who will probably appreciate your absence because you wouldn’t be risking getting them sick.” He stated, placing Remy’s shoes on the floor. 

Okay...he probably had a point there. But his image! “But I need to--”

“Rest.” His Angel looked up, an odd shining gleam in his sapphire eyes as he straightened, the light behind him shining like a halo around his head as he gently pushed Remy back down onto a pillow that had no right to be so soft and fluffy, and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch over him before Remy could protest. “You will help no one as you are, not even yourself. So rest.” He urged, his voice soft and soothing to Remy’s ears. “Rest and Recover.” 

He’d never--no one had ever---”Why do you care so much?” He whispered, leaning into his angel’s touch as he rested a cool hand on his burning forehead. “I’m just a--” Nobody. This guy had no reason to care about a complete stranger. Under normal circumstances Remy was sure he’d be forgotten within the hour of him leaving the shop. And yet--

His heart skipped a beat as his Angel exhaled, adjusting his glasses as he shook his head. “You have greater worth than you realize.” He said softly, brushing strands of Remy’s hair out of his face.

Ha. Great worth? Him? Hardly. He--he hadn’t---Remy blinked, frowning as his vision blurred, making it appear as if actual wings were spreading out behind his Angel. 

That wasn’t possible though.

Angels weren’t real. 

“You--” He struggled to form words, to keep his eyes open as a wave of exhaustion flowed through him, demanding he rest. 

His Angel leaned in, adjusting the blanket with his other hand. “Not everyone can call for me and expect my help.” Cool fingers moved down his cheek. “ And yet--” 

Despite himself Remy relaxed at the gentle touch, his eyes drifting shut as his mind slipped into the peaceful rest of dreamless sleep, his Angel’s words echoing in his thoughts.

“You’ve done just that, Remy, by appointing me to be your Guardian.”

To Be Continued.  Part 3

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @sassy-sara @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85 @watermelonlover-123 @xiaomailab

This clip contains further depictions of homophobia and violence (still mild).

~^~

Saturday, 10:52

Songs: Wrabel - The Village; Glass Animals - Gooey

Jens rolls onto his side and curls into a ball. He’s been hidden away in his room all morning, not allowing himself to leave.

Well, he’d tried, but his door is locked from the outside.

It has been since the previous night, when everything had imploded. He’d been so, so stupid. So reckless. He’d been so fixed on the idea of a night with Lucas, alone, in his own space. He couldn’t ignore the opportunity once it was presented. The definite advantages outweighed the unlikely consequences. He was aching for any opportunity, any slot of time with Lucas. Everything in him begged for the little slice of freedom.

It had been everything he’d wanted and more. Better than he could have imagined. Lucas is better than everything he has ever wanted. He couldn’t believe how easy it was. He couldn’t believe how good it felt.

It only makes sense that it hadn’t lasted. Nothing with Jens ever does.

His cheek still stings, and he presses it harder against the pillow in retaliation, warding off the memory as best he can. It isn’t the act of violence or the screaming that haunts him. It’s the instants after, when he had turned to Lucas with overwhelming fear and been forced to block him out. It’s the expression on Lucas’s face as he’d stared at him—shock and pain and fear, but of Jens. Lucas had looked at him like he hadn’t known him at all.

Jens isn’t sure he knows himself.

He doesn’t know what had come over him, what part of himself had taken over and allowed him to break himself apart. Something snapped when he’d pushed Lucas, a delicate thread between them severed. He’d somehow known that it would make Lucas run, and it was what he’d needed. It was all he’d needed.

Even now, he’s having to remind himself that Lucas is safe. Hurting, but safe. Jens has done what he needed to, and Lucas is protected.

It doesn’t matter how much Jens wishes he was here with him, or that he could have gone with Lucas. It’s better like this, when he knows Lucas is entirely out of harm’s way.

He just wishes he could make sure he’s okay, message and apologise, but he is, of course, being denied access to his phone. It’s not healthy, he thinks, to be unsurprisingly imprisoned in his own home. This feels almost easy, compared to what he expected, and also ten times worse. He could have dealt with his father getting the anger out of his system and kicking him out.

He hadn’t really prepared for being locked in, especially not after having what was both the best and worst night of his life thus far.

Apparently, his mother had been sick. Something they ate, or everything they drank. Instead of staying the rest of the night in the hotel, she’d been throwing up after midnight and begging her husband to drive them home. She’d gone straight to bed, but his father had seen Lucas’s jacket and bag in the hall.

If Jens had just been more careful. If Jens had just thought a little.

He reaches for the pillow he isn’t using, on the outside of the bed. Lucas’s pillow. He tugs it a little closer, bringing it to his nose, searching for any lingering comfort and finding a vague scent. It isn’t quite enough, so he hugs the pillow to his chest and buries his face in it instead, trying to recall the feeling of Lucas similarly pressed against him. It’s surprisingly easy. Lucas feels ingrained in him, everything from his touch to his smile to his voice, all a constant presence in Jens’s mind, able to be brought to life with the faintest thought. Currently, it feels like both a blessing and a curse.

He grips the pillow tighter and squeezes his eyes shut, burying himself closer and sending up a silent prayer. Lucas is the only religion he has ever truly had faith in.

Maybe, he tells himself, this is the dream. The nightmare. Maybe you haven’t woken up yet. Maybe he’s still in your arms.

The lock turns and he abandons the pillow to scramble to his feet, coming to a dead stop in the middle of his room as his father swings the door open. He looks, for all that Jens can discern, entirely normal. There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of anger. Jens finds himself shrinking away regardless.

“Is there a reason you didn’t call for breakfast?” Vince raises a brow. “Now you’re going to have to eat cold food separately.”

Jens swallows even as silent rage claws at his chest. He says nothing.

“Don’t tell me he took your tongue with him,” Vince prods.

“Don’t,” Jens says quietly. “Don’t talk about him.”

Vince squints at him, then raises the keys in his hands and gives them a faint jiggle. “Do you think you’re in a position to be giving orders?”

Jens stays quiet.

Vince takes a few steps into the room, stopping about a foot away from his son with a sigh. “Don’t treat me like the enemy, Jens. I’m just trying to help.”

“By doing what?” Jens finds his voice. “Keeping me prisoner, starving me, or hitting me?”

The man takes another step closer and Jens takes one back. He watches closely as his father’s hands curl into fists. “You’ve hardly starved. And you can go anywhere you want, as soon as I’m sure this boy won’t be near you. I understand, Jens.” He tries a step again, and Jens holds his spot, stuck in place by the sincerity in Vince’s tone, in his utterly calm expression. “It’s easy at your age to get confused. But I won’t let them corrupt you, alright? You can come back from this.”

He reaches out a hand and Jens freezes, but Vince merely picks a piece of fluff delicately off his shoulder before laying his hand there.

Jens shoves it off as fury bubbles in him. “Bullshit,” he spits. “I’m not the corrupt one, and I’m not confused. I know exactly what’s happening here.”

He trembles through the words, but is gratified that his father can’t feel it. He isn’t sure if it’s from his anger or his fear or his shame, but he puts it down to a combination of the three. It’s easy, to stand strong and say the words and act sure, pretending none of it gets to him. It’s almost satisfying, to watch Vince’s lips twist in thinly veiled rage.

“So then you know,” the man says lowly, “that it’s in your best interest to check the attitude.”

“Or what?” Jens bites. He’s taller once he manages to straighten his spine, and Vince notices.

It earns him a sharp blow across his already red cheek and a threatening finger pointed in his face.

“Don’t push it,” Vince hisses. “I can easily do worse.”

Jens pushes him instead. He shoves him aside and bolts out the door, racing down the stairs, heart thundering at the footsteps coming close behind. He makes it to the bottom hallway, mere meters from the door, when a hand snatches the back of his hood and yanks him back. He stumbles, hand raising instinctively to his throat at the sharp jab as a heavy hand whirls him around. Vince only manages to open his mouth before another voice interrupts them.

“Vince! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Ellis Stoffels moves to part them, hand pressing against her husband’s chest and pushing him back as she glances between them in bewilderment. Her gaze catches on Jens’s cheek and her eyes widen, but she doesn’t reach out.

Jens doesn’t waste any time. He rushes to the doorway and shoves his feet into his shoes, collecting his keys from the table and his coat from the hook. At the sound of movement, he turns around to see his father attempting to get to him and his mother blocking the path.

“Vince,” she repeats. “Calm down and tell me what the hell is going on.”

It’s a little terrifying, to watch her there, too close to hands Jens now recognises as violent. He wants to reach out and drag her out the door with him, after returning for Lotte. His heart races as the man’s attention turns towards her, but his fury is quiet as his shoulders drop.

Without answering her, he looks over her shoulder at Jens, still frozen in the doorway, caught in sudden hesitation.

“Go on then,” Vince spits. “Run to him. Ruin yourself. Or what are you going to do, Jens?”

Jens straightens his shoulders, even as his heart cracks when his mother turns towards him. He’s sad to realise that it feels unusual to look her in the eye, and her concern is unfamiliar. “Jens?”

Jens clenches his jaw and pulls the door open and runs.

His mother calls after him, screaming down the street in confusion, and Jens keeps running. He half expects his father to follow, but he keeps going, making it to the end of the street and around the corner and to the end of the next street before he looks over his shoulder. There’s no one there.

He pushes himself on, anyway, making it another street and a half before he slows, lightening his pace to a jog and then a rapid walk. He’s still shooting the occasional glance over his shoulder, but he’s made it onto the busier streets, where a few people are wandering about their business and coming in and out of shops and cafes and shooting him odd looks. He isn’t surprised. He can only imagine how he looks.

The stone benches along the street look incredibly inviting, and he collapses onto one and gasps for breath and takes in his surroundings. He at least knows where he is, on the fringes of the city outside a familiar, small supermarket. It’s raining, and he tugs his hood up over his head and zips up his coat and puts his hands in the pockets.

It’s then that he realises how stupid he’s been.

He’d left without his phone, and he’d left without any money or clothes or belongings on general. He just left; and it’s highly possible Vince didn’t chase him because he expects him to come back.

Jens knows he can’t do that.

His immediate desire is to run to Lucas. It would be easy. His flat isn’t even far from here. Lucas wouldn’t turn him away, he’s sure of it. His father would be an issue, but not the way Jens’s is. Lucas would take him in and they’d figure it out.

Is it certain, that just because his father isn’t chasing him now, he won’t later?

It’s a risk Jens realises he isn’t willing to take. Not endangering Lucas. It also, he realises, rules out Robbe. Maybe he’s being too scared, but the thought of Vince showing up on either of their doorsteps because of him makes him feel sick. The thought of the man coming near Jens himself makes his throat close up.

He can’t breathe. His cheek stings. His head is foggy and his ears are ringing and his heart is pounding and he can’t breathe.

A touch on his shoulder makes him start, violently flinching away from a young, thin woman with straight blonde hair and wide eyes. “Sorry.” She holds up her gloved hands, placating, and carefully lowers herself onto the seat next to him, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”

Jens has never seen this woman before in his life, but she doesn’t seem untrustworthy. In her long green coat and black trousers and heels, she reminds him oddly of Lies.

He licks his lips and takes a few seconds to find his voice, though it still comes out on a croak. “Not really.”

“Can I do anything?” she questions gently. “You seemed like you were having a panic attack.”

It makes Jens pause, but only slightly. He brushes the thought away and asks, “Could I maybe use your phone?”

She nods immediately, slipping her phone out of her pocket and unlocking it before passing it over. “You want to make a call?”

Jens nods.

“Okay, I’ll stand just over here,” she points towards the shop, under the awning, “and you can give it back when you’re done and tell me if there’s anything else.”

As she stands, Jens can only nod again, overwhelmingly grateful for this stranger. She offers him a smile and goes to give him his privacy, and Jens looks at the phone and opens the call pad.

He types in one of the only numbers he knows by heart and brings it to his ear.

The worry that it’ll ring out dissipates after seven excruciating beeps, when the call connects and a familiar voice answers, “Hello?”

Jens breathes out and squeezes his eyes shut, fingers clenching tight around the phone. “Lies?”