#no but answer me this. why does he talk like he's only ever minted 1 nft when his opensea page is right there

[kraniumet]

sghdhd 1. either lovetone (2021) was the world's most confusing satire and he's just conveniently leaving it out of the discussion/his own info page on nfts nowadays in favor of his obviously satire other nft sixzeros (2022). or tumblr girlies aren't THAT stupid. and 2. so it's just literally the pantone palette. but with an extra level of communication issues that might arise and possible legal repercussions for the people using them. 3. cool plagiarism lmao

[kazelvr]

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ i answer, popipo!

synopsis. texts with e1610! miles x gn reader

MILES texts a lot, and when i say a lot, i mean a lot. his phone is like his lifeline, he loves texting you even if he’s far away. your conversations go on for hours, and sometimes even the whole day without him being busy. he just likes to let you know he was thinking about you.

[ miles ♡ ]: hey, you there?

[ miles ♡ ]: was thinking about you

[ miles ♡ ]: can we hang later? my place, we can watch a movie or smth.

miles likes to text you whenever he gets reminded of you, no matter how small the reminder might be. it could be two rocks sitting on the ground side by side, and miles immediately thinks of you, he’ll still send a message because he misses you.

[ miles ♡ ]: (1 image attached)

[ miles ♡ ]: I saw these rocks while walking outside and it reminds me of us

[ name ☆ ]: you dork

miles is a boy who always texts back, no matter what. he’ll never miss that text, especially when it’s coming from you and his family. he could be fighting a villain, but he’ll still be texting you mid-fight as if nothing is ever happening.

however, this means that his texts will appear rushed and difficult to read…

[ name ☆ ]: miles where are you? it’s already 4pm and you’re not here

[ miles ♡ ]: I wlil bdere ni a sceond

[ miles ♡ ]: lAmosythere

[ miles ♡ ]: GiVe me 5 mo mintes

when miles is really bored in class, he likes to text you. it’s a habit he can’t stop.. the lecture is already boring, so why not text you? you already know to put your phone on silent, or else you would get in trouble for how many texts you got at once coming from miles.

[ miles ♡ ]: this lesson is soooo boring

[ miles ♡ ]: I jus want this class to end already

[ miles ♡ ]: what is he even talking about…

[ name ☆ ]: PAY ATTENTION

miles always reminds you that he loves you, whether if it’s in person or through text. he only does it to reassure you that he’s not going anywhere, and that’s he’d never leave you for someone else.

[ miles ♡ ]: te amo ❣️

[ name ☆ ]: miles, mi amor, it’s 4am.

[ragnarokhound]

omg sweetie pie don’t talk about chains I’ll BLUSH. definitely never been into that…

How do you think the rest of the Batfam reacts to Jaytim finally happening (something along the lines of your secretary fic) ?

I think Cass knew how they felt before them, Damian is disgusted (but secretly pleased), Dick found out by walking in on them at Tim’s apartment, and Bruce had no idea and has none until Jason tells him point blank. Alfred? Somehow orchestrated the whole thing.

I'll keep that in mind babe ;) (*adds 'Spicy Hardware' to the budget)

Ohoho, that is a fun question, and one that I often have trouble answering because I am like a horse with blinders on when it comes to my hyperfixations and my ships OTL Jason and Tim usually get the brunt of my obsessive analysis, leaving only minimal room for other characters to squeeze their way in. RIPeroni you two ❤️

That being said, I'm a huge liar because I do actually have some Thoughts lol

It largely depends on the state of the verse we're in and how involved the others were in watching their courtship go down, so without further adieu, here's how I think the batfam would react to finding out about jaytim's newly minted relationship in my secretary!au fic:

So in Secretary!AU in particular, the others weren't involved to an almost suspicious degree 😳 Tim is losing his mind for a month over Jason daylighting as his secretary, and he never finds out anything resembling the truth from anyone? What??

Which of course means some of them were simply unaware because they don't give a shit or assume Tim isn't suffering (Damian, Duke, Bruce) and some ARE aware to some degree that this is unusual and came to their own conclusions. And promptly decided to stay out of it (Dick, Babs, Steph, Cass, Alfred - Duke might actually be here, it depends lol)

In particular, Steph hears Tim's mini rant/breakdown Day 1 and is simply too amused. Because she watched him suddenly start deflecting Jason's attention 3 months ago, and oh boy does this feel like a comeuppance. She's got popcorn and is asking things like, 'i dunno Tim, why do you think Jason followed you to the office where you have to reliably be?' and after all of it, when he shows up with a hickey after patrolling with Jason that night, she golf claps at him

Cass shrugs at Tim when he vents where she can hear, because she's been waiting for them to figure this out for like. A year now. She is surprised when Tim had his Jason-shaped epiphany because she knows that Tim has been Into Jason ever since that time in the park with Poison Ivy, and Jason called him a princess for getting particular about decon. (Similarly, Cass also knew that Jason has been low-key into Tim since the time before that, when Tim ugly laughed so hard at a joke Jason made at Dick's expense that he nearly inhaled a french fry). When they get together, she is standing next to Steph, also golf clapping because Steph told her it would be funny

Dick had to listen to Jason complain about Tim ghosting him a month or two into it (Jason and Dick were in each other's vicinity and Jason asked how Tim was doing. Dick said he was 'fine, why?' And Jason scowled and muttered, 'No reason. Feel like he's been dodging me, is all' and a tiny red alert pinged in the back of Dick's head) so when he hears that Jason is at Wayne Tower and that Tim is having vent sessions about it with Steph, his eyebrows shoot waaaay up. He kind of hopes that the Tower is still standing after Jason's done getting whatever vengeance he has in mind (Jason's prank war game is both legendary and unhinged). When he finds out what actually transpires (or rather, guesses what transpired), he has a small moment of relief because 'oh phew, is that all?' and then immediately BSODs because 'WAIT WHAT, IS THAT WHY YOU GUYS ARE CLAPPING--'

Babs quietly figured out why Tim was panicking pretty early because no one ghosts someone for having a good, fun, tbh flirty relationship for literally any other reason. She wondered vaguely if Jason was going to a) clock it and then b) do anything about it, and then equally quietly paused auto-uploads on Wayne Tower office footage so that she could make Tim review it instead. She simply Will Not be the one to log the data from Monday morning, thanks.

Damian did not and does not give a fuck. He briefly questions Todd's sanity. Then immediately discards that thought because it's Todd. He would like Grayson to quit yelling at that octave though, because his 'i'm secretly happy for you but also hurt that you didn't confide in me' shouting is very grating and makes Damian nervous.

Duke I'm on the fence about, but I lean towards 'i was sitting over on the bench' for him. He was so busy Staying In His Lane that he simply did not notice that this was happening. 'Uh, congrats, I guess?'

Bruce was keeping tabs on the situation. He does not plan to review the footage either. He has ten more gray hairs than he did yesterday, and is pondering how their relationship might affect their performance in the field, but trusts that Tim has likely thought through the ramifications and likely scenarios that should need to be compensated for. (Being involved with your teammate can be frightening and stressful; it could lead to strain between the two of you, and opens new vulnerabilities up for exploitation. But it can also be deeply, deeply rewarding. Hm.) (also shout-out to the one commenter who theorized that Bruce was the one on the other end of the phone call that Jason yanked the cord on. LMAO. ROFL, even.)

Alfred defuses the tension in the cave by reminding everyone to please finish their reports, and that there are refreshments in the dining room upstairs when they are finished, should anyone be joining the household for dinner tonight. He is very pointedly looking at Jason and Tim when he says this, because they Will be joining the household for dinner tonight, because it is the duty and privilege of a grandfather to tease his grandson (Jason) for having a boyfriend (Tim). Idk if Alfred called it in quite the same way as Cass, but he knew there was something interpersonal they needed to work out, and also that Tim has had a crush on Robin for his Entire Life, so he's not exactly surprised.

...aaaand sorry if I skipped anyone, but that's my list lol

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[woogurl]

(hi, it’s me again pretending as if i didn’t go on an unannounced hiatus).

yes, i’m back...for now. i’m not sure for how long. as i’m too busy these days, but i wanted to specifically make this post because it’s been bothering me for a while now. someone mentioned this in the woosan tag as well, but it’s...

non-atiny’s(and some anti-shipping atiny) who constantly feel the need to expose woosan as some cleverly put together ship that was carefully manufactured by the company. i’ve seen so many titles on youtube and posts on twitter saying how:

“woosan is obvious fanservice” and “woosan; a prime example of queerbating in kpop” 

i’ve never seen a ship be so criticized for being ‘out there’ and ‘in your face’. i’ve made a post on fanservice before but this post will mainly be focused on why i think it’s completely unfair, dishonest, homophobic, and antagonistic to view their relationship as manufactured and fake. and before you go, ‘i’m sure they’re good friends but all that other stuff is clearly done by the company.’ and don’t get me wrong, bc kq is very much aware of the ships and do try to profit off of fanservice...like every other company. but the clearest indicator of this not being MOSTLY all fanservice is something i’ve mentioned many times before.

1. the rest of the ships in ateez not being anywhere near the intimacy and skinship as woosan.

2. body language. 

3. the members THEMSELVES explaining their dynamics.

4. kq not FORCING ships.

ever since predebut and debut there’s ALWAYS been three main ships in ateez. seongjoong, yungi, and ofc woosan. 

as you could see, woosan was definitely thee most popular ship. however, i do believe their popularity grew over time because during the early era i’m sure seongjoong dominated, even on fanfic sites they dominate the amount of fanfics written about them. however, woosan’s clear comfort and intimacy with each other made them more popular among atiny’s and even non atiny’s they even had some taekookers saying their ship was realer and that’s saying something xD. 

something people really, no i mean REALLY need to understand is...doing fanservice does not invalidate an entire relationship. 

there are plenty of celeb couples who enjoy publicly dating and showing affection. 

then comes the argument of well, “if they were real they wouldn’t be so obvious about it.”

this statement bothers me because, people who believe that showing too much skinship is fanservice but then they’ll turn around and say at the same time it’s just culture???

it’s fair to see them doing their fake love dance routine and going THAT’S FANSERVICE. but looking at those moments and going ‘nah, their entire friendship gotta be fanservice.’ is delusional to me, as u like to call us shippers. 

even if you do not ship them romantically, it’s odd to me that people see two same-sex idols expressing comfortability, intimacy and skinship together and feel like if they’re too open about it or if it looks too gay then it’s....fake? even tho fans love to say it’s just apart of their culture. but if it gets too gay, then it’s fanservice. 

i can’t. xD

just because they’re completely comfortable with being intimate doesn’t mean they’re being forced to act that way...it literally just means they ARE that way. 

i constantly put emphasis on being comfortable with skinship and intimacy bc, to me that’s just not something the company can force. body language is a reaction from your true emotions and your inner most thoughts. IT IS THE FOUNDATION TO FIGURING OUT WHAT A PERSON TRULY FEELS INSIDE AS THEIR EMOTIONS WILL ALWAYS TRANSLATE THROUGH THEIR BODY. if u are uncomfortable it will be revealed through body language. and i know a ton of seongjoong shippers are gonna hate me for this, but they are a prime example of this. trust me i’m not here to start a ship war, i am purely just using them as an example of discomfort in body language. 

body language is something a company cannot control.

seongjoong show definite signs of being uncomfortable with intimacy, heck shippers use that one moment seonghwa expressed sadness bc hj hugged the other members and not him as a shipping moment lol. but even when they do hug it looks uncomfortable. my guess is bc hj is not good at expressing his feelings and isn’t a touchy person. and even tho seonghwa is comfortable with skinship, it’s understandable that it can become uncomfortable for him bc of the things i mentioned before as well as the power dynamics and age difference between them.

and here i am going to be stoned bc, i have more to say about seongjoong(don’t kill me). 

bc something the company also can’t control is what OR who the members hang out with OUTSIDE of group activities. so that’s why i’m also mentioning that i also don’t think seongjoong is as close as shippers think they are as...seonghwa mostly hangs out with woosan. and it is almost always mentioned how often woosan hang out together off camera. even early on. woosan hung out so much that it literally came to a point where yeosang felt like his bestfriend was taken from him. 

can we mention again how happy that makes san? and let’s not forget the moment woo said seonghwa was into him, but san was like. ‘you’re into me tho’ and they BOTH tried to gloss over that.

wooyoung: wHaT dO u mEaN? 

lol. people love to say how much san’s whipped for woo, but woo’s probably even more whipped. 

here’s more evidence of woosan enjoying each others company off camera. https://woogurl.tumblr.com/post/614348590729625600/nobody-wooyoung-san-and-i-bass-boosted#notes. 

we can even talk about a more recent moment. the ateez debate about mint chocolate. dunno what’s with these kpop idols debating about mint choco ‘cause bts did it too. lol. anyway, they ended up talking about the group dynamics. and how woosan again are always together. 

i-i’m sorry, but does moment remind y’all of a past moment? LMFAO. seonghwa’s feeling yeosang’s pain. 

seonghwa’s just like woosan says they’re tired of each other but can’t detach themselves. and here’s more evidence that the company isn’t forcing them. for those who thinks kq has some masterplan when it comes to promoting ships.

when they talk about their dynamics, jongho says he feels left out but hj exposes him and says, ‘we’ve tried to pair him with someone but he(jongho) just doesn’t do it’

so this just solidifies my statement from earlier, if the members don’t wanna promote a ship. they ain’t gonna do it. we got one or two vlives from twoho and das it. lmfao. don’t get me wrong. i’m sure jongho get along well with yunho as well as the other members, but promoting any of the other ships in ateez like woosan isn’t gonna work well. ‘cause the rest of the members don’t have the same dynamics. woosan are comfortable with skinship and being intimate with each other and the other members just are not.

another piece of evidence is the members tired reaction whenever woosan is mentioned. lmfao. 

this was so dramatic omg. but the members reactions are very telling of woosan’s relationship off screen. if woosan was just fanservice i do not believe the members would react the way they do, maybe share some knowing glances at each other like. ‘pfft, they think woosan’s real’ but their reactions are always big or very indicative of something bigger happening behind the scenes. lol. 

i’m not gonna go into too much details, bc the members reactions to woosan are an entirely different post(i got so many posts to make. xD).

Lastly Wooyoung’s Tatto. I know right? He’s very committed to fanservice guys. 

Amicus ad Aras is something that woosan made to signify their friendship, and the fact woo got a tattoo on his body of it means a lot. not to mention woo himself taking initiative to find something that represented their relationship. 

i feel like i need to reiterate that the meaning of this tattoo was to define his relationship to san specifically so it applies to san specifically. woo has many MANY friends AS WELL as bestfriends yet he got a tattoo that can only be truly applied to san and no one else. 

u can continue saying theyy’re just good friends doing fanservice, but it’s obv that woo has many good friends. so the next question u gotta answer is what separates san from the others.

[no-droids]

Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions.  Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic.  There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic.  As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC.  Smut will come in the second part.

***

“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”

While you're unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction.  The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.

“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you've ached to hear for the past two years.  “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”

It’s true, you think.  The color green never really… agreed with you, and much less what it represents to the Jedi, but your Master always said he found the pastel hue of the saber currently clipped to your belt to be unique and appealing.  Green—any shade of it, really—is the color of the Jedi Consulars.  The peacekeepers, the diplomats, the healers and seers.  Their—your—inner nature and connection to the Force speaks to concord and harmony, and though you’ve come to accept your place amongst the pacifists and mediators in the Order after years of training and meditation, you still remember what a shock it was to discover the color of your kyber crystal as a youngling.

You always thought you’d have a blue saber.  The mark of the Guardians—the second of the three branches of Jedi.  Their skills are focused in battle, and any saber towards the far end of the color spectrum typically leads to specializing in lightsaber combat and warfare tactics.  That’s what you always thought your soul spoke to most—the warriors of the Order.  The soldiers and the members of the Jedi Core, the battle tacticians, the security of the Republic and law enforcers.  You were always a bit of a brash and emotional child compared to your peers, a bit of a handful as a youngling, and you were certain your saber would be some shade of blue because of that.  At that age, a yellow saber was maybe a possibility.  Though you didn’t really have the amount of friends a sociable, service-oriented Sentinel would have, you still felt that if you didn’t have a blue saber, then yellow was far more likely than green.  Yet, you still remember blinking down at your tiny, open palm deep in a cave on Ilum, stunned, a pale mint kyber crystal held precariously in it and nearly vibrating with how loudly it was calling to you through the Force.

“Did the Council do that on purpose, you think?”  You ask, the both of you taking a sharp right down another unfamiliar marble hallway with no spoken direction.  “Pair their most combative Consular with their most mild-mannered Guardian all those years ago, hoping we’d make a good team?”

“You know as well as I do that I chose you for a Padawan myself, young one,” your Master hums.  “And that… we have always been.”

It’s been two years since you last saw him.  Two years, since you passed your trials and graduated from his tutelage.  Knighthood has been good to you with the exception of your former Master’s extended absence, a consequence of your newfound independence as a bonafide member of the Order.  Though the circumstances surrounding your much anticipated reunion with him certainly aren’t ideal, you’re glad nonetheless that you’re face-to-face again—or, currently, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You hide the ghost of a smile under your hood and maintain a steady, calm signature in the Force, keeping in stride with him and speaking in hushed tones.  “Things must really be desperate if they’re putting us back together again.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” he drawls, sarcastic in cadence but a hint of affection weaving through his voice all the same, “but we are in the middle of a war.”

“Fair,” you acknowledge with a tilt of your head, though being on a planet so far removed from the chaos currently wreaking havoc on the rest of the galaxy allows you the privilege of pretending for the moment.  “A threat to the very fabric of the Republic is the only reason the Council would sanction the two of us reuniting.”

Though you say it jokingly, there’s something hidden in it.  An unspoken apprehension you’re attempting to mask with the high spirits of seeing him again.  The stakes of the forthcoming interplanetary negotiation are absolutely staggering, and though it remains unsaid, you understand that just as well as he does.  Scared isn’t the right word, and neither is worried, but—

“I sense a mild trepidation in you, young one,” your Master murmurs, and yes, that’s it.  A mild trepidation.

“I am…”  You close your eyes and attempt to find the right words.  “I am… considering the long-term consequences should this endeavor fail,” you eventually settle on, allowing your feet to lead you left as you keep your pace with him.  “While I consider it a great honor to lead this negotiation on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I’m concerned the Council’s faith in me is… ill-placed.”

Your Master turns his head just marginally in your direction, and though you both can't technically see each other, you know the face he's making under the hood of his robe: his eyebrow is raised, his chin is tilted, and there's the faintest hint of an amused grin threatening to morph the slightly sassy expression to one of genuine humor.  “You distrust the Council’s judgement?”

“Failure and any potential repercussions will be mine alone to bear,” you clarify.  “It’s not the Council I lack faith in, but rather my own skills as a mediator.”

At this, the Jedi does chuckle.  “And I'm to assume I'm just the tauntaun next door in this scenario?”

The apprehension clears, almost immediately, and you can’t help but grin gently in return.  He always did have that effect on you.  “Better be,” you toss out, sensing the large congregation of lifeforms gradually burn brighter in the Force as you both continue your quiet approach.  “This is my negotiation, after all; the Council’s instructions were clear.”

“Very well,” he agrees.  “And, since this is your negotiation, I’m sure you’re more than aware of s’Ziscari etiquette and tradition?  Wouldn’t want to offend them by accident.”

“Of course,” you nod.  “But a… a quick refresher certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Your Master just tsks quietly, but launches into a brief explanation for you all the same.  “It is the Council’s understanding that Queen s’Zerthia is absent from the Palace at the moment.  In lieu of an audience with her, Ambassador Zyther is the only other member of her Royal Majesty’s court who happens to be fluent in Basic, so be sure to address only him when you speak, and to speak slowly and clearly, as it’s crucial they understand our intentions are purely diplomatic in nature.  Do not forget the s’Ziscari are a Force sensitive race; they’ll be able to spot deception the second you think to speak it aloud.  Not that I anticipate the need to mislead them for any reason, of course, but please.  Be mindful.”

Instead of answering him, you direct an affirmative through the Force, and your Master continues.

“They are known to take offense to extended eye contact and they’re not fond of humor or small-talk either, so skip directly to the point: the Jedi are here on behalf of the Republic to garner the support of their planet during these times of war and great unease.  Intel tells us they have amassed an army of Force sensitives three times the size of the Order.  While we’re hoping for a pledge of at least a thousand soldiers to fight in the Clone Wars, we are more than willing to compromise and accept any assistance they’d be gracious enough to provide nonetheless.”

“In exchange for what?”  You ask, the throne room doors now in sight.  You were formally debriefed on mission details during the three day trip to s’Ziscari, but the answer to that specific question was kept purposefully vague, even for the likes of the Council.  Presently, you still have no idea what exactly you’re meant to be bargaining with, not for.

“In exchange for the continued security of having a peaceful and harmonious neighbor with which to share the galaxy,” he replies breezily, the both of you coming to a halt directly in front of two large wooden doors.  “Now.  Are you quite ready?”

“Hang on,” you say, turning to face him, and he carefully ducks his head and removes his hood with two hands as his body rotates to mirror yours.  “You’re telling me that we’re walking into the most important negotiation in the entire galaxy without actually having anything substantial to offer on our behalf?”

Slowly, the dark cowl is lifted from your head as well, and your eyes lock with a pair of calm cerulean blues staring back at you as he gently soothes the fabric down by your collar.  He looks older—ever since the Clone Wars started, Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi has aged significantly.  Gone are the long, flowing locks he sported for most of your youth—the short hair with a clean part is more refined, the beard fuller and more mature.  More… attractive than you remember him being, even though you always remembered him being… achingly attractive.

Instead of answering your question, however, he simply moves both hands to rest over the curve of your shoulders, lowering his head and lifting his eyebrows at you in a look of genuine sincerity that makes your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“I am so very proud of you, my former Padawan,” he tells you quietly, and you feel yourself nearly swell with warmth.  You’re strong enough in the Force to subdue the sentiment before it bleeds into your signature, but you can’t help the way your face flushes slightly and a girlish little smile pulls tight at your cheeks.  “You’ve grown into a fine Knight and an exemplar for the Order.  No matter the outcome of this mission, nor of this war, please know I’ve been truly blessed by the Maker to have been given the privilege of training you all these years.”

Master Kenobi tilts his head forward just slightly, allowing his Force signature to brush delicately against yours for just a moment, the soft periwinkles and lavenders of his energy swirling gently through your pastel seafoams and teals.

And then he clears his throat, straightens his spine, and claps his hands tight to your upper arms.

“Come now, Jedi,” he winks, turning his head to the double doors and breaking into a brilliant grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling with age but the sparkle in them still lovely and youthful and bright.  “The fate of the galaxy awaits.”

***

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi remembers very clearly the day he chose you as a Padawan.

You were a fiery little thing.  The Sentinels who raised younglings at the Academy would often speak about you at length to the Council, each of them reporting back with the same issues and concerns.  Too emotional, too chaotic, too rebellious for the likes of the Jedi.  You threw tantrums, you had outbursts, and to him, you were very likely the worst possible candidate for a negotiator to take on as an apprentice, if only because by all accounts it appeared that you were nigh impossible to negotiate with.

But then you caught his eye one day when Master Yoda was in the process of introducing him to your class.  You should’ve been paying attention to the wisdom being shared by the oldest Consular in the Order (and, admittedly, so should he) but instead, you were gazing quietly at a dove that made its nest on the transparisteel dome arching across the ceiling.  Obi-Wan remembers feeling your energy cautiously reach out towards it, gentler than anything he could’ve expected from a child of your age and reputation, and the moment stuck with him.

The younglings were each allowed one possession at the Academy, and when it came time for him to choose a Padawan, he swiped yours, if only to see what you’d do.  A stuffed rancor you’d endearingly named Cory—rather hideous looking thing, if you asked him—and he was told you were fiercely protective over it.

Obi-Wan remembers carefully setting the stuffed animal down next to him in one of the old storage rooms in the isolated training area, locking the door manually and then taking a quick second to cloak his Force signature.  You had three options, he figured, if you were able to find its location.  Use the Force to unlock the door, use the brand new saber clipped to your belt to create your own door, or leave without your stuffed rancor.  Based off your reputation as an emotionally volatile little youngling, he was assuming he’d have to replace the frame and wall paneling altogether, but regardless, Obi-Wan figured that if you had the nerve to break into the locked room to retrieve your missing possession, he would train you, and if you didn’t, then he’d find someone else.

He waited patiently, meditating for a few hours on your signature from across the Academy.  He went through the subsequent stages with you.  A bright flare of panic, probably from noticing its absence from your quarters.  Sharp sparks of frustration for the next few minutes, likely in response to nobody knowing where it went.  He was expecting some sort of distraught next as you began making your way through the Academy to search for it yourself, some sort of upset, but then you surprised him for the second time.

All at once… Quiet.  Serenity.  Your signature carefully sweeping out in all directions as you walked through the halls, calmly attempting to locate your missing possession.

Obi-Wan pondered this as you approached, and what it might mean.  Were you just an excellent student when you felt the stakes were high enough?  Were you capable of listening to instructions despite what he’d heard about you in passing?  Were you simply just strong in the Force?  Or was there perhaps more to you than what others had told him?

Soon, he could hear your footsteps come to a halt in front of the locked door.  He waited silently; hidden in the darkness, hidden in the Force, barely breathing while he listened for either the sound of a lightsaber turning on or a lock clicking.  He knew you’d find some way to breach the entrance somehow; he knew you wouldn’t just give up and leave.

Except, then all he heard was a quiet little rap of knuckles against metal.

“Master Kenobi?”  A small voice called through the door, and Obi-Wan froze.

To your credit, he wasn’t focusing on hiding himself the way he should’ve been.  Had you been roughly ten years older, he might’ve taken the time to concentrate a bit harder on it, but truthfully, that’s not what surprised him the most.

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

“Master Kenobi?”  You tried again after a moment, your knuckles tapping quietly on the door once more.

“Em…”  He eventually cleared his throat.  “Yes?”

“I think you may have accidentally taken something of mine on accident,” you carefully said after a moment, the overly cautious intent not to offend or intrude suddenly striking him as an invaluable trait in a potential negotiator.  “May I please have him back please?”

You were quite a handful at times, Obi-Wan thinks, but it’s been so long.  So long since he’s had to correct you in any way.  As the years passed, you aged from an emotional Padawan to a refined Knight, a hot-tempered adolescent to a disciplined and capable young Jedi.

Now he looks on as you greet the s’Ziscari Ambassador to the Republic, your head bowed in respect and your eyes focused somewhere near the man’s chest.  It appears the two of you have an audience for your audience—members of the Royal Court are sitting perched in a tiered viewing gallery, speaking quietly amongst themselves as you introduce Obi-Wan and state your purpose to the room.

Your voice rings out sharp and clear, and throughout the entire negotiation, not once does he feel compelled to assist you in any way.  You do everything right—you make fair points without stepping on any toes, you never allow the Ambassador’s booming voice intimidate you or sway your collected composure.

Obi-Wan meant what he said.  He’s proud of you.

Though… though at one point throughout the mediation, something about this starts to not… feel right.

It’s the Royal Court, he realizes.  They’ve stopped talking, they’re… paying attention.  It doesn’t make sense—none of them speak Basic, they must just be reading the energies in the room.  Nothing spectacular has happened—no outburst, nothing to draw their attention any more than when you both first made your entrance.  The Ambassador’s voice continues to echo throughout the vast ceilings and contrast with the pleasant and tranquil alto of your steady responses, but then Obi-Wan suddenly goes rigid and spins around— 

The Royal Count immediately stands in unison as the Ambassador abruptly cuts off, and a familiar signature reveals itself in the Force.

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

You keep your head down and follow the intricate laced bodice of her gown as she makes her entrance into the grand throne room, gliding right between you and your Master before climbing the stairs and collapsing down onto the throne with a sigh.  The Council was misinformed concerning her whereabouts, apparently.

The Court finds a seat not long after she does, and you clench your jaw at the unfortunate twist of events.  Her presence means that whatever progress you’ve made with the Ambassador is now, for all intents and purposes, moot.

There’s also just something… odd about her and her energy, you think, something you can’t quite place.  The second she turns her head and looks in your eyes is the second you forget all about avoiding eye contact with her, but if she’s offended by your sudden lack of etiquette, she displays no signs of it.  In fact, you’d almost argue she looks intrigued.

“Your Majesty,” you greet.  “I was just—”

“I got the gist,” she waves a manicured hand at you.  “What was your name again, little girl?”

You tell her, and put a hard emphasis on your full title.  She may be a monarch, but you are a General in the Clone Wars and a Knight of the Republic, and an attempt by the opposing party at intimidation by flippant degradation will not be tolerated.

“Pleasure,” she nods.  “May I ask what your people are willing to offer in exchange for the military assistance you’re seeking?”

You swallow thickly, your stomach sinking.  “Truly, your Majesty, I… I cannot provide you with a specific answer to that at this time.  However, we would gladly be willing to—”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, then, little Knight, since I never was able to obtain anything satisfactory from your High Council,” the Queen interrupts, studying her jeweled manicure and sounding bored with the conversation she just initiated, and you feel your Master stiffen behind you.  “If we s’Ziscari are so incredibly important to the Jedi, as you previously insisted to the Ambassador multiple times, then why in Maker’s name does the Council reject invitations to partake in our people’s most sacred of ceremonies year after year?”

You’re… you’re at a complete loss for words.  The Sentinels have dedicated ambassadors to travel the territories specifically for these reasons, to keep political relations agreeable between outer-rim planets and the Jedi.  There would be no discernible reason as to why the Council would reject attendance to an annual s’Ziscari cultural celebration, especially if their standing military was even half as powerful in the Force as rumors would imply.

Obviously you’re not privy to any of this information, so you subtly reach out to Master Kenobi’s Force signature with a tiny flicker of uncertainty, silently questioning your next move.  However, before you can barely even mentally gauge the calm, sky blue of his aura, your Master’s outer-shields slam into place and even so much as shove against your open question in warning.

“It was—” You trip over your sentence, heart thumping in your chest with panic at his unprecedented response to you, “—It was never our intention to cause any offense, I’m certain—”

“And yet great offense was caused nonetheless,” the Queen returns.  “However.  As it just so happens, you’ve arrived on my planet the day the Sh’inzith Ritual is to commence.  Because of that, I am more than willing to allow the Order to remedy their grave lapse in judgement tonight, in exchange for…”  She tilts her chin at you, considering.  “Ten thousand soldiers to fight in your little war.  What say you, Jedi?”

No, this is wrong.  This is all wrong—an addition of ten thousand trained Force sensitives would put an immediate end to the Clone Wars.  Full stop.  Instead of being tempted by the bait, however, you’re just becoming increasingly wary of it.

Regardless of how on edge you are, you keep an unbothered composure and continue stunting any major change to your signature.  “You cannot expect me to agree to a deal before knowing the finer points of its terms, my Queen.”

“Of course not,” she agrees diplomatically.  “My terms are simple, really.  All you have to do is—”

“If you will pardon the interruption,” Master Kenobi’s voice suddenly rings out from behind you for the first time in what feels like ages, and he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing directly adjacent to you.  “Apologies to the Court, but my companion and I have grown very weary from a long tr—”

“No apologies necessary, Master Kenobi,” the Queen grins, her eyes flicking away from yours.  “Thought I saw you back there.  Shall I elaborate?  I’ll make it quick, so you don’t fall asleep.”

There’s a tense, pregnant silence that fills the throne room as everybody waits for his response, and you’re left wondering how your Master knows this woman.  

He breaks eye contact with the monarch first and stares down at the floor while he considers his answer, before finally settling on a quiet, “Leave us.”

The Queen nods exactly once and everyone in the gallery rises and slowly files out.  You take a moment to glance around at the handful of guards surrounding the throne room, waiting for their perfect statuesque posture to falter.  Only, they remain completely motionless.

You turn back to the Queen, watching you thoughtfully from her elevated throne, and then to your Master, who’s… still looking down at the floor.

It takes you a bit longer than it should, even then.

Obi-Wan says your name in a tight, urging tone, not even bothering to turn his head to address you.  “Please.”

What?

You?  He wants you to leave?  But… the Council said… they said that this is your negotiation.  Clearly they failed to provide you with some very crucial piece of information, so now he’s dismissing you because of it?  Openly?  In front of the other party?

“But… But I was supposed to—”

“Padawan,” he all but snaps at you.  “Please.”

You stand there, holding yourself as still as possible, absolutely stunned.  Your Master has never spoken to you this way.  You’ve never heard him speak to anyone this way.

The Queen just smiles down at you saccharinely from her throne, clearly enjoying your blatant discomfort and embarrassment.

This is humiliating.

You’d never say it out loud.  But as you quietly leave the throne room, two guards on either side accompanying you to your chambers, you practically shove the words at him through the Force, trying your absolute hardest not to let the hurt through.  Though in hindsight, you may have emphasized the last part a bit too harshly.

Of course.  Master.

***

Obi-Wan realizes the grievousness of his mistake the second it comes out of his mouth.  He doesn’t need the extended moment of silence as you work to process the unintentional insult.  He doesn’t need the way your Force signature suddenly seems incredibly small, like it shrank in on itself in mortification.  He most definitely does not need the spiteful remark reverberating around his brain as your footsteps fade into nothingness, the thought so sharp and directed that he’d likely have trouble blocking it out.

“Strange,” the Queen drawls out in his direction, breaking him from the whirlwind of his thoughts.  “Do you really still view her as a Padawan?  But she’s such a pretty girl.  And she was doing so well.”

“I will not speak of this with you,” Obi-Wan replies candidly, abandoning all pleasantries now that they’re alone.

“Oh, but you will,” s’Zerthia tuts, somehow sounding disapproving and gleeful in equal parts.  “If you want your army, that is.”

“Must you be so cruel, Your Majesty?”  Obi-Wan sighs, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  Maker, he’s getting a headache.  “Are the Uncharted Regions truly that dull?”

“Come now, old friend,” she grins, tilting her head at him as she relaxes back in her throne.  “You’ve known of my nature since we were introduced at the Senate all those decades ago.  There is a reason you’re still with the peace-loving wizard monks and I am now the reigning monarch over twenty thousand square parsecs of territories.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledges.  “And now we are grown.  Though it appears someone has yet to remind you.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, General Kenobi, this is not about me,” the Queen sighs.  “My people do not look kindly upon the Jedi.  The Ritual is a celebration of our connection with the Force, and denying an invitation, to them, is akin to denying their existence as a Force sensitive people.  I can give you your army at any time, of course—I am Queen.  But I fear that will not be enough.  The s’Ziscari will not willingly fight for you until you pay your due respects to our culture.”

“Queen s’Zerthia,” he exhales, clearly exasperated, “I cannot call myself Jedi and partake in such… proclivities.  The Council will never agree to such measures.  There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, old friend,” she huffs shortly, her signature beginning to spark with impatience.  “Make your choice.”

“I am not having sex in an arena, s’Zerthia,” he hisses.

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

“Do not speak to me as if you are not the only person who can change that, Jedi!”  The Queen suddenly barks, her voice echoing throughout the empty throne room and booming with frustration.  “I cannot make them fight!  They love their Queen, but I am thirty-nine years old, for star’s sake!  These traditions have lasted for millennia!  Would you abandon the ways of your religion simply because your leader ordered it so?”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding of me,” he returns sharply.

“Yes,” s’Zerthia acknowledges.  “But you are but one martyr, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Not an army.”

Obi-Wan sighs.  “I’ve… s’Zerthia, I’ve never…  It’s forbidden.  And now you’re asking me to break my oath in front of an audience… with someone I don’t know?”  He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he knows it’s useless.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari will see the wavering in his Force signature.  The underlying pulse of fear at the center.

It’s her turn to sigh.  “The Sh’inzith is about celebrating our connection with the Force… consensually.  I… may be able to speak to some of my people about the possibility of you participating in private, due to the,” she clears her throat, “delicate nature of the situation, as well as your particular upbringing.  However.  You will have to project during the… closing ceremonies, if only to prove your direct involvement.  This is the best I can do.  Do we have an agreement?”

Obi-Wan drops his gaze.  “I… I don’t know.  I must confer with the Council first.  But… but with their permission…”  He chooses to leave his sentence unfinished, still so unbelievably uncomfortable with the terms of this nightmare to agree to them aloud.

“Understood,” she nods.  “Then I shall arrange to send someone to your chambers at midnight unless you notify my staff otherwise.  Which would you prefer—a man or a woman?”

He stays silent, his stomach churning in discomfort.  He doesn’t think he’s ever even considered the question before.  He truly doesn’t know how to answer it.

Intuitively, the Queen moves on.  “No matter.  What of the girl, then?  A man would do well for her, I’m assuming?”

He lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows.  “The girl?  What girl?”

“The girl,” s’Zerthia repeats blankly.  “All Jedi present will need to participate, of course.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says immediately, taking a few steps forward.  “No, that wasn’t the deal.  The girl has been a Knight for barely two years, she’s never even heard of the Ritual.  She has no part in this.”

“And yet she was meant to lead this negotiation, was she not?”  She tsks in disappointment, each staccato click of her tongue echoing throughout the vast ceilings and rafters of the room.  “Is that how you Jedi treat your women?  Throw her headfirst into a mediator’s position with none of the details she needs to be successful, dismiss and humiliate her when she inevitably fails, and subsequently refuse any involvement in a potential solution on her behalf because she ‘has no part in this’?  Perhaps I should be offended that the Jedi thought so little of the s’Ziscari as to assign someone of her standing to lead this negotiation, but as of right now, considering the mere fact that my palace is still intact, I’m actually starting to believe your little Padawan may just be the best of you.”

Obi-Wan says absolutely nothing in response, his heart panging in his chest in shame hearing it put into words that way.  He’s never been one to question the decision-making of the Council, but assigning you to this mission had admittedly been something he himself couldn’t quite puzzle out.  Obi-Wan understands the need to further develop your diplomatic skills, but the terms of this specific negotiation were just far too complex and far too crucial to the survival of the Republic to gamble on one of the youngest Knights in the Order.  By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, but the Council was very specific in their instructions.  You were to lead negotiations, and Obi-Wan was to act as reinforcement should anything happen to go awry.

The Queen quietly studies the Jedi Master all the while, tilting her head thoughtfully.  “None of this makes any sense, does it?”

Again, Obi-Wan maintains his silence with a furrowed brow and a far-off look on his face.

“What’s so different about this one?”  She asks him, sincere curiosity appearing to overtake her in the moment.  “This girl, specifically, out of everyone—why would they choose her for this negotiation?  There’d be no discernible reason, unless they wanted her to—”

She cuts herself off abruptly as Obi-Wan quickly flicks his gaze over to her.  When she’s silent for too long, he has to prompt her.  “Unless they wanted her to what?”

“Ah,” she whispers at once, her expression immediately clearing in understanding.  “Clever.  Diabolical, manipulative, and entirely unexpected from a group of glorified cultists with brightly colored laser swords.  But oh, so clever.”

Obi-Wan is starting to become very frustrated with this conversation.

“You know,” the Queen continues, back to studying her manicure, “I used to lament my lack of free will as a member of royalty by marriage.  My husband, Maker rest his soul, could never yearn for what he did not know, but as the daughter of a Senator, I was born as low as you.  I was a Miss once,” she laughs airily, as if the thought of her holding that title is absolutely ridiculous now.  “I knew the difference between a life of freedom and that of a puppet.  But.  At least my superiors revoked my autonomy to my face.  Your Council sees fit to pull strings from behind a curtain.”

“You think the Council wanted this?”  He can’t keep the intense skepticism from lacing his tone, despite his best efforts.

The Queen suddenly looks up from her jeweled fingernails and pins him with a hard stare.  “Will you bed a stranger even with the direct permission of your betters?”  She shoots at him, quite unexpectedly and shameless in her phrasing.

Obi-Wan nearly jerks back, the abrupt change in subject and rather personal question startling him.  “I—”

“Would you have asked your Padawan to accompany you here if you’d been put in charge of negotiations instead?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Do you think it simply a coincidence the two of you were scheduled to arrive on my planet exactly ten hours before a festivity that only happens once every five hundred and some-odd cycles begins?”

“I can assure you I was not privy the t—”

“Why is the girl here?”

He… he doesn’t understand.  It’s like she’s trying to have four conversations with him at once.  He’s getting whiplash.  “s’Zerthia.”

“Obi-Wan.  Come now, don’t be daft.”  She goes back to picking at her fingernails, clearly done with her interrogation for the time being.  “She’s here because she is a thousand times more prepared to participate in the Sh’inzith than you are, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Council knew full well what the terms of this negotiation would be,” the Queen shrugs.  “Though you may not be too familiar with Jedi-s’Ziscari interplanetary relations, I can assure you we have openly voiced our offense to their denial of our invitations multiple times.  We still send them, of course, as is tradition.  We have for a few centuries at least.  A formal alliance would obviously require some act of rectification on the Council’s behalf, so therefore the only logical assumption to be made is that the girl was chosen for this mission specifically with that in mind.  She likely didn’t take an oath of celibacy or something of t—”

“All Jedi take oaths of celibacy,” Obi-Wan interjects with a startlingly unfamiliar edge to his voice, clearly warning her not to continue on in this direction.

”Oh, apologies; I misspoke,” she clarifies.  “She probably didn’t take an oath of celibacy seriously, or something of the sort.”

“Mind yourself, s’Zerthia,” he warns her.  “I care not of your position nor our history, you will not speak of my protégé that way—”

“Oh, she’s your protégé now?”  She grins, amusement flashing in her eyes.  “I see.  Because we both have been referring to her as your Padawan up until the moment someone other than you decided to insult her, so I wasn’t sure.  Forgive me.”

Obi-Wan flushes and opens his mouth once, twice.  He is quite honestly speechless at how his… long-time acquaintance is so truly gifted at creating sentences that somehow manage to turn themselves into icy daggers in midair, so instead, he takes a different approach.  “E-Even… even if you were slightly correct with that… a-absolutely baseless accusation, it makes no sense,” he reasons desperately, still trying to find some way out of all this.  “Breaking an oath of celibacy in her youth does not at all mean she’d be any more likely to lie with a s’Ziscari to complete a diplomatic mis—”

“No,” the Queen agrees, “it means she’d be more likely to lie with a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan stops dead.

She laughs, a soft tinkle of a sound, taking in the underlying shock of his demeanor.  “By all their faults, the Council is not stupid.”  She almost sounds… impressed.  “Think, Obi-Wan.  Pair the Greatest Negotiator in the Order with his newly ordained Knight?  The one young enough to not have the strict pillars of your cult of a religion so hopelessly cemented into her mindset?  The one who so very clearly considers you to be far more than a mentor to her?  The Council knew you’d be incredibly reluctant to bed anyone, let alone a stranger from the Uncharted Regions, but they also knew of our history as friends—if anyone in the Order was in a position to make the deal with me, it was you, so if anyone in the Order was in a position to therefore… persuade you to follow through with the conditions of said deal, it was her.  To gain ten thousand more Force sensitives and win a galactic war, all your Council had to do was shove two of their most agreeable Generals into bed with one another.  Beautifully executed, Machiavellian at its core.  Stars.  I knew politics suited the Jedi, but this is just…”

Obi-Wan feels his chest sinking deeper and deeper by the second as she kisses her fingers animatedly.

“…Masterful,” s’Zerthia finishes, turning to smile widely at him, positively delighted in her demeanor.  “I do say, I may have met my match in your superiors, Obi-Wan.  Perhaps they shall make better allies than I’d originally assumed.  If nothing else, this little display of cunning and manipulation gives me faith that perhaps the Republic isn’t so completely doomed after all.”

“Do you truly think they’d be so cruel?”  He finds himself asking quietly after a moment.

“These are times of war, old friend,” she tilts her head with as much solemn comfort in her voice as she can reasonably provide.  “They knew the terms, and they knew you wouldn’t agree if you knew them in advance.  This was the only way.  And honestly, should a… well, let’s face it, a rather attractive coupling be all that stands between the galaxy and total destruction, I’d say that may just be a fair price to pay.  My only lament thus far is your rather timid demeanor.  You two would’ve made for a crowd favorite.”

The Queen’s assertion startles him so much that Obi-Wan outright defaults back to skeptical pragmatism instead of entertaining elaborate and incredibly far-fetched conspiracy theories.  “Yes, yes, s’Zerthia, but—but this whole entire scheme hinges on the completely incorrect assumption that she and I would actually be willing… willing to…”  He can’t even finish the sentence.

“How old are you, Obi-Wan?”  She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his sudden lack of articulation.  “We are of similar age, correct?  Are you outright incapable of saying the word ‘fuck’?”

“Quit being foul,” he snaps.  “It suits your personality, not your tongue.”

“So quick-witted in conversation for someone so incredibly dim-witted in practice,” she muses, as if this entire thing is incredibly entertaining to her.  “Do you really not see the way she looks at you?”

“She respects me,” Obi-Wan declares meaningfully.  “She’s loyal.  She thinks much higher of me than I deserve.  She’d stand alone in the face of an army if it pleased me and she’d stand tall—”

“That’s not the only position she’d assume to please you,” the Queen mutters under her breath, pausing to give him a sweet little smile as Obi-Wan burns a hole through her with his glare.  “The only variable remaining is your willingness to please her.  After all, the offer to lie with a s’Ziscari instead will always be up for the both of your considerations, as is the ability to walk away entirely at any time of course.  I’m assuming the Council was relying on the fact that you’d pitch an absolute fit after being informed her involvement was required—which, naturally, you did.  And then they gambled on the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask yourself.”  She leans forward and tilts her head at him, lacing her manicured fingers together.  “Perhaps it’s not a matter of how willing you are to sleep with your Padawan to save the galaxy from complete and total annihilation, Master Kenobi, but simply a matter of whether or not the clueless little thing will want it bad enough to be able to convince you to do it.  This—this is a real negotiation for her now.”

“s’Zerthia—” Obi-Wan sputters, “—I—She—I’ve traversed her consciousness more than anyone in the entire galaxy, and not once has she ever even hinted at the possibility that she—”

“And can you blame her?  My, the scandal it would cause!”  The Queen presses the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses dramatically back into her throne.  “A Jedi Knight secretly harboring feelings for her Master?  In my good temple?  Shame!  Shame!  Sha—!”

“You think you know more of my successor than I?”  Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, somehow more irritated now at the insinuation than he’d been the entire conversation.  “The youngling I raised?  The one I handpicked to take my place in the Order, you think you know more of her heart than I?”

“Yes.”  s’Zerthia answers him simply, straightening up on her throne and abandoning all theatrics.  “Because you did not see her face when you called her Padawan.  I did.  And I also happen to know far better than most that hiding the truth from nosy Force sensitive authoritarians is most easily accomplished by controlling one’s energy signature.  Jedi, s’Ziscari, it matters not the culture—you lot spend far too much effort reading into the Force than simply looking someone in their eyes to learn the truth.  Look her in the eyes next time, Master Kenobi.  Then you will understand.”

***

You’re furious.

The Jedi are not meant to feel fury.  But you are a Jedi, and by the Maker, do you feel it.

“Padawan?”  You hiss, pacing the length of your bedchamber with clenched fists, trying to control the volume of your voice so desperately that the words come out shaky and slurred.  “Padawan?  Is that what he thinks of me?  That I’m still a youngling?!”

You haven’t been this upset since you were a small child.  And the thought stops you dead in your tracks.

You are a General.  You are a Consular.  You are a Knight.

Regardless of what he may believe.

So you climb up onto your unnecessarily large bed, crawling the incredibly soft fur blanket of an animal you’ve never seen before to sit yourself in the very center of the mattress, crossing your legs.  Though it takes you longer than it has in years, you’re finally able to relax your breathing and clear your mind, slipping into a deep meditative state.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position, nor do you really care to. But when your Force signature feels the slightest brush of your Master’s, likely just looking for your location within the palace, you’re a bit too late in slamming your mental barriers up in response.  You know he still senses the reciprocal shove he gave you earlier, the shocking feeling of being practically hurled out of someone’s mind with unprecedented ferocity.  But he also knows where you are now.

So, like you’re a youngling at the Academy again, you just pretend to meditate.  Like an actual child, you close your eyes and focus on just sitting still.  You shouldn’t be responding this way, you tell yourself.  Restraining your emotional response has been hammered into you for decades—keeping calm when you’re upset is your default, it’s how you’ve lived your entire adult life.  Why can you not seem to accomplish it now?

What… what is this?  This toxic, absolutely dreadful emotion?  It's hard placing them sometimes when you were taught from infancy to just will them away instead of processing them.  It’s not fury, not anymore.  It isn’t sadness, either.  You’ve been sad—you’ve been sad for two years straight, and it feels nothing like this.

You’re throwing a tantrum, you realize.  That’s what this must be.  You’re reverting back to your childhood, back to when you felt discounted and disapproved of by nearly everyone around you.  You haven’t felt this way in years, not since you met Master Kenobi.  This is hurt.  Just pure, irrational, emotional pain, and it’s manifesting itself in truly ugly ways.

You can feel his signature glow just marginally brighter in the Force as your Master steadily approaches.  You take slow breaths, trying to rearrange yourself into something at least mildly composed and tranquil, but it feels almost impossible.  So instead, you just try to ignore the past few hours and think back on all the things your Master used to tell you when you were like this, this raging turmoil of emotions overtaking you and causing you to lash out.  

You are a Consular, child, he’d say, and if you focus, you can practically hear the musical cadence of his calm, comforting voice.  A peacekeeper.  A dove.  When faced with a locked door, what must you always do?

Master Kenobi’s knuckles rap on the entrance to your quarters quietly, and you blink your eyes open, taking another deep breath before replying.  “It’s open.”

The door opens and he takes a few steps inside the room, stopping immediately when he lifts his head up and sees you sitting on your bed.

You both stare at each other in silence for way too long, and you’re not… really sure why.  You’re obviously just waiting for him to say something, take the lead in this conversation since he was clearly a better fit to take the lead on this mission, but he just looks at you.  For an eternity, he looks at you.  Completely blank.

He suddenly jerks his spine straight and breaks eye contact with you, coughing and flicking bright blue eyes around the space as if he’s just noticing it.  “Ah, I… Apologies, this is the wrong room.  I thought… my quarters are—I must confer with the Council.  Please, excuse me.”

And then he turns around and leaves.

You blink a few times, wide-eyed and completely bewildered as the door slides shut behind his billowing cloak.

He… he knocked on the door to his own quarters?  And then… and then he waited for you to call him in?

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

“This is unbelievable,” Obi-Wan sighs, and the hologram of Master Windu rubs his blue flickering temples in slow circles, looking equally as exasperated as Obi-Wan sounds.  “Did you know the Ritual was to take place tonight?”

“The Council had no idea,” the fellow Guardian murmurs, and something pulls tight in Obi-Wan’s chest, remembering the Queen’s assertion that the s’Ziscari continue to send invitations to the Council every year.  Perhaps… perhaps there was some sort of an oversight, he thinks, due to the Clone Wars taking precedence for the Order.  “Intel told us she’d be off-planet for at least another week.”

Well now, that doesn’t make much sense, not if the Ritual is to begin soon.  None of what Master Windu has said throughout the conversation has made any sense at all regarding the situation.  Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan thought he’d feel better after speaking to another member of the Council, not more uncertain.

“What does Master Yoda think of all this?”  He eventually tries, but the holographic projection of Master Windu sighs and tilts his head regretfully, his upper body flickering and waving with intermittent static.

“Master Yoda is currently dispatched to Rugosa to convince King Katuunko to allow the Republic to build a base in Toydarian territory,” he replies solemnly, and Obi-Wan… needs to meditate.  Yes.  Meditation sounds like a phenomenal idea.  “Are you certain there is no more room for negotiating?”

“An ultimatum was given,” Obi-Wan says shortly.  “These are the terms.”

Master Windu takes quite a while before responding, but when he does, he speaks calmly and with purpose, addressing him with a formal opinion.  “Then the Council will leave this matter up to the discretions of you and your former Padawan, Master Kenobi.  This mission designation has hereby been elevated to the highest level of classified and your subsequent choices need not be reported, nor will they affect either of your places in the Order.  May the Force guide you and be with you both through these uncertain times.”

The transmission is cut and Obi-Wan feels his insides twist.  

He collapses onto his bed and groans quietly, burying his face in his hands and finding it easier to just conceal his Force signature altogether than attempt to mask the anxiety and crushing pressure he feels threatening to overwhelm him.

This is not good.  This is, in fact, very much a disaster.  This is a mess.  This is far worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined when he was first assigned to this mission.  

Obi-Wan slowly rakes all ten of his fingers down the sides of his beard, lifting his chin and then letting them drag all the way down his throat, and the quiet scratchy sound it makes mixes in with another longer, even more exhausted groan.

Maker.  First things first, he needs to apologize to you and explain the situation.  Neither one of those things will be easy to accomplish, but in the grand scheme, they’ll be far simpler than anything else facing him.

He… he takes a second to think about you, about the awful way he unintentionally disrespected you earlier.  Stars—he handled this terribly.  He was caught off guard and he owes you an explanation, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to go about it.

And why… Why must you have been sitting on your bed?  Staring up at him silently, waiting for him atop the very place he’s just been given permission to… to…

Obi-Wan shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut, rubbing them with a bit too much vigor to be from tiredness and stress alone.  He should meditate.  He should meditate, let his mind break free of the nerves and sudden change of events, but he doesn’t have time to even begin unscrambling the chaos of his thoughts.  It’s getting late, and he has an obligation to tell you about the situation as soon as possible, to give you as much time as he can to process the decision facing you before the clock runs out.

He’s dreading this.  He’s absolutely dreading it, but it needs to be done.

***

After your Master leaves, less than a half hour passes before you hear another knock on the door.

By then, you’re just sitting there.  Sitting there, empty.  This is good, really.  Truly, this is a good thing.  A flat emotional state is what you should always strive for, but… nothing about it feels like peace, really.  No, this just feels… grey.  Desaturated.  Dull.

“It’s open,” you call once again, and Master Kenobi quietly enters your chambers.  This time you don’t look at him, though.  You don’t really… feel the need to, especially from the way his signature is still just barely presenting itself to you, still so guarded and cautious around you when he’s never been this way before.

Your Master comes to a stop right in front of the edge of the mattress, and stands there for a few moments in silence.  You just blink down at the mattress and wait, undisturbed, until you hear him heave a long, heavy sigh, before spinning around and unceremoniously sinking down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Something about it breaks through your blank, almost dissociative state.  Your eyebrows narrow just slightly where your gaze is pinned to the fur covering the mattress, hearing him sigh heavily once more out of your line of sight, but it’s enough to urge you to crawl forward until you can see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the mattress, bent over on himself, his head buried in his hands.  You’ve never seen your Master look so… vulnerable before.  So small—not in all the years you’ve known each other.  His energy is so concealed that you’re just barely able to sense anything besides the mere presence of his signature, but he’s clearly distraught with just as much emotion you were struggling with earlier, and suddenly…

Suddenly a calmness sweeps through you.  A gentle sort of kindness fills your soul, slowly flooding your energy with color once again at the sight of someone who’s usually so composed struggling so openly in front of you.

Carefully, you lower yourself down until you’re seated on the floor next to him, your back pressed up against the side of the mattress as he continues to hide his face from you.  You stay there, not touching him, not saying anything, but just radiating a steady tranquility through the room from the very center of your being, anchoring him through his storm until it clears.

The sun goes down through the window before either of you speak.  Your Master eventually drops his hands from his face and takes a deep breath, choosing to break the silence first.

“Before I begin,” he finally says, his shoulders still uncharacteristically tight and full of tension, even though his voice is soft.  “I must… I must sincerely apologize to you.  This type of subject matter makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable and I took that out on you, and it was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my behalf.  Unfortunately, I can offer you no explanation that wouldn't count as an excuse for something that was completely inexcusable.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, just as quietly, but then quickly correct yourself.  “Well, no—I don’t.  I don’t understand, but.  Judging from your demeanor, I can only assume things have become… a bit more complicated.”

Your Master takes another full, deep inhale.  “Yes, that’s…” he empties his lungs of air with a huff, amused but in a way that’s not really amused.  “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“Do you…”  You blink at the floor, still keeping your voice and energy as gentle as possible.  “Just—before… before you begin… Do you truly think of me as your Padawan still?”

“No,” he answers firmly.  Immediately, and with less hesitation than anything he’s said so far.  “I do not.”

You nod, the finality in his tone leading you to believe that’s the end of his sentence, but then he eventually lowers his voice and continues.

“But sometimes, I…”  Your Master sounds conflicted, like he’s not sure he should be saying this aloud.  He still hasn’t looked at you.  “I find myself… wishing you were.  That we could go back to those days, the days before the war.  Before fighting armies, and leading them… and now recruiting them.  The happiest and most fulfilling days of my life were spent with you by my side, young one.  I am not telling you this in an attempt to justify or defend my actions in any way, I am telling you this simply because I don’t want an egregious misunderstanding of this magnitude to continue to fester between us when it can be addressed right here and now.  In the face of incredible discomfort, I selfishly reverted the terms of our relationship back to what they were two years ago—not because I subconsciously think of you as my Padawan still or that I somehow haven’t recognized your unprecedented list of accomplishments as a Knight—but because you, the former title, and the nature of the relationship it entails were the only things familiar to me when everything else around was so incredibly and uncomfortably foreign.  I humbly beg your forgiveness for ever allowing you to spend a single second of your time thinking differently, never mind hours of it.”

You blink, startled by the sudden articulation and sincerity of the apology.  “I—it’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Master Kenobi softly counters, “but your forgiveness is greatly appreciated, no matter how undeserved.”

You smile at him.  It’s one of those gentle, sad smiles—the kind of smile that would feel fake if it wasn’t for the comfort you’re trying to provide with it.  Carefully, you place a hand on the bend of his knee.  “Do you have a place you’d like to start, or would it be easier for you if I asked specific questions?”

He looks at you.  Finally.  For the first time, his clear blue eyes rise to meet yours and he looks… grateful.  “Ask.  Please.  That would be so much better.”

“A ritual begins tonight,” you say after a moment, studying his handsome facial features for some kind of confirmation of the information you’ve managed to piece together, but then your Master abruptly breaks eye contact with you and lowers his gaze once more.  “Yet the Sentinels historically choose not to partake.  Why?”

“Because… the Ritual… contains proceedings that stand in direct opposition to the values and teachings of the Jedi,” he explains to the floor.  “It goes against the core pillars of our religion to even spectate.  The Uncharted Regions are… different.  They follow neither the laws nor the customs of the Republic.  It was decided long ago to politely decline their invitations, though we offered many times to meet during another time of the year.  The Council had no idea the Queen would take this much offense.”

You have to ask.  It’s important for you to know, but his rather vague explanation serves to peak your trepidation just as much as it does your curiosity.  “…What is…”  Maker, you’ve gone unbelievably quiet.  “What is the Ritual, Master?”

Obi-Wan goes just as quiet, looking down at his hands as they fiddle idly in his lap.  “Ah.  Yes.  That.  Well, the—th-the Ritual is, uh.  Uh—”

You blink softly at him and his abrupt loss of articulation, trying to rearrange your expression to be encouraging without appearing too eager.

He suddenly cuts himself off and looks up at you, pinning you with an ocean-deep blue gaze once more.  “It’s a celebration of fertility.”

You blink once more at him, this time quite stupidly.

“People are encouraged to be intimate with each other.  Openly.  Shameless displays of fornication between two consenting adults are commonplace in almost every conceivable forum, said to permanently connect the s’Ziscari to one another through the Force—which is why they usually project throughout the act.  In fact, they even have a gathering here at the palace capital, an ‘opening ceremony’ of sorts where people… perform.  It’s debauchery disguised as a holiday.”

You… for some reason, the fact that he stares so intently at you while he says it makes your reaction marginally subtler.  He gives away no emotion as he takes in how your mouth has formed a soft O shape, how a solemn understanding seems to flood through you.  Of course he’d have incredible trouble with something like this.  And somehow it’s only then that you fully forgive him for his previous mishaps and mistakes on this mission.  You understand now, you get it.

“Ah.  Okay.  And… and in exchange for the s’Ziscari’s assistance in the Clone Wars, they want us to… what, exactly?”  Maker, why is your throat so dry?

“They’ve presented the ultimatum of either walking away from the deal entirely or partaking from the privacy of these chambers,” he answers.  “Together.”

Okay, so your reaction is a bit more pronounced this time.

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second, all the breath in your lungs whooshing out at once.  Maker, it’s like he punched you in the chest.  Muscle memory alone allows you to almost completely muffle the burst of shock that radiates through the Force, but your face is still a dead giveaway.

Is this… is this a trial?  Are you hallucinating?  Perhaps a vision, if it wasn’t so beyond ludicrous or had any basis in reality whatsoever.  How many vaguely similar scenarios have you imagined throughout the duration of Obi-Wan’s tutelage?  And yet never has one been so incredibly creative.  Or elaborate.

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh.  Oh, no, this is dangerous.

It’s one thing to harbor a dark, hidden crush on your Master for years, something you refuse to even let yourself think about most of the time.  It’s one thing to learn how to bury your needs deep down and refuse to let them see the light of day, to learn how to build a mental fortress around a dirty, terrible secret from your youth and guard it with a saber and matching ferocity.  This is the way of the Jedi.

It’s another thing entirely to have it offered to you on a silver platter.  To be given just a sample of Darkness, knowing you’ll never have anything close to it ever again.

***

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s studied your face this closely in his entire life.

It feels almost… unnatural, how meticulously he’s trying to read your expressions.  Outwardly, you don’t appear to be anything more than surprised, really.  Not horrified at the idea, just… stunned.

“What did you tell them?”  You eventually ask him.

“That I’d need to discuss it with the Council first,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “and then that I’d need to discuss it with you.  And I’d make a decision by midnight, when the Ritual is to begin.”

And—there.  He sees it.  Your Force signature continues to radiate a gentle calmness outwards, unwavering and unbothered in its beautiful gradient of pale greens and chartreuses and golds, brilliantly contrasting with the cool blues and periwinkles of Obi-Wan’s own signature, but there’s a flash of… something in your eyes, and he sees it for maybe a split second before it’s gone completely.

What did he say?  What did he say?  He tries quickly to remember.  That he’d need to discuss it with the Council first, and then that he’d need to… 

Obi-Wan sighs, instantly realizing his mistake.  He both openly admitted and proved to valuing the opinion of the Council over yours.  He valued the collective opinion of a group of Jedi tens of thousands of light years away who put you in the middle of this ghastly situation more than your opinion.  You.  The only other person directly involved with this absolute shipwreck of a negotiation, even though you never asked to be.  The person whose opinion on such a delicate situation should’ve mattered the most.

Stars, s’Zerthia was right.  Has he always been this blind?

“Though… though now I realize that was incredibly dismissive of me.”  Obi-Wan’s head drops and his hand comes up to cover and rub at his eyes, feeling halfway stuck between amused at his endless list of mistakes and miserable at how they’ve affected you.  “I’ve done absolutely nothing right on this mission so far, young one.  And you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari said you’re likely the best the Order has to offer and I’m very quickly beginning to see her point.”

You jerk back comically.  “She said that?”

He peeks an eye open at you through his fingers, watching you look at him like he’s grown two heads.  “…Yes?”

“And not as an insult to the rest of the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan drags his hand down his beard, trying to hold the corners of his mouth down, but it does nothing to stop the small smile that begins to peek through.  So he doesn’t try to hide it.  He just smiles at you, exasperated but so incredibly fond, shaking his head meaningfully.  You sit there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open, completely discombobulated, and Obi-Wan actually begins to chuckle quietly to himself, marveling at how your reaction to the praise practically doubles its sentiment.

You’re the only one who’s been able to make him truly laugh in the past two years.  You did it despite his wild discomfort concerning the unfortunate situation the two of you have found yourselves in.  You did it despite the foreign territory, the foreign government, the foreign planet, the foreign customs, and the foreign subject matter.  And you did it all entirely unprompted, despite everything he’s done to wrong you.

“The lady in the big chair?  The one with the fingernails?”  You lift your hand up and wiggle your fingers, both looking and sounding like a droid in need of a hard reboot.  “The fingernail lady, she said this?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?”  Obi-Wan asks with a gentle grin, leaning back to rest his shoulder blades against the bed, his muscles considerably less tense than they were even just two minutes ago.

“Because I don’t—?  People don’t—??”  You wave your hands around uselessly.  “I’m not used to… that.”

“To what?”  He prompts, still not removing his attention from your face.

“High praise?  I mean—I spent years being told that I was quite possibly the worst of the Jedi,”  you laugh awkwardly, and then you change the subject too quickly, like you’re attempting to fill the silence before it can be read into too much.  “Not to mention she looked positively delighted when I was dismissed.”

There it is again, he thinks, your eyes once more betraying your signature, tone, and countenance.  He only allows himself a beat to silently vow to himself to consciously voice his recognition of your dedication and achievements more often.  It’s just… with the right ratio of patience and prompting, he always thought you were such a brilliant student.  Obi-Wan is unable to recall the exact moment as a teacher he began to recognize any positive trait you exhibited in his presence as simply part of your hidden, untapped given character instead of a very purposeful mindset you had to actively work to embody.  Perhaps the true reason he’s so skeptical about s’Zerthia’s assertion that you care more for him than you let on is because he cannot possibly fathom why.  Not when it feels like he’s spent years by your side and is only somehow only just now seeing you.

“Ah, yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, easily glossing over his quiet moment of contemplation without arousing any suspicion, “the Queen is arguably obsessed with seeing how much torture a person can endure without actually having any physical pain inflicted upon them.  She gets bored, see.  Not many visitors to the Uncharted Regions.  She likes to play games with her guests whenever they do arrive.”

You quirk a brow at him.  “Then shouldn’t she have revelled in my suffering instead of defending me because of it?”

“I’d say she’s entirely capable of doing both, especially considering just how torturous it was for me to sit there and be reminded of all the many different ways this has been so terribly unfair to you,” he admits softly.  “She paid you the compliment as a direct commendation for enduring such mistreatment and still leaving the walls of her palace standing.”

Your expression goes blank again, and Maker, this is more difficult than he thought it’d be.  It’s a legitimate challenge to gauge your emotional state when you’ve so clearly mastered your control over your energy signature, to a degree of which Obi-Wan was almost entirely unaware before today.

“You’re sure this is the only way?”  You eventually ask.  “We either do this together or we go back empty-handed?  That’s it?  No other options?”

Obi-Wan takes exactly zero seconds to consider the implication behind his answer before confirming your assertion with a solemn nod.  “No other options.  I’m sorry, young one.”

Later, he’ll reason he refused to present the Queen’s first suggestion to you because he couldn’t agree to the terms, even if you could.  It would be of no use for you to share your bed with a s’Ziscari when he was incapable or unwilling to do the same.  Yes, that makes… logical sense, he supposes.  Right now he just has far too many things on his mind to contemplate it, and the sudden reminder of the situation he’s in causes his heart to start beating faster in his chest.

“Okay.  Well…” You look uncertain, your eyebrows furrowing slightly even as your energy continues to glow soft and undisturbed from the center of your being.  “Well, what are—what are your… concerns?  Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you?”

Because Obi-Wan has absolutely no clue how to answer that question, he just keeps quiet.  He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising that the Uncharted Regions feature so much… uncharted territory.  He truly doesn’t know how to go about this; upon explanation of the situation, he had hoped you’d supply a firm no so that the burden of choice was taken away from him.  He doesn’t want to offend you, but at the same time, the more you’re not directly protesting against the idea, the faster his heart begins to pound in terror at the realization that… breaking a sacred vow he’s honored his entire life is quickly becoming a very likely probability.

And also… why?  Why are you able to be so… calm about this?  Why are you not panicking and struggling with this decision the same way he is?  When s’Zerthia first suggested you’ve already broken your oath of celibacy, Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it, yet here you are—asking him if there’s anything you can do to make this easier for him when both of you should be having a crisis about this hypothetical.  Are virgins typically so considerate?  Is he just being over-dramatic about this?  Is this just a manifestation of the serene hue of your saber reaffirming itself?  Is this just your cool head prevailing when the one person you’ve spent years looking to for guidance is clearly on the verge of spiraling?

Why?  Why aren’t you protesting more?

“Are we actually going to do this?”  You ask after a moment, and Obi-Wan unintentionally cringes.  Good Maker above, he truly doesn’t mean to.  It has almost nothing to do with you—in fact, he can only assume you're genuinely trying your best to adapt to the unfortunate twist of events, and you’re actually managing to be somewhat successful where Obi-Wan is just hopelessly, miserably failing.  You must be just trying to maintain some sort of base foundation for his turbulent mental state, but—but then he sees another flash of emotion in your eyes at the way he flinches away from the question.

He opens his mouth to respond—to apologize, or… stars, something, but then you supply a quick reassurance instead.  “I won’t—I won’t take offense, if you need me to, you know,” you shrug, very much avoiding his gaze and your voice suddenly sounding incredibly small.  “I don’t know.  Not make any sounds?  Or hide my face?  Or… something?”

“You’re…”  Obi-Wan’s mind, previously struggling with far too many chaotic, rapid-fire thoughts, suddenly can’t seem to conjure a single one of them.  “You’re… serious?”

“It’s not a big deal—” you quickly tell him, “—either way, we don’t have to make it a big deal.  I mean, I wouldn’t want it to be… It doesn’t have to be… terrible for you, or anything.”

Maker, is that what you think?  That this isn’t a ‘big deal’?  He stares at you, the word you used resonating with him.  Terrible.  On one hand, of course it’s terrible—the whole thing is terrible, it’s something out of an ancient Jedi parable he was told as a youngling, about the sins of passion leading to the Dark Side.  On the other hand, he knows you can’t possibly mean it like that, and… you’re somehow managing to interpret this conflict all wrong.  Asking him if he needs you to hide your face?

He eventually shakes his head just slightly.  “I… No.  No, young one, I will not…” he clears his throat, “I will not… require such a thing.”

Though neither of you say anything for quite a long time after that, the loud knock on the door still feels like it’s interrupting a crucial moment.

You quickly call that it’s open, and Obi-Wan turns his head to see the door swing forward and two s’Ziscari in thin black robes, standing in the hallway.  A man and a woman.

His heart suddenly thunders against his ribcage and he scrambles to remember the hour.  It can’t be midnight yet, no, he needs more time—

The male s’Ziscari says something in his native tongue, and the woman calmly translates to Basic.  “Her Majesty the Queen formally requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

“Respectfully,” you nod at the guard while Obi-Wan struggles to regain himself, “if it pleases her Majesty, Master Kenobi and I would prefer to eat in our quarters tonight, as we are still discussing the nature of our potential involvement in the festivities.”

The woman repeats back your polite and much appreciated response to the guard, and he looks between you two, before clearing his throat and saying something that sounds remarkably similar to his first sentence.  The translator turns back to you both.  “Her Majesty formally and… firmly requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

When you don’t respond, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to speak.

“Very well,” he eventually sighs, reminding himself that you both are still guests on this planet.  “We shall be there momentarily.”

Regardless of the language barrier, the guard appears to understand the sentiment of his response through the Force, not needing a translation.  He says something and then turns to leave as the woman walks into the room, revealing a black bundle of fabric from behind her back to drape along one of the side tables.  “Zashir is currently placing your ceremonial robes in your quarters, General Kenobi.  If there will be nothing else?”

Maker, his what?  Obi-Wan’s pulse stutters.  “I’m sure that—that won’t be necessary, my lady—”

“It will be,” she nods shortly.  “If there will be nothing else.”

And then she spins around and walks out without bothering to wait for an answer.  You blink at the closed door as Obi-Wan drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose once more, so far beyond stressed concerning how tragically the events of this cursed mission are unfolding that he almost wants to laugh.

“Something tells me the s’Ziscari don’t like the Jedi too much,” you offer after a moment of silence.

“Nonsense,” he counters, lifting his head and sighing helplessly, apparently reverting to sarcasm when everything else he knows is all but ripped away from him.  “Wherever could you have gathered that?”

Obi-Wan eventually moves to struggle up to his feet—struggle, being the key word, if only to maintain some essence of behavioral uniformity throughout these past  few hours—when he suddenly feels your hand on his elbow.

He glances down at you, your soft features and gentle eyes blinking up at him in his half-standing position next to you.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” you remind him quietly.  “Either way.  Not a big deal.”

It’s strange.  He knows your primary intent is to put his mind at ease, but everything you’ve been saying just seems… too disconnected.  Good people are dying as you speak—civilians, children, innocents, you both know this, and yet… 

Perhaps… perhaps Obi-Wan is simply just too emotional right now, too chaotic.  He’s certainly not being fair to you.  He realizes he’s responding negatively no matter how you’re attempting to go about reassuring him, and though he recognizes it, it’s more difficult than it’s ever been to reign in his mental state.

He clears his throat.  “The Queen has assured us that we are free to decline her offer and walk away at any time.  Her only stipulation is that we’ll have until midnight to… i-initiate the…”

Stars.  Initiate the what?  Is this a self-destruct sequence?  It may as well be, Obi-Wan thinks, but you nod your understanding and rise to your feet nonetheless, far more gracefully than he does.

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly.  “Uh.  I guess.  Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally.  Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave.  “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars.  He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

[bibybuck]

in a car with a beautiful boy

fandom: 9-1-1

pairing: Buck/Eddie

rating: teen and up

word count: 4.3k words

summary: Buck crashed into his life, brighter than a meteorite, lighting up everything around Eddie. Life suddenly made sense. It made sense before, with Shannon and especially with Christopher, but it’s always been a little bit off-kilter, like someone forgot to remove the lens from the camera. Then Buck happened."

Chris has a birthday party to attend an hour and a half away. Buck volunteers to go with Eddie and by the time they get home, their life will have forever changed.

for @santiagosnart

inspired by and title from the quote below!

[read on ao3]

or under the cut!

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Richard Siken

Christopher has a birthday party in San Jacinto. A fellow kid with CP, one of his best friends he made over the past couple of years. And Eddie is supposed to stay in San Jacinto for the duration of the party, but he has errands to run back home. So he drops Chris off, before heading back the same way a mere ten minutes later.

He’s used to long days, exhaustion and always being on the move. But driving an hour and a half in Los Angeles traffic, after two 12-hour shifts and a 28-hour shift covering for the B team, is just the cherry on the sundae. So while he waits at the bank, he texts Buck.

Eddie

I’m so tired… would I be a bad father if I took Chris to Abuela’s so I can have a good night’s sleep?

Buck

I think that’s what a sane father would do do you still need to head back?

Eddie

yeah in a couple of hours currently at the bank so this will take like five years

After that, Buck goes radio silent. He’s probably fallen asleep and honestly? Eddie doesn’t blame him in the slightest. If he could, Eddie would be in bed, too.

(He’d prefer to be in Buck’s bed, but those are thoughts he won’t think about while queuing at the bank.)

20 minutes later, and after he’s moved up a whole of 2 places in the line, there’s a tap on his shoulder. He thinks maybe it’s an old man wanting to jump the queue and he’s not ready for an argument. But he turns and sees none other than Buck.

“What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Well I can’t have you drive for 3 hours on your own, can I?”

Eddie’s love for Buck grows immensely after that single sentence, something he didn’t know was possible.

He’s come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with Buck a while ago. At first, it terrified him. The world he knew, the world where he’s straight, turned upside down in the blink of an eye. Buck crashed into his life, brighter than a meteorite, lighting up everything around Eddie. Life suddenly made sense. It made sense before, with Shannon and especially with Christopher, but it’s always been a little bit off-kilter, like someone forgot to remove the lens from the camera.

Then Buck happened. The world straightened (ha!) and Eddie realised the reason it was tilted because there was a part of himself that he didn’t understand. One look at Buck and Eddie knew he was attracted to men as well, even though he didn’t understand how he could go all those years without realising.

It’s been Buck all along. When the world is crazy, when the people are losing their shit, Buck’s there. Like a tether that holds Eddie back from floating away.

So moments like this, when Buck acts kind and selfless, only make Eddie realise how much he loves him. And it doesn’t scare him anymore. It used to; he didn’t want to jeopardise the friendship he has with Buck or the relationship Buck and Chris have. He vowed to protect those, even if it gives him a broken heart. But he knows that sometimes, there’s a love so big, so overpowering that you have to gamble and risk everything, no matter the consequences. He knows that probably they could work things out. They managed to figure out a way past the lawsuit and all the other fights.

“Eddie, the line’s moving,” Buck leans in, whispering in Eddie’s ear. Eddie feels Buck’s hot breath on the side of his neck and hot damn. If they weren’t in a public place, Eddie would be turning to rip Buck’s clothes off, consequences be damned.

“Uh, thanks.”

After another 20 minutes, the bank is sorted. While Eddie talks to the teller, Buck goes to grab coffee for them. They meet back at the car.

“One latte with two pumps of mocha for Edmundo, and one Midnight Mint Mocha Frappuccino for Evan.”

Eddie makes an ‘ew’ face. “Please never call yourself Evan again.”

Buck blushes. “Yeah, it felt weird,” he says quietly, before extending his hand forward. Eddie looks at him confused. “The keys.”

“What, why?”

“Cause I’m driving?”

“Why?”

“Because you went to San Jacinto so technically you’ve been up for longer than I have. Plus, I’m younger.”

Eddie blinks at him and he has to restrain himself from lunging forward and kissing the sweet life out of Buck.

“Rude, but thanks.”

They get in, with Buck driving and pull out into the afternoon traffic. For a couple of minutes, apart from upbeat music Buck chooses, they sit in relative silence, but it’s a silence Eddie’s comfortable in.

“How’d you know where I was?” Eddie asks when they go up to the I-10.

Buck gives him a look as if he’s waiting for the punchline. “I-I-I know you. Besides, you’ve complained so much about other tellers because no one understands you like Elena or what her name does.”

Eddie nods. Yep, now that rings a bell. Still, the fact that Buck remembers something trivial warms his heart.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course.”

Buck looks at him. He has this faint smile playing on his lips, but when his eyes focus on Eddie, it grows a little wider. His face softens. Then he catches himself, clears his throat and turns his attention back to the traffic.

Eddie wishes Buck kept staring because then his own staring wouldn’t be that out of place. And he wants to keep staring at Buck because he is the most exquisite human being.

God, Eddie is really stupidly in love with this boy.

Their trip to San Jacinto is uneventful. They talk about work, about Chris, about what’s going on in their lives. (Well… Mostly. Eddie doesn’t tell Buck about the most burning thing ever. Not just yet, even though he’s made a promise to himself that one of these days, he’ll tell him.) They talk about Maddie and the baby and just how excited Buck is to be an uncle.

“Do you want kids?” Eddie asks without even thinking, which makes Buck’s ears and cheeks turn crimson red. “You don’t have to answer that, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, uh… Yeah, I think… I mean I don’t…” Buck says, fumbling his way through an answer. “Yeah, I do. I love kids, man. I’ve always wanted to have kids but I just… I guess I haven’t found…” Buck looks at Eddie for a second. His eyes burn their way through Eddie’s soul, but then his gaze is gone. “I guess I need to grow up a bit, first.”

“I mean I’ve seen you with Chris, and man, he loves you.” Eddie needs to shut up and like right now. “You’re great with kids and you’ll be great with your own one day.”

Buck looks at him again, his cheeks still burning. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Eddie desperately wants to tell him that when Buck’s not around for whatever reason, Chris asks after him. Sometimes he wants Buck to tell him a bedtime story, or he wants Buck to make him breakfast. But he’s not around then. Eddie wants him to be and by the looks of it, Chris does too. Eddie wants Buck to be around 24/7, he wants him in their space, making it his as well.

They go back to discussing work and the pranks Chim’s been playing on an unsuspecting Bobby. Eddie finds out that Buck’s been helping Chim, which further confirms his Golden Retrieverness.

Buck wants to wait in the car while Eddie gets Chris.

“Don’t be stupid, he’ll be over the moon to see you,” Eddie tells Buck. Buck, still behind the wheel, runs his finger on the dashboard while chewing on his lip. “What?”

“I just…” Buck throws his hand up in the air. “I just don’t want to barge in.”

“What? Why’d you think you’d be barging in?”

“Cause it’s… It’s just…” He sighs.

“Buck, come on. You’ve never hesitated like this.”

They look at each other. Buck, his hands gripping the wheel, tightening his fist around it, knuckles going white. Eddie, outside the car, leaning against the frame, poking his head through the open door. The moment hangs in the air, as if there’s something neither of them wants to talk about or maybe they don’t even know they should be talking about.

“It’s about earlier. It made me realise that… You know what, nevermind, it's stupid. Go, get your son.”

Eddie furrows his brows. He doesn’t understand Buck’s sudden hesitation. He’s always been happy to help out with Chris. He found Carla, he picks Chris up from school when Eddie can’t, even takes him for days out.

So he gets back in the car, slamming the door behind him.

“What’s this about, Buck? Chris wants you here, you know that.”

“I know, it’s just… It’s stupid.”

Eddie turns towards him as much as the tight space lets him. “Go on, spit it out.”

“Fine.” Buck moves in his seat too. “Earlier we were talking about kids and I don’t know, it’s just got to me. You and Chris, you’re a family and… I just don’t see where I fit in the picture.”

“Buck… Come on, don’t say that.” Eddie hesitantly puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Chris loves you. He misses you when you’re not there to help him with the Lego. He sometimes wanders into the garage and asks when you’ll take him skateboarding next. He wants you there. I want you there.”

“I just feel like I’m always crashing the party, like I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“You definitely haven’t.” Eddie gives Buck’s shoulder a squeeze. “We both love it when you’re around. Chris was excited to come to this party but he’ll be happier seeing you.”

Buck looks at Eddie. Seemingly, his eyes are a bit shinier than before. He weakly nods then his usual Buck smile returns. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Inside, there are children running around. Chris is one of them, laughing, playing with the other kids. CP has taken so much away from him but also given him so much. When he sees Eddie, he grins at him, then his eyes land on Buck. He squeals and starts running toward them. He dodges Eddie’s hug and runs straight to Buck. Buck picks him up, giving him a big hug. His and Eddie’s eyes meet and Eddie gives him an ‘I told you so’ look.

“Hey, bud,” Eddie says to his son when it’s his turn to pick him up. “How was the party?”

“It was good! We had cake, we went into the ball pit and we even had cotton candy!”

“Oh wow, sounds like you had a great time!” From the corner of his eyes, he sees a woman waving him over. “I’m gonna talk to Micah’s mom, okay? Stay here with Buck and tell him about that cool dino book we’ve been reading!”

Eddie makes his way over to her, dodging several kids on the way.

“Eddie! Hi!” Lisa says, with her overly enthusiastic voice that he just can’t get used to.

“Hi Lisa, thank you for inviting Chris to the party. He’s had a wonderful time.”

“Oh, of course! Micah keeps talking about him all the time. We should do that sleepover one time like we’ve talked about.”

“Definitely! I think it’d be good for both kids.”

She nods, her eyes wandering over to Chris and Buck. “Oh, who’s he? I haven’t seen him before!”

“It’s Buck, we work together.”

“Do you know if he’s got a special lady friend?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he feels his cheeks heating up. Lisa’s not wasting any seconds. “Uh…”

Lisa blinks at him and then it’s her time to blush. “Oh, sorry, is he your boyfriend? I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, not boyfriend,” Eddie says quickly. Too quickly.

“Really? I mean I was getting… You know what nevermind.” She gives him an apologetic smile.

Eddie really shouldn’t push it. But he does. “You were getting…?”

“I got a vibe from you just now. I have been flirting with you, you know. So have other single moms. I mean… Look at you. But nothing. We thought it was because of your divorce from Shannon, but then you waltzed in here with him…”

“Oh,” is all Eddie can say. This is a very uncomfortable conversation and he’d like to leave.

“I’m just talking silly things, gosh. Look at me, I’m making a fool of myself.”

“No, that’s… I mean you weren’t 100% wrong. There is a vibe.”

“Hmm.” She narrows her eyes. “Well, alright. Glad Chris enjoyed the party! Do let me know about that sleepover.”

“Will do, thanks, Lisa.”

He slowly makes his way back to Buck and Chris. Eddie’s head is full of chaos. He really didn’t realise he was being flirted at. He wasn’t exactly paying attention — he didn’t need to. His mind has been occupied with Buck. And if his pining is so obvious to a stranger who barely saw Eddie and Buck together, how obvious can it be to Chim? To Hen? To Bobby, who seems to know about everything, but never says anything?

How obvious is Eddie’s pining to Buck?

It makes Eddie dizzy. It’s not that he wants to hide it. He doesn’t want to bury it. But Chris has lost so much: his grandparents, his home where he grew up. Then Eddie’s and Shannon’s divorce happened. He can’t even think about giving Chris more heartache. Eddie wasn’t there at first. He doesn’t want Chris to lose Buck.

“You okay?” Buck asks quietly when Eddie sits in a chair next to Chris.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He gives a faint smile to Buck. “Ready to go, bud?”

“I’m tired,” Chris whines.

“I know. Come on, I’ll carry you.” Eddie stands then leans down to pick Chris up, but Chris is not budging. “If you want your bed, you need to move.”

“I want Buck.”

Eddie and Buck share a look. Eddie silently asks him if it’s okay, but Buck is already picking Chris up. Eddie follows them, carrying Chris’s crutches.

If he could pinpoint a moment, where he knew he was so fucking desperately in love with Buck, Eddie would say that this is it. Buck, carrying Chris to the car, holding him like he is the most precious thing ever. Chris has his head on Buck’s shoulder and he’s smiling dreamily because this is just the best conclusion to the perfect day ever. And Eddie is losing his mind because this is the life he wants to have.

So he decides, he’ll tell Buck later tonight. Consequences be damned.

As soon as Buck puts Chris down in the car, Chris is out for the count. Buck puts his seatbelt on and presses a quick kiss on his forehead.

“He really is tired, then,” Buck says. There’s faint redness in his cheeks and Eddie wonders if it’s because Buck is overthinking the fact he’s crossed a line. He hasn’t. “Not even the crazy amount of sugar can keep him awake.”

“No.” Eddie stifles a yawn. “When we’re home, can I get some food into you? That’s the least I can do for coming on this trip.”

“Can we get takeout, though? No offence, but you look like you’re ready to drop dead from exhaustion.”

Eddie nods. Buck really is the most caring person ever. He’s been so good to Chris, yeah, but to Eddie as well. “Sure, let’s go.”

Buck is driving again. Eddie didn’t even have to ask, Buck was already going to sit behind the wheel. He pulls out the parking spot, before heading back towards Los Angeles.

They barely talk for the majority of the road trip. Sometimes they point out idiot drivers or talk about work or life, but there are no big discussions. Sometimes, Buck will drum on the wheel with his fingers, as if he’s trying to say something. But he doesn’t. And Eddie’s deep in thought, writing the perfect speech in his head.

He knows that it probably doesn’t exist. The best he can do is to tell the truth and speak from his heart. He hates how cliche it sounds, but they both deserve some transparency. He’s determined to make this work, no matter what the outcome will be.

“You okay?” Buck asks quietly when they’re only minutes away from home.

“Hm? Yeah, of course. Just tired.”

“Yeah. I think I’ll sleep for the next three days.”

“Mm, sounds like a plan.”

Buck drums on the wheel again. Then a minute later he says, “Sure you okay? Other than the exhaustion.”

Eddie knows that this is it. Buck is probably giving him an opening, but giving his non-existent big speech in the car just feels weird.

“Yeah, why?”

Buck shrugs. “You’re just quiet.”

“Well, you’re not exactly a chatterbox either.”

They look at each other for a second, then Buck laughs quietly. “Right, you’re right. I don’t know, I guess I’m still thinking about that conversation we had earlier.” Buck looks into the rearview mirror, right at Chris who’s still dead asleep in the backseat. “Chris is really lucky to have you. You’re raising a good kid.”

“Well, it’s not all me.”

Buck nods. “Yeah, no, of course, Shannon’s done a good job as well.”

Eddie looks at him and feels that this is it. “I meant you.” Buck turns to look at him in confusion. “Buck, you’ve helped out more times than I can count. You’re there for me and for Chris and we’re just… We’re just so grateful.”

Eddie will forever remember the moments that follow. Silence falls on the car, but it’s a different kind. It’s not one that you’re desperate to fill in with noise, but one that’s serene. There are no words needed and why would they be needed anyway? Eddie knows Buck and Buck knows Eddie, but it goes beyond that. It’s a deep connection, formed by camaraderie, saving each other many times. Formed by friendship, by trust. Formed by love. There’s a quiet understanding between them. Eddie doesn’t know what it is or how it comes to be. It’s just the way they’re looking at each other, the way the moment holds, the atmosphere in the car. But it’s there and it’s so palpable. Everything just suddenly makes sense, even more so than before. The world has not only returned to its normal axis, but it’s now locked in.

Eddie is looking at Buck. He’s never looked away and he doesn’t want to. He feels like this is the first time he sees him: strong jaw, scars that haven’t healed properly, stubble he wants to touch. As if the mist has vanished and Buck is clearly visible now. Raw and beautiful and Eddie’s heart aches.

Buck’s looking right back at him. Buck’s eyes drop for a second, then he slowly extends his hand forwards, hesitantly putting it on Eddie’s which is just resting on his thigh. The callouses on Buck’s hand help to ground Eddie.

Buck smiles shyly and whispers, as if he doesn’t want to break that precious silence, “I love you.”

Eddie’s not jumping up and down. He’s overjoyed to be hearing those words, yeah, but after that moment they just had, he knew that this is happening. He doesn’t know why he knew, but it just made sense as if finally the last puzzle piece made it into its rightful place.

“I love you too.”

There’s faint redness in Buck’s cheeks again. “No, I meant…”

“I did too,” Eddie reassures him, then he’s determined to say those few words first. “I’m in love with you. Evan Buckley. I’ve been in love with you for a very long time.”

He feels so free now, so liberated to be able to say that.

“Oh, Eddie…” Buck’s hand gives Eddie’s a small squeeze. “I love you so fucking much. God, I want to scream it.”

Eddie chuckles. “Maybe don’t, you really don’t want to deal with a grumpy Chris.”

Buck looks at him again, then at Chris, then back at Eddie. “I do. That’s all I want to do forever.”

Buck has to look back at the road if they want to survive this journey, but Eddie wants to keep Buck’s gaze just a little bit longer.

Eddie looks out the window. This isn’t their neighbour, but Buck’s. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home? I figured you can survive a five-minute drive home.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I can survive five minutes without you. Not now that I can say ‘I love you’ to you.”

“Oh, fuck, Eddie…” Buck reaches over and laces their fingers together. “You’re killing me.”

“Not my goal, but go on, drive us home. My place, this time.”

Ten minutes later (thanks LA traffic), Buck pulls into Eddie’s driveway, just as Chris is waking up.

“Hey, bud, we’re home,” Eddie says, turning around to his son.

“Is Buck staying over?” Chris asks while rubbing his eyes.

“Uh,” Buck says, but Eddie quickly jumps in.

“We’re gonna get some food, you hungry?” To this, Chris just shakes his head. “Alright, shower, teeth, and bed.”

“But daaaad, I’m too tired!”

This time, Eddie will let it slide. “Alright, brush your teeth and bed.”

They all get out, making their way towards the house. Inside, Buck and Eddie go to the kitchen, Chris goes to the bathroom.

“I’m surprised he isn’t jumping on his bed after all that sugar,” Buck says.

“So am I. I guess he had loads of fun in the ball pit.”

Eddie goes to grab two beers. He hands one to Buck. He also doesn’t know why he’s feeling so awkward suddenly. They got over the most difficult part and it was fine. More than fine.

Eddie is about to open his mouth, when Chris yells, “Buck!”

Both Eddie and Buck run to the bathroom. Chris is not there and panic hits Eddie in the chest. But then they look across the hall and see Chris sitting on his bed, already wearing pyjamas.

“Chris, you scared us,” Buck says, dramatically putting his hand over his heart. “I don’t know if I’ll survive this.”

This sends Chris giggling. Eddie walks over to his son and presses a kiss on the top of his head. “You okay, buddy?”

“Dad, can Buck read my bedtime story?”

Eddie looks at Buck. Buck nods and goes to Chris’s bookcase. “What do you want to read?”

Eddie decides to leave Chris and Buck to their own devices. He feels like this is a time just for the two of them. “I’ll order us some food,” he says to Buck quietly.

Before he leaves, he watches Buck climb next to Chris, the book already open in his hand. Buck gives him one last look before he starts reading.

Eddie goes back to the kitchen, quickly ordering some burgers. He orders Chris some as well, knowing full well that he will wake up in about two hours saying that he’s hungry. He always does.

Once it’s done, he leans against the counters, sipping on his beer. Would it be this easy? To have this life? To have Chris and Buck? Because this is what Eddie wants. Today, tomorrow, forever.

What he and Shannon had was good — then it wasn’t. But they had Chris, and he wouldn’t change the past for anything. He doesn’t know what this is. He doesn’t know if it’ll last with Buck. He hopes that it will. He’s learnt from his past mistakes and he’ll put everything into making it work. He wants to keep this going, whatever this may be.

And he knows that if (when) they tell Christopher, that little boy will be over the moon. Chris loves his dad, but he loves Buck just as much. And lucky for Eddie and Chris, Buck loves them.

“He’s out,” Buck says quietly, as he walks into the kitchen. “Took me shorter than expected.”

Eddie doesn’t know where it comes from, but he has an urge to say something. “I know we haven’t had a discussion about us, but… I know how much you love Chris and we love you too. You’re a part of the family and I think you have been for a long time but it took me a minute to catch up. I know this is too soon and I’m not expecting an answer now. We don’t even know if we’ll work out, but if we do, I want you to know that you have the option of becoming Chris’s dad. Officially. ‘Cause, you do act like it and he looks at you as if you were his dad, too. I just want you to know that it’s there for the future.”

Buck freezes for a moment as he processes it, then he lunges forward, kissing Eddie. His hands cup Eddie’s jaw as Eddie puts his fingers in Buck’s hair.

The kiss… It’s passion. It’s anger. It’s lust. It’s desire. It’s need, want, belonging, hope, home. It’s past, present, future. It’s everything. It’s love.

[sasa-gay-yo]

Just Us   (Chapter 1: His Eyes)

Sometime before The Fall of Wall Maria

The hum of customers seemed louder that day. Normally four or five regulars were sitting in the corner, drinking coffee and sharing baguettes, but today, it seemed most of the tables were filled. Newspapers were being passed back and forth between people and if I cared much about the news, I might have taken myself away from kneading bread to glance at the pages. Just by hearing the customers, I filled myself in on the town gossip without having to be confronted by the old ladies trying to make me marry their sons. 

“I can’t get married right now, Miss. Schmidt. There’s too much to do with the shop that I have no time to give my attention to anyone else.” Those excuses and a smile seemed to hold them off for a few days. 

“Eva! Can we get a refill of coffee here?” I looked up to the three Garrison soldiers who were hiding away from their morning watch duties. At least they weren’t drinking whiskey. Nodding, I put the dough in the oven to prove and wiped my hands. Now, I would have to talk to some people. If it made them want to come to the café more, I guess I would sacrifice a little of my sanity. 

“Here you go,” I held up my hand as they tried to slide a few more coins my way, “You already have had three, this one is on the house.” The Captain looked up and smiled at me before putting them back in his pocket. The, too, had a newspaper laid out in the center of the table. 

“Have you heard about the Survey Corps recently, Eva?” I shook my head and he held up the paper. 

“Apparently they’ve gained some recruits worth our tax dollars! They didn’t lose half of their people on the last expedition. It’s front-page news for some reason.” One of the subordinates pointed at the portrait on the front page of what I assumed to be the new commander of the Scouts. Last week's news was the retirement of Keith Shadis and the promotion of various Corps peoples. Perhaps with the promotion also came the recent success. 

“I think anyone who goes out to fight titans on our behalf is worth my tax dollars. If I recall, soldiers only pay a fraction of our taxes. In fact, I’m paying for you to sit here in my café and drink away my coffee supply. It’s hard on me to travel to the capital markets every month.” I raised an eyebrow at them and it seems the pleasant conversation they wanted to have had ended, especially with the other customers listening in. They made it a point to stand up, leave the coins on the table, and walk out of the café. 

“Finally doing their job.” I picked up the untouched pitcher of coffee and wiped down the table. They didn’t even have the decency to put their cups in the dish bin. I rolled my eyes and cleaned up after them, going back to kneading more bread dough and warming up their coffee for the next customer. 

Maybe the success of the Scouts will make the Garrison and MPs care about the people inside the walls. You can only be self-serving for a little bit before it comes to bite you in the ass.

“Delivery!” Again, I’m distracted from my bread making. This is why I should have prepped last night. I wiped off my hands, noticing how dry they’d become, and turned to get what I assumed to be my portion of flour. 

“Hi Jonas, just put it on the table here.” 

“Eva, did you hear the news?” I poured him a cup of juice and handed it to him, nodding. 

“The Survey Corps?” He nodded hard and drank it all in one big gulp. 

“You should’ve seen it when the scouts came through the city a few days ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people cheer for them, but this time they did. Did you watch them come by?” I took his cup and put it in the sink before turning back to him. 

“No, I was stuck in here. I did see the tops of some of their heads though, but the crowd around the window was pretty thick.” I decided to lean against the front counter and take a break from baking to talk to Jonas, one of the only people my age who seemed to come around here and stay. If you were young in Trost, you were always working. They would come in and right out of the café, never staying to talk or look out the windows. I only know a few of their names, but all of their drink orders by heart. The only ones who seemed to talk a bit when they came in were, in fact, Scouts who got a few days off. No conversation ever really amounted to anything and I didn’t take time to memorize their orders as they would always stop coming a few weeks after they first arrived. 

“How is Reeve’s doing on orders? I heard that there might be a shortage of meat soon.” He shrugged at me and I signed his papers. 

“I don’t have a clue about that. I just go where they tell me to. I mean, I haven’t been delivering a lot of meat lately. You don’t need it though, do you?” 

“No, I just need flour, coffee, and sometimes tea. I go to the capital for the last two. If anything, I’d just stop being a bakery.” Jonas pouted and pointed to the croissants in the glass case. 

“I’d fight to get those if there was a shortage. You have the best bread in Trost!” I smiled and waved my hand. 

“No, I don’t, Jonas. I kn-” 

“Tea, please.” Jonas jumped and turned around to see the man behind him. His grey eyes bore holes into Jonas who was in his way. I’d seen him before, but it was his first time into the café. 

“C-Captain Levi!” Jonas even bowed to him, slightly shaking. I tilted my head, looking at the man, no taller than me. Why was this shorty making Jonas shake in his shoes? And Captain? He didn’t seem like the type to be in the Garrison. 

When I was done looking at his form, I looked back up to his eyes which seemed annoyed that he was having to wait for his tea. They were a pretty grey but were almost overshadowed by the dark circles under his eyes. I’d seen those type of eyes...tired from death, not from lack of sleep. He was definitely a Scout.

I stood up and wiped my hands again, slightly wincing at their dryness. 

“What type of tea, Cap’n?” He didn’t seem to be amused at my abbreviation of his title and I lost my customer-friendly smile. Guess I didn’t have to play pretend around his negative attitude. 

“Black.” I raised an eyebrow and looked at his form again. Tired, strained, busted, sad even… He needed something less… anxiety-inducing than straight black tea. He needed something soothing. 

“May I make a suggestion?” He looked up again having already put the money for plain black tea on the counter. I didn’t fail to notice how when he looked up, so did everyone else in the café. Was he radiating some form of intimidating energy to everyone in this place? He didn’t look scary, just tired and stressed. I guess the darkness of his features didn’t help his cause. 

“What?” Every answer was short and low. He did have an impressive voice for being short, but it also sounded like he had a scratchy throat. A mental note to add honey. 

“Mint?” He looked at me for a few seconds, probably deciding whether or not I could ruin his tea routine, “No extra cost. You just seem like you don’t need any more caffeine at the moment. Perhaps a few more hours of sleep.” The last sentence was mumbled, but I’m sure he had to hear it. Hopefully, he heard it and took me up on it. 

“Sure.” He waved his hand and walked over to the corner table where the Garrison was sitting, staring out the window. It seemed that he was far away enough for everyone to start gossiping about him. I stared at him for a few more seconds before taking out one of the few teacups I owned. No one wants to drink tea anymore… such old taste. 

“E-Eva? How did you talk to him like that?!” I glanced over at Jonas who was crouched over the counter and whispering to me. 

“What do you mean? Why is everyone so afraid of him? He’s no taller than me, Jonas.” 

“He’s Captain Levi! Humanity’s strongest soldier. It’s said that he’s killed over 100 titans by himself! And, and, and he just joined the Corps this past year. He used to be a…” He leaned in even more and put a hand in front of his mouth like that was going to help block out this secret, “a famous gangster in the underground.” I looked back at him again and met his eyes. He quickly looked away, but I did notice he was still staring at me from his peripheral. It was the way he was sitting that made it possible to spy on me unsuspectingly. 

“He does look a bit mean, but I don’t see danger...I think he just intimidates you and you don’t like it because he’s shorter than you.” Jonas was exasperated at my comment and looked back and forth between the Captain and me. 

“But he’s from the underground! You know how dangerous those people are! Kenny the Ripper and The Sniper… he’s one of them!” I rolled my eyes again and watched the tea as it brewed. 

“You forget I was born in the underground too, Jonas.” It was a low whisper to keep gossip down to a minimum and he shook his head fast, tapping on the counter. 

“But you’re different, Eva. You didn’t live there for very long either and you were adopted by Mister Flynn. I know he’s murdered like so many people.” I held the honey jar up, debating how much I should put in. He didn’t seem like the type of person who would like something overly sweet, but his throat sounded like it needed a bit more honey. 

“So, if I wasn’t adopted and you met me on the streets, would you be treating me like you’re treating him?” He groaned again and tried to grab my hand to get me to understand his point better. I moved my arm so he fell a bit farther on the counter. 

“I’m happy that someone who knows how to kill is now killing titans. You read the newspapers. What if he’s the reason the Scouts are doing better now?” I put the teacup on the tray along with a small bowl of honey. I couldn’t decide. 

Everyone in the café watched as I walked over to his table and put the tea down. 

“Peppermint tea. I don’t know how you like your tea so there’s some honey. You should put it in.” I pointed to the tiny bowl and he looked down at it too, grunting. I guess that was his way of saying thank you. 

Something made it so I didn’t move from standing in front of him. Maybe I was just curious why everyone was afraid to meet his eye or why they thought he was so intimidating. I mean, Jonas was shitting his pants talking about him and here I stood, not feeling anything like that. I was grateful, if anything, for his service in the Corps and just how many titans he’s rumored to have killed.

“Do you have a question?” It was harsh and it woke me out of the trance while looking at him. I had to recover quickly, or it’d be a bit embarrassing to just admit I was staring at him. He really… wasn’t so bad looking either. Just short. 

“I’m waiting for you to put the honey in your tea.” A good recovery with a hard tone behind it. Hopefully, he didn’t see through it. He groaned again, taking one spoonful and making a grand gesture about putting it into the tea and stirring. I smiled when he followed my fake orders, but it was funny. The titan serial killing maniac gangster had done something that I told him. I nodded once before walking away from his table, noticing, again, everyone's eyes. It was easier to face his grey ones than it was to look at all of theirs. Annoying. 

“Jonas, get off my counter! You’re making it dirty!” 

Orders and people kept flowing in as the hour passed by, but as it reached lunchtime, everything slowed down. No one would want pastries until later in the day for an after-work snack and coffee and tea had lost their use as everyone was now knees deep in work. The only people left in my café were three older women gossiping, two men playing chess, and the Captain himself. 

He was still in the same position, staring out the window, and he slowly sipped his tea as if he was savoring it. I noted that as a victory for my tea-making skills and also noticed that he had used up all the honey I had given him. Interesting. He did like his tea sweet. Maybe he is scary and I’m just not good at judging someone’s character.  

All there was left to do was keep the bread and pastries rotating in and out of the oven and tend to the customers who came every fifteen minutes or so. When I was on downtime, I would debate on whether to go talk to him again or just let him be. Maybe me talking to him would make him more tired and a waste of the peppermint tea I gave him. Just a bag of that tea costs a fortune in the capital, but I was now glad for my decision to buy it. 

Maybe he's sitting there, try to get me to notice him and go talk to him. I can feel it when he looks at me while my back is turned. Is that a call to come over? Has my wit and good looks made him interested in me? Or, my last hypothesis, he can’t read me like I can’t read him. He is a Scout, so maybe he’s surveying me as they do. I was definitely trying to study him behind the pastry glass.

Around one, almost four hours after he stepped foot into my café, he stood up and walked the teacup and plate to the counter next to me. The dish tray wasn’t empty, so he either hadn’t seen it, or my second hypothesis was right and he had finally gotten annoyed that I didn’t approach him. 

“I don’t know where this goes.” His voice was still as stiff as ever, but perhaps it sounded a bit less scratchy. Up close again, I got to study his features. He was handsome, but not your average Trost brown-hair-brown-eyes boy. His eyes told stories the longer you looked at them. Stories of titans and death and the underground. I wish I could stare at them for longer, but he lowered his head again, pushing the cup forward. I got to see his side profile from the other side and it was the same. He was perfect and symmetrical. Sharp jaw and nose hide under strands of raven hair. Everything about him was so… not dark, but I guess the right word would be intimidating or... hard. He just seemed to be hard. Nothing would break his shell, not even small talk, but damn, did I want to try. 

“I can take that for you, Captain.” He nodded and stood there as I put the dish in the sink. He was studying me like I had when I delivered the tea. I decided to use this against him. 

“Did you have a question?” He opened his mouth to say something, probably a quick remark, but it didn’t come out. I turned, smiling, looking at his stance. He still had a blank expression, hiding any emotion, but I knew deep down that my question affected him. 

“How much is that?” He pointed to the baguette in the glass display which conveniently already had the price marked. Humanity’s strongest wasn’t very perceptive if he missed two things. First, the dish tray, now the price tag. Jonas couldn’t have been right about him… it was just a mirage for people inside the walls. For someone to kill that many titans, they had to be some sort of killing machine. They needed him to fit the narrative and his past and facial expression helped him to mold into it seamlessly. The narrative I broke out of as a child. 

“For Humanity’s Strongest? Free. Thank you for fighting the titans, Captain.” Without a word, I put the bread in a paper wrap and handed it to him. I had hoped he would say something back so I could talk to him more, but like every Scout, he just turned to walk out of the doors and probably back to the outside of Trost. 

“How long till you don’t come back, Captain?” 

                                                                                                      Chapter Two →

Chapter Masterlist

[thebadchoicemachine]

Yall want some MYCT Magnus Archive Headcanons I may or may not draw? (Pt 1?)

I will try to include individual trigger warnings at the beginning of each explanation as much as I can think of. They may seem a little overboard but better safe than sorry. Remember, TMA is a horror podcast. 

(ALSO, EVERYTHING HERE IS /RP. EVEN WHEN I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT A ROLEPLAY VIDEO PLEASE KNOW I’M MAKING UP A CHARACTER BASED OFF THEIR CHANNEL AND AM NOT ACTUALLY ACCUSING THEM OF BEING A SERVANT TO A MALEVOLENT FEAR ENTITY.)

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Philza 

1. An End Avatar (TW, Numb/Apathetic Mindset)

He’s a reaper. An immortal. You only live once but life’s become, not meaningless, more like desaturated. He doesn’t care in a cheery “oh well” way. He’s pretty chill about it. He’s extremely chill about it. He is disturbingly chill about it. At first it seems great, he’s just a nice chill guy! No evil schemes or vicious plots. Just spending time with him seems to calm your nerves. And then you spend more time and you begin to understand why, things aren’t as important as you make them seem. You catastrophize a lot. Then a catastrophe happens and you’re not... upset. Why... why would you be? It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. It won’t in a hundred years and it doesn’t now. would end the same anyways. And then he starts to be less and less relatable. Why is he so happy? Why does he bother to go meet people and smile and eat or laugh or frown. You can’t belive you ever complained that he was so mild about everything, any amount is more than is worth. Why bother? Why... bother...

2. A Vast Avatar (TW, Heights?)

He just fucking tosses people into the sky instead of being upset with them. Do anything he doesn’t like? SWOOSH. It’s to the point it’s not even a malicious thing, it’s just routine. He gets up, goes to the store, picks up some groceries, sends a person who cut in line to a void of dusk with swirling black clouds where you fall so long you can’t tell if you’re flying up or down or left or right, maybe gets some mints, goes home, puts groceries away, does the dishes, etc. 

(the rest of the cast below the cut)

Tubbo

1. A Corruption Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Lungs, Swarming Insects, Implied Murder.) 

He has bees in his lungs and he loves them very much. If he ever gets something stuck in his throat or has water go down the wrong pipe he will FEAK OUT. He often has to cough up honey (and sometimes bees). It’s... a process. He just sits over a bucket or jar and hacks his little heart out. He sometimes saves the honey and offers it to people. Amazingly, his friends never take him up on the offer. Unsuspecting people who don’t know the.. supernatural origin of the honey find they have some... unpleasant side effects. (Bees. The side effect is bees. Specifically ones trying to fly down their throat.) Oh well, being a part of a hive isn’t for everyone. The really unfortunate ones make good fertilizer for his flowers, though! His lungs are literally a hive. If you tried to listen to his heartbeat you’d hear buzzing. He will sometimes hold flowers over his open mouth to let the bees get some easy pollon. He doesn’t usually actively seek out “prey” but when he is trying to feed on that good old fear he’ll act super sweet, too sweet, and then open his mouth and let the bees fly out. It’s very creepy but to him it’s just funny. (Also, all of the bees have names and he has a funeral for every single one that get’s killed.)

Quackity

1. A Spiral Avatar

I- I mean have you seen a single one of his videos?

2. A Stranger Avatar (TW, Unreality Depersonalization )

He mocks people as their own reflection, hopping from pond to mirror to camera to scream at them (sometimes literally) that they do not know who they are. It starts off subtle (Wasn’t your hair a bit longer? Weren’t your eyes a shade lighter? Did you always have that birthmark?”) but grows and changes until it gets to the point you stand in front of a mirror and every time you blink you look completely different. You feel your face, you look at your hands, but it’s no help. They change too fast. Your pictures change too, every single post on all your social media looks like different people posted it- wait... did you always have this platform? You don’t remember ever using it before. You have so many posts... none of them match up. You throw your phone away, noticing you never had the case on it. You turn to real photos for help but they are none. Of course not. You feel like just giving up as you shuffle through photo after photo, you don’t know what you really look like, so what? But then something catches your eye. A photo of you in the 5th grade concert. You don’t remember going to that school. You’ve never played an instrument, have you? Something screams yes and no at the same time. You throw the box down and grab your phone. You need to call someone. You pace throughout a house you recognize less and less searching for clues, reminders, as the phone rings. Your best friend answers. You throw the phone down again. You don’t have a best friend. You’ve never really been one for friends. No, that’s not true, you had a few really good ones but you’ve grown apart. No, that’s not true, you only have one real friend, your boyfriend. No, you don’t have a boyfriend, just a close friend. No, you have many friends just none that are close enough for this bullshit. You stop. No. No you don’t like swearing, do you? Do you? Who are you? Who are you? Your reflection laughs. It’s eating popcorn and making you do a stupid dance. What a bitch.

3. A Flesh Avatar (TW, Body Horror Surrounding Faces and Skin)

You’re a piece of meat, he’s a piece of meat, everyone’s meat. Like Chicken Nuggets.He’ll steal your face right off it’s skull and dance with one in each hand. He’ll put words in your mouth like you’re a puppet with bones. He’ll make you say the dumbest shit because it’s funny. Even when it’s obviously not YOU talking. 

Technoblade 

1.  A Hunt Avatar (TW, Stalking/Genocide) 

Many people have suggested a slaughter avatar but I don’t see it. Yeah, he kills (blood for the blood god and all that) but I don’t see it. The Slaughter is about the moment. The unplanned snap. The sudden outbursts. I don’t see that in techno. You know what I DO see that also involves quite a bit of bloodlust? The chase. The planning, the target, the unstoppable dread and panic that overtakes his victims once they realize who is after them. The power. Calculated genocide of victim after victim. The HUNT. My two pain points of evidence: His potato war videos, that time he took over the world, and his stalking speech to Quackity. Go watch an animatic of Technoblade chasing down Quackity and tell me he is not a Hunt Avatar. 

Wilbur

1. A Desolation Avatar (TW, Abuse/Torture)

Everything he touches burns and hurts. Sometimes it’s on purpose, sometimes on accident, but either way he’s caught up in enjoying the drama. I’m gonna be honest, my main inspiration was the Villainbur aesthetic but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. Look at nearly any of his 100 player videos; designed to create maximum pain for hs enjoyment. Even the Dream SMP where he was mostly a good guy and more tragic than anything else fits. Maybe that Villain Arc was his first dabble as an avatar of destruction and pain. Even making his own father kill him could have been along the lines of “how can I milk as much despair out of this as possible.”

TommyInnit

1. A Slaughter Avatar (TW, Straight Up Murder)

Now HERE is a character right up that slaughter’s alley. No thoughts, not plans, just unbridled passion and rage and violence. He just stabs people whenever he feels like it (which is often) sometimes just with sticks. Like a rabid raccoon just jumps straight at people’s faces out of nowhere, always starting shit and stoking fires to make people angry at each other. 

2. A Buried Avatar (TW, small tight spaces)

Tunnels and caves and sticks and spots. He’ll burry you under a mountain, he’ll lock you in a tree. Dirt man. His usual MO is trapping people under an avalanche of stones and rocks and rubble. Basically just lava casting your bones. Everything he makes is ugly but not just in a ”that’s literally a pile of rocks in the middle of the road” way in a bit of an indescribable “looking at that makes me feel like I’m breathing in straight gravel.” 

Bonus: Ranboo as a Dark Avatar/Victim. He is not a willing avatar like Jude or Helen, he’s more along the lines of Oliver and Jon.

[606writings]

HC: Sleepy time [V, Saeran & Vanderwood]

NOTE: This is the 3rd part of a request, here’s Part 1 (with Zen, Yoosung and Jaehee) and Part 2 (with Jumin and Seven).

V

When V gets sleepy is the cutest thing ever.

His mint colored eyes half lidded.

His husky and low voice talking to you to keep himself up.

He constantly runs his hands through his hair to give it a little pull and wake up.

He’d look like a total mess but at the same time he’d be the most handsome and cute person alive.

And why is he trying to keep himself awake, you ask?

Because he refuses at all costs to sleep before you.

“Babe, go to sleep now, you’re so tired.” You say worried but hiding a smile.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll wait for you, take your time.” He replies trying to hold back his yawns.

V would say he wants to wait for you because it would be rude from him to leave you alone while he’s asleep.

But he’s actually doing it for himself, he wants to fall asleep with you into his arms.

For V, sleeping together is the most intimate and innocent way of showing how much you care and love each other.

When you finally get to bed with him, he gently pulls you into a warm embrace and places your head on his chest.

“You just wanted me to cuddle you, huh?” You say jokingly.

He blushes lightly and responds:

“I just want to share this small moment with you every night before falling asleep… Does it bother you, honey?”

The look on his face shows how worried he is about you feeling uncomfortable.

“Of course not! I love it, I’m just worried about you not sleeping enough.”

V smiles and caresses your cheeks with gentleness and so much love.

“I actually sleep so much better with you by my side. No hours of sleep would be enough, if you’re not by my side…”

“You’re so corny, babe.” You answer hiding you blushing face in his chest.

“I’m just being honest, sweetheart…” He says before closing his eyes to sleep deeply with his favorite person in his arms.

Saeran

This boy just like his brother would get sleepy after long hours of work.

But unlike him, Saeran would still care about taking breaks and spend some time with you in between.

He decides to take a break when he starts to feel sleepy from spending too much time in front of a screen.

Saeran actually loves taking naps with you so he doesn’t give it a second thought the moment he starts to yawn.

Napping with you was his phantasy ever since the Mint Eye days.

He stands up from his desk and approaches you shyly.

“A-Are you busy, MC?”

“Why, babe? You want to nap?” You ask, already knowing his response.

Saeran nods slowly extending his hand to grab yours and take you with him.

Instead of guiding you towards the bed he actually walks outside with you following behind him.

“Uhhh, Saeran, why are we going outside?”

“We should take a nap outdoors, so we can watch the clouds while we relax!”

His smile looks so innocent and pure, it could melt your heart instantly.

When you find a spot under a tree, he places his arm under your head to serve as a pillow, and holds you close to him.

Looking at his relaxed features, you ask him:

“Are you happy right now, babe?”

Without even opening his eyes, he gives you an honest smile.

“I’m the happiest man alive.” He says. “Just being by your side makes me happy, and now being outside under the blue sky, resting together…”

“You’re happy with the simplest things, you know?” You laugh.

“That’s because the simple things make me feel free, and sharing them with you is the only thing I wish for…” His arm pulls you closer to him as you both finally get ready to sleep.

Vanderwood

Vanderwood will NEVER admit it, but he likes to sleep with you clinging to him.

This began when you spent an entire day at the brother’s house once, and it got late without you noticing it.

So, Seven told you to sleep there and the next morning they would take you home.

There was no way you would sleep with the brothers or at the couch, so Vanderwood said you could sleep with him.

He was your boyfriend after all, so everything would be fine, right?

Didn’t take him long to become a blushing mess when he noticed you would be a few inches away from him.

When you were trying to sleep, you started feeling a bit cold and got closer to him.

Vanderwood was startled at first, but then said:

“If you’re so desperate, you can sleep in my arms.”

That was a total excuse, he only wanted to hug you without feeling ashamed.

The next morning you woke up and Vanderwood was still asleep, he wouldn’t wake up even after shaking him with all your might.

Apparently, he slept like a baby just by having you with him.

Since that day he would look for any pretext for you to be into his arms.

His tsundere personality wouldn’t let him admit it though.

Till one day you accepted sleeping with him again, but you had to wake up early to do something outside for a few hours.

When you finally came back home, turns out Vanderwood woke up the second you left the house and couldn’t sleep again.

That’s when you noticed he actually rested better every time you where there for him.

And since you enjoyed it too, you started sleeping with him without saying anything else.

You’d just snuggle with him, and he would say:

“Ugh, you’re so clingy, but ok…”

When you joked about getting away from him, he’d blush and hold you tighter so you wouldn’t escape from him.

“Don’t move… I love it when your clingy…” He murmured hiding his face in your hair, ready to sleep.

[thewatermelloncat]

Backstage (Rosénali CH 1)

Summary: Denali is a new student at a Boarding School for the Performing Arts. She can’t make it 10 minutes into her first class before a girl with pink hair catches her eye. Being told to stay away from her just makes her want her more.

Boarding School AU

Kinda Pastel/Punk AU

Author’s Note: Be on the look out for links to extra stories within the chapters.

Warnings: Underage smoking

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“What’s on your mind gorge?” Mik asks breaking the silence of the dorm room.

“Uh, nothing” Denali lies.

“Bullshit” Mik sits up on her bed. “You finished your homework ages ago and you’re still sitting at the desk.”

Denali sighs and closes her book in front of her. “What do you know about Rosé?”

“Ooh, got a crush, do we?”

“No!” Denali is quick to answer, and Mik raises an eyebrow. “Well maybe – but Liv said to stay away from her.”

She thinks back to her first class when a girl with pink hair had waltzed in seeming not to care that she was late. Denali had watched her as she sat down at the back of the room, ignoring the teacher’s disappointed stare. Their eyes had connected when Denali hadn’t looked away quick enough and since then she couldn’t stop thinking about the girl she’d asked Olivia the name of.

It didn’t matter that Liv had told her that Rosé was “bad news” and that no one really hangs out with her, the mystery only made Denali want to get to know her more.

“Ugh” Mik makes a sound of dismissal. “Liv’s just being perfect and dramatic. She’s not bad – kind of cool actually. When she wants to talk to you that is.”

“She doesn’t have many friends, does she?”

“I mean, she has people she hangs out with from time to time, but she doesn’t stick around with them for long” Mik shrugs. “She’s a tough one to crack. But if you ever get close to her, ask her how she sneaks out at night. She’s the only one who’s never been caught breaking curfew even though everyone knows she does it.”

“Do you have a bad girl streak that I should know about?” Denali jokes with her.

“I have one that you shouldn’t worry about” Mik corrects. “Now come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Just leave it alone, you look fine” Mik smacks Denali’s arm as she keeps readjusting the outfit she’d just spent 10 minutes picking out. Dinner being the only time allowed to wear mufti, she wanted to make a good first impression in her pastel purple dress and bleached denim jacket.

“In no time you’ll be rolling up in sweatpants and mismatched socks” Mik continues as they move along the buffet line.

“Where do you normally sit?” Denali asks as they move away from the bench.

“Anywhere” Mik says, sliding into the closest seat.

Denali sits next to her and as soon as she looks up ahead of her, her eyes get fixed to the image of Rosé sitting at the edge of the room in a black leather jacket. She doesn’t know why she didn’t expect it, but it suits her perfectly with her already edgy pink hair.

“Might want to quit your gawking angel, or someone will catch on” Mik warns playfully and Denali ducks her head blushing.

“What are you teasing her about?” Liv asks, sitting down across the table from them.

“Denali’s crushing on Rosé” Mik earns herself a whack on the arm from Denali.

“I didn’t picture you as someone who has a thing for bad girls” Liv says, looking behind her at Rosé.

“What’s wrong with bad girls?” Mik asks.

“Oh please” Liv turns back to the table with a scoff. “You’ve had, like, three detentions. Rosé is raking up around thirty.”

(Short Story: Detention)

“Come on, Liv. You know that’s an exaggeration” Mik levels with her. “Just because she bet you out for the lead role in the production last year.”

“You know my vocals are killer!”

“Yeah, but” – Mik gets cut off.

“What about that fight she got into?”

“To be fair, I think that was justified after what they said about her” Mik weighs up but before Denali can ask about the memory, a teacher walks up behind them and Mik and Olivia both shove a forkful of food in their mouths like they hadn’t been talking.

“Miss Foxx” Denali turns around to smile at who she recognises as Mr Kressley. “After dinner Ms Visage would like to see you in her office.”

“Okay” – Denali’s voice cuts off when he turns abruptly and walks away.

“You get in trouble on your first day?” Mik teases.

“No” Denali shakes her head. “Probably about class scheduling or something.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Denali was right, the meeting was only checking her timetable was in order and asking how her first day was. Ms Visage intimidated her somewhat but she was able to make enough small talk that she figured the Deputy Principal didn’t hate her.

It was dark by the time she left the office block and stepped outside. For a second she got disorientated without the sunlight to help her find her way back to the dormitories but as she turned slightly more to the right, she saw them in the distance.

Wondering along the path she could hear voices of students through the windows of the student lounge as she passed it. Though she didn’t bother to step inside, knowing that Mik was going to hangout in their room with Liv until curfew.

“You not found any friends yet?” a voice startles Denali so that she flinches back – quickly being followed by the sound of soft laughter.

“It’s weird to walk around by yourself at night, anyone ever tell you that?” Denali’s eyes are drawn down to Rosé sitting on the concrete in a recess of a building.

“I have friends” Denali breathes deeply to get her composure back. “And has anyone told you that it’s weird to sit alone in the dark?”

“Fair” Rosé shrugs and nods her head to the ground in front of her, inviting Denali to sit down.

For more than the reason that she didn’t want to be rude, Denali accepts the invitation and sits against the opposite wall. After she’d settled against the brick Rosé reaches forward and offers Denali the cigarette in her hand.

“No thanks” Denali shakes her head.

“You can have your own if you like” Rosé offers, already reaching into the pocket of her jacket.

“No” Denali shakes her head again and Rosé only shrugs before taking a draw. “Where did you get them anyway?”

“I don’t tell you my secrets, you don’t tell me yours” Rosé says after expelling the smoke in a long exhale.

“So, nothing happens?”

Rosé nods her head in confirmation. “So, what are you doing out here, you never said?”

“Was in the office.”

“Got sent to the office on your first day?” Rosé teases just as Denali’s friends had.

“Scheduling thing” Denali says.

“Well, if you ever get sent back, you’ll probably find me in there” Rosé smiles to herself.

“Why is it that I get the feeling that it’s not because you have an extracurricular job?”

“Because you have good instincts” Rosé answers casually, taking another draw before exhaling out the side of her mouth. “I could probably walk there with my eyes closed – thought about trying it once.”

Denali means to say that that’s not exactly something she should be proud of but before she can the sound of footsteps approach them from around the corner.

“Oh shit!” Rosé whispers and moves quickly, stamping out her cigarette with the heel of her boot while simultaneously reaching into her other pocket and pulling out a tab of gum. With the cigarette well put out, she puts her leg over it and throws the gum in her mouth. A spicy mint smell instantly appearing in the air just as a teacher rounds the corner.

“What’s going on down here?” Denali once again recognises Mr Kressley.

“Hanging out” Rosé answers casually like she hadn’t been breaking a major rule only a few seconds before.

“Outside, in the dark?”

“It’s before curfew” Rosé reasons nonchalantly.

“Very well” Mr Kressley relents with a sigh, turning on his heels. “Have a good night.”

“Good night” Denali echoes sweetly to him as he walks away.

“I’ll probably see you Saturday!” Rosé suddenly calls out after him but he ignores her.

“Why Saturday?” Denali turns to her.

“We have a romantic fling in the P.E shed” Rosé answers sarcastically.

Denali knows she’s joking but she still looks at her like she’s lost her mind.

“I’m kidding” Rosé amends. “Detentions are always on Saturdays.”

CH2

[lovelyirony]

fic title: I’m falling and the sun is blinding me to your faults

i wanted to do an au of this one, so presenting: tony and rhodey, but make it villainous. i think it’d be fun! 

James Rhodes is two things, first and foremost being that he is a businessman. 

People call him a villain. He doesn’t really think he’s that villainous. 

After all, he only took over New York. He left all the other states alone, so that has to mean something. He was gracious! 

He also wouldn’t consider himself a villain because everyone who works under him gets health insurance. They don’t complain that much, although he’s gotten some about the quality of the buffet on Fridays. 

Catering companies. Hit-or-miss, you know? 

There have been a couple of companies who try to stop him. Rivals that hate that his products are better and employees are happier, for one. Those are easy to dismiss. 

SHIELD is one company who tries, and fails. Repeatedly. It would be embarrassing, but Rhodes has respect for Agents Romanov and Hill, who have been the closest to breaking into his personal office. 

- 

The player that isn’t registering on the field is Tony Stark. Perhaps because he isn’t so much of a player on the field as an existing person who just happens to be on a field. Or a building. However you would like to imagine it. 

In other universes, he walks like he owns the world because he could buy up everything and still have money left over to get ice cream at the end of the day. 

In this universe, his father kicked him out of his house for various things, the most prominent being that Tony is rather partial to kissing guys and ladies, and that just simply won’t do. 

(Tony also stole enough money out of his bank account to buy a house and also start his own business without his knowledge, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s just a small drop in the ocean.) 

Tony made his own tech start-up business. He’s invented a few new things that hit the market discreetly, and he’s building up more and more clientele. He’s about to open another shop, and in all honesty he’s not worried about getting noticed. 

This is until Rhodes comes across an employee bragging about a new repair guy who makes computers run twice as fast, charges less than most repair shops, and looks mighty fine in a tank top.

The last reason is reason enough to visit. 

But also, to see who’s been fixing up Rhodes tech and can make it faster. He doesn’t know why he wouldn’t have just applied for a job. 

Tony is not expecting Rhodes to enter into his building. He has people who are walk-ins, but usually you would expect a villain to make an appointment. Or not, they are villains. 

“I heard that you’ve been improving my phones,” James says. He leans into Tony’s space. He smells quite nice, has a well-tailored suit, and Tony is trying very hard not to find him attractive. That’s not the sort of thing you could be focusing on. 

“You gonna sue me or something?” 

“No, I want to hire you.” 

Tony blinks. 

“Oh. No thank you.” 

Rhodes pulls back. 

“Why ‘no’?” 

“I like my shop just fine. And you have things well-handled.” 

“Could I consult you?” 

“You can’t afford me.” 

Rhodes grins. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Of course I am. Can I get anything for you today, or did you just want to beg me to come work for you?” 

“Most people would never be this bold.” 

"What would they be? Terrified in your presence?” 

“More or less, yes. It’s what I prefer.” 

"I don’t cater to people’s preferences, it’s a character flaw and strength,” Tony quips. 

Rhodes smiles. 

It’s terrifyingly beautiful, really. Tony is at a loss for words. 

“I think I’m liking you, Stark.” 

“Tony. You don’t call me Stark. I don’t do the last name dynamic.” 

“Sweetheart, then. Not your last name.” 

“Pet names, seriously?” 

“Oh you got it, honey.” 

“Then go on, platypus,” Tony throws back. 

“Platypus? Really?” 

"Pet names are on the menu, honey bunch. Just try me.” 

Rhodes smiles, turning to exit. 

“I’ll be in touch, darling.” 

Tony leans against his desk, legs shaking underneath. 

There are two problems that he’s not sure how to solve. Here they are: 

1.) Rhodes now has Tony on his radar, which is probably bad because Tony will absolutely be used for world domination or whatever. 

2.) Tony doesn’t really mind as long as he gets to see Rhodes because goddamn. That man could get so many things, and he probably has. And Tony wouldn’t mind being one of those things if he played his cards right. 

But for now, Tony just wants to fix computers and maybe just buy a new brand of tea, but he’s honestly not sure. 

- 

Rhodes makes an appointment to meet. 

Of Fucking Course. 

Tony is not impressed, and is also not impressed that he comes in with a very expensive custom-made designer suit, whereas Tony is not sure the last time his pair of jeans got washed, and an old t-shirt that’s advertising an ice cream shop that is closed now. 

“You love to make an entrance all the time?” Tony asks. “What can I legally do for you?” 

“You’re assuming I’m making you do illegal things, babe?” 

“Yes, Rhodey.” 

“It’s Rhodes.” 

“Hm, maybe. But not to me. Rhodey. I wanna ruin your business impression.” 

Pepper snorts besides Rhodes, who is suitably impressed that Tony doesn’t give one flying fuck about the fact that he could destroy him at any point. 

“I’m ordering that on your next business card deal.” 

“I’ll fire you.” 

“You can’t find someone as competent as me, don’t even joke.” 

“I came here for an opportunity for you. You’ve managed to get some people’s computers to speed up so much. And I want you to do it with all of my employee’s computers.” 

“What, you couldn’t reverse-engineer it? See what I did for yourself?” 

Rhodey grins. 

“I never question a handsome man’s work, darling.” 

Tony turns red. 

“You’re really bad with professionalism, honeysop.” 

“What the hell is that?” 

“What, never heard about romance in the fifteenth century? Boring.” 

“Will you do the job or not?” 

“What are the terms, the conditions, and how much are you paying?” 

Pepper steps forward, a sizable stack of paperwork in her hands. 

The work would pay off the building. It would pay off his mortgage on his house. Hell, it would help a lot. He’d have extra to mess around and maybe go on a vacation. 

The downside is that he’s helping a villain get faster speed and better battery life with laptops. This could also mean he’d die, but honestly he was kind of expecting an early death. 

Rhodey assures him that he won’t die. 

“If anyone touches you, then they feel my wrath,” he says. His teeth glint underneath the lights. “And honey, no one ever likes feeling that.” 

“What, it isn’t all feather-light tickles?” 

“Touches a bit more than that.” 

There’s an unspoken story there. Rhodey’s grin goes from tight and eyes empty to refocusing on Tony and turning soft, genuine. 

“We can discuss the official plans over dinner.” 

“Dinner won’t work for me, I got plans tonight.” 

“A hot date?” 

"A special movie screening,” Tony says. “Can’t miss it. Maybe next time, or the next three times.” 

Rhodey smiles. 

“Maybe sometime.” 

“Maybe.” 

- 

Holy fuck.

Rhodes International has a local coffee shop on the lobby. A barista is a cheerful girl who has neon yellow hair greets him and asks if he wants a complimentary drink. 

“You...know who I am?” 

“Not in the slightest!” she says cheerily. “I have a memory thing where I remember everyone I ever meet and who I don’t meet. What kind of coffee guy are you?” 

“Um...you guys have mint syrup?” 

“Yup!” 

“Then I guess a peppermint latte?” 

“Coming right up!” 

So here is this girl humming what sounds suspiciously like the Winnie the Pooh song as she makes a drink, and that drink is amazing. 

Also, people are wearing, it seems, whatever outfit they want. There are some people talking, and two look to be dressed in professional business clothing, but the third guy they’re talking to is wearing ripped jeans and a tank top has the phrase of “I’m Just Existing on a Manifestation of Reality” emblazoned. 

It’s odd. 

“So glad you could make it, Tones,” Rhodey says. 

“Tones?” 

“What, too much?” 

“Tones sounds like you know me.” 

“And I don’t?” 

“What’s my favorite jam?” 

“Why jam?” 

“If you know someone well, you know their favorite type of jam.” 

“Orange marmalade?” 

“What the fuck do I look like, Paddington?” 

“You’re right, Paddington’s not near as sexy.” 

“This counts as harassment, right? This counts as harassment.” 

“Don’t have him sue us already, he’ll win,” Pepper says, breezing to their sides. God, she’s gorgeous. Casually dressed in a pencil skirt and a blouse and acting like she doesn’t look like a goddess. Must be exhausting. “Tony, great to have you. Let me show you who you’re working with.” 

He has his own fancy office, a team that knows what they’re doing, and catered lunch. 

Catered lunch. It’s not even a Friday. 

“Friday’s are questionable,” Rhodey says. “Weird selection.” 

“You don’t wanna know,” says Intern Joe. 

That’s literally on his ID card. 

- 

Tony starts work. It’s not bad, not at all. He works in the mornings on the weekends and Mondays as well as Thursdays, and then sometimes does work from his own office. 

Rhodey is...nice. 

This is a bit unsettling, because Rhodey literally just threatened the president over an environmental bill not being accepted and currently all employees are only slightly scared. 

“This is just like three months ago,” says Janice The Badass. (Also on her ID card.) “Don’t worry, the government can’t do anything. They rely on us too heavily.” 

“For what?” 

“For safety.” 

“Not asking.” 

“Good, I’m not going to answer.” 

“Okay?” 

- 

It’s also weird that Rhodey checks in on him. He brings him coffee how he likes it, and he makes him sit down and try new foods with him. 

He’s not bad at conversational topics either. Tony’s used to talking, and he’s used to bad-talking on dates. This doesn’t come close. 

No, they talk about the differences of Star Trek and how much Tony hates specific brands of pens, and how Rhodey is a disaster when it comes to coordination of ties. 

“I don’t like ties,” he scowls. 

“Then why wear one?” 

“Pepper says they look nice.” 

“Why do you need to look nice?” 

“Most things are all about presentation.” 

“Ah, need to be taken seriously.” 

“Only at times when I’m facing government officials or weird corporate bosses.” 

“Aren’t you a corporate boss?” 

“I’m a corporate boss who is also an enemy of fellow corporate bosses. Weird thing.” 

“That’s...intriguing.” 

“How so?” 

“Well, how does that work?” Tony asks, popping a couple blueberries into his mouth. “How are you both the same and an enemy?” 

“Watch and learn, sugar. Watch and learn.” 

Tony is allowed on the next business meeting. Which, coincidentally, his old Uncle Obadiah is part of. 

This leads to rather undesired complications. 

-

“You’re working for a supervillain?” Obie practically yells. 

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Tony says. “I just work with computers.” 

“Besides if he wanted to work for a real supervillain, wouldn’t he be working for you?” Rhodey asks. 

He’s sitting in one of those rolling-chairs, and despite that, he made it his throne. He’s relaxed in it, perfectly at peace with the situation. All eyes are on him. 

“I’m not the one that the government is after.” 

“And yet I’m the one who’s successfully paid taxes. Where have yours gone, hm? Strip club in Vegas? Weapon sales in Afghanistan?” 

Obie freezes. 

Tony knows that when you freeze, it is your worst tell. 

“Does dad know?” 

This time, Rhodey turns towards him. He’s surprised. 

“We’ll discuss that later. But does Howard know, Obadiah?” 

“Howard is none of your concern.” 

“Oh my god, he is,” Rhodey says grinning. “You haven’t told him about your little back-door escapades. I wonder what would happen if I told him.” 

“You don’t want me as an enemy,” Obadiah says, shaking. He looks at Tony. “And you, boy, you just earned yourself a death sentence.” 

“Funny, Howard said the same thing when he kicked me out of the house,” Tony says as he’s checking his nails. Rhodey thinks he is in love. 

“Go ahead and try to get me as an enemy, see how well it works for you,” Rhodey says, pearly whites on display. “I took over the entire state of New York, leaving everyone in power allied with me. Plus, Tony hasn’t pushed his legacy from what I’ve seen, but what would happen if I just...let him talk? At the next press conference, perhaps.” 

Tony grins, and it’s dangerous. 

“Yeah Obie, what if I talked? I’m sure Howard’s disastrous attempt at fatherhood would be a real uptick in stock points.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Just watch. Just fucking watch,” Tony says. “I still know how to smile for the press, and I still remember all of my lessons for how to make sure anything is believable.” 

He shakes. 

Rhodey gets security. 

Tony visibly relaxes as Stane is led out of the building, and Rhodey smiles over at him. 

“What?” 

“You wanna grab dinner with me?” 

“Like as a casual dinner, or a date-dinner?” 

“How about both?” 

“Thank god, I can’t remember where my nice shoes are.” 

- 

Tony supposes it is odd to be out to dinner with one of the most-feared men in all of New York. 

But it was hard to fear him when he was currently trying to lick ice cream off the tip of his nose with no such luck. 

Or when Rhodey kisses him senseless on his doorstep and makes fun of the little gnome that he’s put outside, and Tony giggles and watches him leave in his fancy car, still leaning on his door. 

Oh, he’s got it bad. 

But he doesn’t mind. 

[spencessmile]

How Much You’ll Love The Right One

Pairing - (Platonic) Spencer Reid x Fem Reader 

Summary - Spencer promises you, that you'll find love again. You don't want another love, you want him. 

Warnings - None 

Word Count - 2,011 words 

And all imagines/fanfics/blurbs are written solely by me so please don't steal my work and post it without my consent. 

Feedback and Comments are welcome. Happy reading! 

Requests are open!

** 

Spencer and you have been friends for over 14 years so when Spencer didn't hear from you in over two weeks, he was worried. He just got back from LA from a case and rushed to your apartment when you hadn’t answered any of his calls. 

You were the type of person to call Spencer several times throughout the day but when he didn’t hear from you in two weeks, this mind went racing to all the worst-case scenarios. You lived 10 minutes away from Spencer’s apartment but Spencer felt like the drive was taking forever. 

Heartbreak sucked. You found out a week ago that your boyfriend of two years was cheating on you and when you found out you completely lost your mind, to say the least. 

This was the second time you were cheated on and it broke you. You sat here for two weeks and thought of every single reason why you weren’t good enough. Why did you always end up heartbroken? Did you do something wrong? Did you say something wrong? Did you not love people enough? Were you not loveable? 

All these questions and you still had no answers. 

You sat on your couch, mounted with pillows and blankets while old movie reruns were playing on TV. You didn’t know where the hell your phone was but you heard it vibrating, again. 

You knew it was Spencer calling you for the hundredth time. You hadn’t called him in two weeks so you knew that he’d be worried about you. You knew that Spencer was probably away on a case because if he was here he would have burst through your door by now. 

You talked to Spencer about everything and anything that came to your mind but this was something you weren’t ready to talk about. You wanted to push all your feelings aside and not think about anything. 

You got up and walked to your fridge, opened your freezer pulling out the ice cube tray. You froze in your position as you heard your door lock being messed with. Your eyes wandered towards the clock, that read 12:22 A.M. 

Who the hell is trying to break in your apartment? What the hell should you do? Who could it be? And where was your phone?

You stood quietly in your kitchen as the person continued to play with the locks. You put down the ice tray and ran into your bedroom, grabbing your baseball bat. You shut the lights and stayed a good distance away from the door as the locks were being opened. As the door swung open you thought your heart was going to explode from inside your chest. 

Just as you saw the shadow inch closer into your apartment, you were about to swing your bat. 

“FBI! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!” You hear a familiar voice yell. You sigh, lowering your baseball ball. “I said, show me your hands! Now!” 

“Relax Dr. Reid,” You said, turning on the lights. “It’s just me,” As you turned to face Spencer but he still had his gun pointed at you. “Spencer, your gun!” Spencer put his gun in his holster. 

“You're okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah, why would I be?” 

“You haven’t been answering any of my calls. I thought something happened to you,” Spencer said. “You have two weeks worth of mail piled in front of your door. Chris said he remembered you leaving a few days ago but doesn’t remember you coming back,” Spencer closed the door. “I thought you were hurt or even worse, kidnapped.” 

Chris, was your apartment complex manager. 

“I wouldn’t mind being kidnapped.” You say. 

You knew that you couldn’t hide anything from Spencer because out of all the people in the world you could have run into on the Metro, it had to be with a profiler, just your luck.  

“Y/N,” Spencer glared at you. You weren’t good at dealing with emotions so you tended to make jokes or laugh at everything and if there was one thing Spencer didn’t like about you, it was that one trait of yours. “Y/N, I was worried about you. I would have come earlier but I was in LA working on a case. Why have you been avoiding me?” Spencer asked, his eyes soft and his voice laced with concern. 

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” You couldn’t even look at Spencer while saying that. 

“Yes, you are,” You folded his arms and looked at you. You knew exactly what he was doing and you didn’t like it. “You're avoiding eye contact and you're pulling at the sleeves of your sweater.” 

“Stop doing that.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Profiling me.” 

“Y/N, I’m not pr-” 

“Yes, you are! I don’t need you doing that to me right now. I just need my best friend,” Your eyes started welling up. Spencer’s face expressions softened as he walked up to you. He grabbed your hand and led you to the couch. He turned to face you as your tears fell. 

You're not sure how long has passed but you know you were ready to talk about. You have to let out your feelings otherwise you’ll drown in them. You lifted your head and got up from the couch. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. “It’s okay. How about we just watch some TV and you can tell me whenever you’re comfortable, alright?” You nodded as you put your head on Spencer’s shoulder. 

“If I’m going to talk about this then I need mint chip ice cream. You down for a pint?” 

“Absolutely,” Spencer replies. “I’ll get it.” You nod as he walks to the kitchen. You mentally prepare yourself to tell Spencer everything. “Here you are.”

You grab the pint and shove a spoonful into your mouth. Spencer turns to fully face you and just patiently waits until you're ready. 

“He cheated on me.” 

You felt Spencer’s eyes snap up. 

“Y/N, I’m s-” 

“Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault. He was an ass, I should have known better.” 

“This isn’t your fault.” 

“Is there something wrong with me?” Spencer frowned at your question.

“Absolutely not.” 

You felt yourself starting to cry again. “Then why don’t people love me?”

“People do love you.” 

“If they did, then they wouldn’t leave or cheat on me. All my life all I ever seen people do is walk away from me. No one has ever decided to stay by my side. No one ever decided to stay and love me through all my good and bad.”

“I stayed,” Spencer replies. “I love you.” 

“That’s because you kept following me everywhere,” You joked, as you remember back to all the times that you Spencer kept bumping into each other after that one time on the Metro. Anyone could say it was straight out of a movie. 

“No, you kept following me everywhere.” Spencer playfully argues back. 

“I mean, what were the changes that we kept seeing each other everywhere? Who knew that we liked the same coffee, read books from the same library, and even ride the same Metro every single morning and night at the same time?"

“Actually, according to a recent study, the chances of meeting a stranger more than once is like 1 in 10,000. So the chances are very slim. But I guess you just got really lucky with me,” You laughed at the last part of his answer. Spencer grabbed your hand. “I’m sorry that he ch-” 

“Spencer stop,” You felt your emotions starting to take over again, as your eyes started to blur your vision. You sat there holding Spencer’s hand while you just cried out all your emotions. 

“You have to let him go.” 

“I know,  I know …” You say, grabbing a pillow and hugging it. 

“Then do it.” 

“I know that he hurt me. I really want to let this go but I’ve always tried hard to keep this relationship together for almost 3 years. It sucks to let go of something that I've had together for so long.” 

“I know it’s hard for you but, you deserve to let him go so that you can be happy again. It’s time to make yourself happy.” 

You sniffle and look up at Spencer, taking a couple of deep breaths. 

“I need you to be okay because I miss my best friend. The extremely annoying and over-hyper one. The one that calls me over a hundred times a day to tell me every little thing she does in a day. The one that goes to my apartment and waters my plants every other day and leaves me baked goods when she knows that I’m coming back home. The one that drags me out of bed on weekends I have off to go do something absolutely insane.” 

“Spencer Reid you better be talking about me,” You said glaring at him. 

“What if I’m not?” Now he was playing with you. 

“You're not allowed to have a new best friend.” 

“Why not?” 

“No,” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to replace you.” 

“Because I’m supposed to be your only best friend.” Spencer laughed as you pouted. “Do you have a new friend?”

“You better not. I know where you live and work.” Spencer just laughs. 

“You know I was really worried when you weren’t responding back to me. I thought something really bad happened.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible,” You said. “Spencer you had your partner come and bolt in 3 extra locks to my front door, you set up an alarm system and you installed a camera outside my apartment. No burglar would want to do that much work just to seal some stuff from an apartment. Besides, any brugler who makes all the effort to get through those locks, it’ll be their loss because I don’t have shit in this apartment for them to steal,” You and Spencer laugh. “Unless they want my coffee maker or toaster oven.” 

“So, what did you do?” Spencer raised his eyebrow at you. 

“What did I do?” You ask. Spencer gave you the -oh-come-on-you-know-what-I’m-talking-about face and you sighed. 

“I went to the grocery store, bought a dozen eggs, and egged his house,” You reply. 

“No Y/N, you egged his house?!” You nodded, feeling sort of proud of doing that. 

“You could have waited for me to come back home,” You looked at Spencer, surprised. 

“Oh, don’t give me that face Spencer,” You spoke. “He was an ass. He deserved to have his house egged. Besides he is very lucky I didn’t key his new Porsche that was standing in the driveway, I was very tempted.” 

“You wanted to egg his house too?” 

“Of course, I would have wanted too. He hurt my best friend.” 

“Oh a lot of people have hurt your best friend so in that case, you still have a lot of houses to egg. Maybe tomorrow we wrap his house in toilet paper.” 

“Maybe we can,” Spencer turned serious for a second. “Hey, I know it’ll take you a while to get over this relationship but I want you to know that if you loved the wrong this much, imagine how much you’ll love the right one. I promise you; this time love will walk to your doorstep and you’ll know immediately.” 

I already know. 

You're sitting right in front of me, holding my hand. 

How much I need you. 

It’s just that I can never tell you how much I love you.  

** 

But you've slipped under my skin, invaded my blood, and seized my heart. – Maria V. Snyder, Poison Study

[meetthefantasticmrfox]

The Librarians

Summary: Jeremy Scalera (Jeremy sounds more natural than Janus...seriously who would name their kid Janus?! Sorry to anyone named that but you deserve better. JanICE does not count.) is the head librarian at Hawthorne Library and antisocial intellectual with a taste for being alone and silence. Logan Constell (short for constellation, not his actual last name in this fic) is strikingly similar. So what happens when these two antisocial and intelligent loners cross paths in an interview that was sure to change both their lonely souls.

Pairings: Loceit

Alternate Universes: Human Au, Vitiligo Au (Human! Janus Headcannon technically)

Warnings: Mentions of disabilities and a few mild swear words. A smidge of angst at the very end. Let me know if anything else needs to be added.

Hope you enjoy my dears!!

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Edit: Chapter 2 is here! The Librarians Chapter 2

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The Hawthorne Library was run by a bitter and short tempered know-it-all named Jeremy Scalera...He was exactly 5 foot 3 and 120lbs with a thin frame and even thinner shoulders. His skin was the color of milk chocolate but his smooth sweetness of skin was interrupted by a clash of white splotches scattering his body. Jeremy had been born with vitiligo which resulted in a crude nickname of ‘Dairy Cow’ all the way through his middle school years. This influenced him to hide as much skin as possible using gloves, scarves, and extensive wool jackets and sweaters. This wasn’t entirely odd since at the time he had lived in Minnesota and it was freezing all the damn time. Now he lived in Florida where you either were sweating or shirtless.

“Please let this be a quiet day...” He muttered as the door to the library slammed shut behind him. 

It was exactly 7 ‘o clock in the morning and the library was in need of opening. Jeremy was the only employee of the library and he practically lived there. Sure he still owns an apartment and everything, but he prefers the guaranteed silence at night with the library. His office had a small cot in it with a bathroom and a small kitchen fridge and a few counter-tops to hold his microwave, sink, and single cabinet. 

Jeremy’s morning consisted of walking down to the RelativiTea coffee shop down the street that was operated by one of Jeremy’s old classmates. One who hadn’t mocked him because he himself had a disability, Roman Sancleur had turret syndrome (is that right?). Jeremy might have even considered him a friend had they ever talked to each other than exchanging a coffee order.

“Morning Jeremy.” Roman said out of reflex. His fingers twitched every now and then along with the skin under his eyes, but that was more on the fact that Roman had had no sleep last night because he was too busy drinking coffee and teas left over from the day before and watching Disney movies. 

“Just the iced chocolate mocha today.” The librarian sighed and leaned on the counter. He always got here early to avoid the morning rush. 

Roman set a drink onto the counter already prepared.

“You’re too predictable Jerry. Why don’t you ever shake it up a bit?” Roman leaned over the counter getting a little too close for Jeremy to like. No romantic signs came from the barista, more so curiosity.

“First of all don’t call me ‘Jerry’ please, and second I like consistency. This doesn’t take too much out of my paycheck from the city and it’s tasteful.” Jeremy hissed and put a five dollar bill on the counter as he always did. The drink was actual $2.73 but he didn’t ever like change so Roman always got a pretty generous tip.

Jeremy walked out of the coffee shop without another word and entered back into his solitary space just a block away.

The head-librarian set down his coffee on the horseshoe desk in the center of the library and the jingle of his keys echoed.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” A smooth voice laced with calm sounded behind Jeremy and he jumped.

“Mother of damnation who the hell are you?!” The librarian spun around and gripped his hand on the can of pepper spray he kept on him at all times.

“I-I suggest no hostility, and I advise you keep your voice down...we are in a library after all.” The stranger raised his hands in defense. “I’m sorry to have startled you, but the door was unlocked and I assumed you were in your office.” The man was oddly calm despite the can of pepper spray aimed at him and the clearly hostile look in Jeremy’s eyes.

“My name is Logan Constell. I came to apply for a job here.” The presumed ‘Logan’ folded his hands behind his back and only then did Jeremy begin to notice his features.

Logan wore tight black framed square classes, a smooth black dress coat and a navy undershirt with a star-flecked tie across and brighter blue fabric making up the tie itself. His shoulders were broad and his chin sculpted almost so finely one could mistake him for a statue if he had been gray. 

Speaking of gray, his eyes were a brilliant icy blue-ish gray that sparked with intelligence Jeremy had never seen before. Then there was his hair, pitch black it seemed to be made of the dark matter of space itself. The lightness at which it was folded back and not a single sign of gel or any other product other than a mint smelling shampoo and conditioner. He was so put together with his black slacks and dress shoes to top everything off.

“It doesn’t make much...” Jeremy said steadily despite the rushing feeling running through his veins. He set the pepper spray down next to his coffee and Logan began to approach him which with every inch closer the head librarian’s heart beat a little quicker until it was skipping.

“I have no one to provide for but myself and my hydroponics garden.” Logan stated and held forward a piece of paper with a series of qualification statements and columns.

“I don’t need a resume...I just need you to answer a few questions.” Jeremy quickly said and slipped behind his horseshoe desk. 

“I would be happy to answer them.” Logan said blankly.

“As I would hope.” Jeremy glanced up at him as he sat down in the old roller chair with a creak. 

“Age?” He started.

“Twenty-Three years, seven months, and fifteen days.”

“Are you organized?”

“To a fault some might say.” Logan replied cooly.

“Do you have balance well on a 14 foot ladder?” Jeremy shot back.

“I’ve never tried, but I have a high pain tolerance and have been reported a fast healer.” 

“Then you’re hired.” Jeremy rose from his chair and stuck out his hand. Logan took it in a firm grip that shot sparks through Jeremy’s arm and heat shooting up his face then he let go and the sparks vanished.

“When do I start?” Logan’s eyes held the slightest hint of joyous feeling but it was masked behind the gray and blue storm.

“The library opens in five minutes which should be enough time to get your tag done.” Jeremy offered a smirk which was met with only the slightest twitch of the others lips and the flicker of those eyes casting over the librarians face.

~Time Skip~

It’d been three weeks since Logan had started working at Hawthrone and every glance or movement seemed to attract Jeremy’s attention. He had considered going to see a doctor at this point but the Library’s salary and the fact Jeremy didn’t have insurance wasn’t exactly ideal.

“Good morning Jeremy.” Logan said one day as he walked in. 

“Morning Lo.” The other responded calmly. This was about all that was exchanged by them verbally on most days.

The first three days at the library Logan had worn a simple silver band on his ring-finger then it had disappeared. Today seemed like an okay day to finally question his new employee about it.

“So...I noticed you stopped wearing the ring.” Jeremy said casually one day as he stocked the shelves. It was closing time and Logan was better at checking back in books than Jeremy.

“What ring?” Logan asked blankly, barely glancing up at the brown and tan head librarian.

“The silver band you wore the first three days you were here.” Jeremy clarified.

“I didn’t think it had any significance to my work here.”

“It doesn’t.” The conversation fell quiet for a few seconds before one of them spoke again.

“If you don’t feel comfortable with telling me it’s fine. It was just a silly question worth a bit of satisfied curiosity.” Jeremy said hurriedly as he started to ascend the ladder. The book he had in his left hand belonged at the top shelf.

“No...it’s just I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable or loose this job.” Logan rushed out.

“Why would I fire you? Or feel uncomfortable?” Jeremy asked slowly as he reached the fifth level.

“Because that ring was my tie to my ex-husband.” Logan said quietly, barely loud enough for the man on the ladder to hear.

“Oh...” There was a pause with only the sound of clicking keys and the steps of Jeremy climbing the ladder. “Well that’s nothing to ashamed of. Some people just don’t fit.” He quickly said after an extended period of time that felt longer than it should have and he reached the top and began moving books around to shelve the one in his hand.

“You’re not...going to judge me?” Logan seemed surprised.

“Well no. Who you choose to love is not up to me, and it’s not like I have anything against gays or bisexuals or any of the LGBTQ community. I myself am apart of it.” Jeremy reassured him and started climbing down slowly. The ladder rings dug into his worn shoes and hit against his old socks, further sinking into the bottom of his feet.

“Fascinating.” Logan muttered. Jeremy pretended not to hear and as silence once again claimed the room the sun began to send a orange glow over the dark gray carpeted floors of the house of books. Jeremy looked up to see the tangerine and apricot that now spilled through the windows like a waterfall to a lake. 

Jeremy didn’t stop his descend though and his foot caught on a ring, but before he could notice he slipped and fell. All the way from the seventh level down to Earth and before he hit the ground something snapped and pain rocketed through his left leg as black crowded his vision. Nothing existed except the abyss.

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

AAAAAAaaaaaand that’s Chapter 1. If this chapter gets some love or I get bored then I’ll check out getting a Chapter 2. 

Until next time my Foxlings! <3 <3 <3

[zewninz]

Dialogue Prompts #2

(italic/bold-colored texts = different person)

1. I only have one emotion and it’s anger. Last night you drunk-texted me a hundred heart emojis. Out of anger.

2. I don’t have time to explain how wrong you are . . . actually, it’s going to bother me if I don’t—

3. *name*, I started seeing someone. As in dating or hallucinations?

4. You know what 'fine' stands for? Fucked up, insecure, needy, and emotional.

5. Hey, *name*, I just got home. Where are you guys? The hospital . . . What? Why? *name* swallowed a watermelon seed. So? It’s not like it’s going to start growing in their stomach. . . . we’ll be home in ten minutes.

6. Today, I'm going to show you how not to be a noob at Fortnite.

7. Can we please stop saying the word 'sugar daddy'? Glucose guardian.

8. Have you ever considered . . . not breathing?

9. Guys, there's a monster under my bed and it's really ugly. Honestly, fuck you.

10. I've spent far too long doing this damn makeup to start fucking crying right now.

11. Everyone, hold your horses! Hold them close, cherish them— What? I don’t know, I haven’t slept in three days.

12. I love your eyes, but I love my eyes more because without mine, I can't see yours.

13. Take me to art museums and make out with me. But they said to not touch the masterpieces. That was the smoothest shit I've ever heard.

14. I look at *name* and I just . . . it's like when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes.

15. Question is; do I stay in bed or get out of it? Both. You get out of bed and get in mine. Why are you suddenly so smooth, I—

16. I can't talk to cute people, okay? I don't know how to fucking flirt!

17. Do you guys realize that we never stop tasting our own tongues? How about I taste yours for a change? That was smooth as fuck.

18. How many fucks do I give? Oh, yeah, zero. Therefore your comment is irrelevant.

19. Fuck you. If you want, go ahead.

20. Being single sucks. Maybe we should just marry each other.

21. I'm going to shower. Pfft, I don't get an invite?

22. I'm no longer a human being. I identify as a chicken nugget.

23. What's your favorite thing about me? Probably your smile. Seriously? Okay, fine, I love how you can kill a man in only two seconds.

24. My microwave is smarter than you.

25. Aside from cooking, what basic life skills do I not have? Oh, *name* . . . I’m not sure we have time for that.

26. Alright, guys, this doesn't have to be a big deal. Whoever ate my muffin, come forward and all will be forgiven. *nobody does* Smart. You knew I would never forgive you.

27. They’re tiny mints that live in a plastic prison. . . . I said let’s talk TACTICS.

28. I think your cat wants to kill me.

29. I can't believe we're finally here, I never thought we'd make it. Oh, for fuck's sake, my driving isn't that bad.

30. You don't need to kill off any more brain cells.

31. On a scale from 'Damnnnn, Daniel' to 'Fre sha voc ado', how are you feeling? It's between, 'It's an avocado, thanks!' and 'how did you defeat Captain America?', but as a solid answer I would say, 'I don't need no degree to be a clothing hanger'. How about you? Probably 'road work ahead'.

32. My number one rule is ignoring everything you said.

33. Why do you guys hate each other? We do not! It's just . . . if you offered me 500 dollars to stab him, I wouldn't hesitate. I'd do it for 5 bucks.

34. Shut up, your IQ's probably lower than a fly's.

35. Water can solve many problems. Want to lose weight? Drink water. Clear skin? Drink water. Get rid of someone you hate? Drown them. *name*, no!

36. Sorry, the wind must've blown away all my fucks.

37. When life gives you lemons, you— Squeeze them into your enemy's eyes as you watch them suffer in agony, while you squeeze more lemons so they can't see. *name*, no!

38. I wouldn't call it stalking, more like far distance admiring.

39. I accidentally ate *name*'s muffin . . . how much time left do you think I get to live? Ten. Ten what? Nine . . .

40. You're going to burn in a very special level in hell—a level they reserve for child molesters, animal abusers, and people who talk at the theater.

41. Don't break someone's heart, they only have one. Yeah, break their bones. They have 206 of those.

42. I'm listening to you, I'm just not paying attention.

43. You fell and hit your head. Do you remember anything? Uh . . . only the ambulance ride to the hospital. That wasn't an ambulance . . . But I hear a siren? Oh, that was *name*. He was screaming all the time. I was worried!

44. Oh, but sweetheart, you already look like a fool.

45. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, are you awake yet? Fuck off. That sounds like a yes to me.

46. Since my dog likes you, then I guess I like you too.

47. Alright, *name*, what does a yellow light mean? Slow down. No, it means ‘speed up, red is coming’.

48. Why did you two stop? Keep flirting.

49. You’re useless. Not totally. I can be used as a bad example.

50. I'm sorry, did you just order fifty pieces of McNuggets for here, for all yourself?

(I don’t own any of these. Credit to their respective creators. I simply made a list.)

[princess-of-riviaa]

Vices chapter 3: Work  Conference

Chapter 1: First Time

Chapter 2: Liar

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Chapter summary: You have a work conference that takes you out of state. Ransom makes sure you’ll miss him as much as he misses you.

Series Summary: A friendship with Ransom Drysdale is one thing; a relationship with him is another. Is your love for each other strong enough to keep you together? Or will nothing be able to keep you from ending in tragedy?

Author’s note: As much as I love/hate him, Ransom is an annoying character to write. I had completely different plans for this chapter and Ransom just took the plot into his own hands and changed everything up. Still, it turned out pretty good. Ransom seriously knows what he’s doing

Warning(s): phone sex, denied orgasms, voyeurism

Word Count: 2.5k

“Where the hell are you?” Ransom’s tone was impatient and you didn’t have to be looking at him to know he had that Drysdale Scowl on his face, his entire body tense with his frustration.

“Why?” You wondered, evading the question. Ransom didn’t need to know your whereabouts 24/7. You had a right to privacy.

“Because I need to fuck you and you aren’t at your house,” he replied bitterly.

“You went to my house? Before calling?” You tried to control your growing annoyance. Someone like Ransom, someone who’d been given everything they’d ever wanted from birth, didn’t understand boundaries. You’d learned that about him a long time ago. But it still frustrated you.

“Where the hell are you?” He repeated. His voice was controlled now, which only meant one thing--he was too pissed to show it. Ransom didn’t scare you when he was screaming or throwing punches. He only scared you once he was pushed past that point--once he took on a calm, eerie rage.

You sighed, knowing this conversation wouldn’t end well if you didn’t give him an answer. “I’m in Los Angeles.”

“What the fuck are you doing there?!” A pause and then-- “You better not be fucking some other guy.”

You laughed at his accusation. “Yes, Ransom. I flew across the entire country just to have sex with someone. Because that’s completely sane.”

“No, it’s completely insane considering that I satisfy you more than enough every night,” he reminded. “You don’t really think any man’s cock could make you feel as good mine does, fill you up as perfectly?”

A gasp fell from your mouth--half from shock at his explicit words, half in surprise as you felt your legs already begin to squeeze together. You looked around at the hotel lobby, silently hoping no one had noticed the change in your demeanor. If one of your coworkers realized the kind of conversation you were having right now... You didn’t even want to think about it.

“Ransom--” you began.

He chuckled darkly, his frustration temporarily forgotten. “Look at you, baby. I hardly said ten words and you’re already breathless for me. No other guy could possibly do that to you.”

“Ransom, I’m here on a work conference.” You enunciated the words clearly so he wouldn’t mishear you. He needed to shut up. You weren’t in a place where you could think about him, or his hands, or his cock...

“So it’s your boss?” He questioned. “That’s who you’re fucking?”

Where the hell did he get that idea? “No! What are you even--”

“You’re all mine, Y/N.” His voice dripped with jealousy. “And I don’t share what’s mine.”

You resisted the urge to close your eyes and bask in the sound of him calling you his. Your heart clenched in your chest. You wanted him here; not just so you could have sex with him, but because you wanted to feel his arms around you, hear his voice whisper in your ear and make you shiver, listen to his heartbeat against your ear as you lied on his chest. God, you had it bad.

“I can’t talk about this now,” you rushed out as you eyed your boss walking towards you and the rest of your colleagues.

“Y/N--” He began, but he didn’t finish before you hung up the call and slid your phone into your handbag.

“The conference starts in ten minutes,” your boss said. “We should go find our seats.”

...

As soon as you made it back to your hotel room that night, you dialed Ransom’s number. You’d been unable to focus on anything the entire day; your thoughts had only revolved around Ransom and that phone call. Specifically, those filthy words he’d used with you. It had left you wet and needy for the majority of the day.

“Hello?” Ransom asked over the line.

You sighed at the sound of his voice. God, you missed him. “Ransom.”

“Y/N.” You couldn’t decipher the emotion in his voice. “Done fucking your boss?”

Your momentary loneliness was eclipsed by sudden annoyance. “For the last time, I’m only here for a conference. That’s it.”

Ransom huffed, clearly not believing you.

“Besides,” you added as you put him on speaker and set the phone on the table beside the bed. You began to undress and change into your night clothes, which only consisted on a tee shirt that was three sizes too big, falling just past your butt. “You’re the only one I want fucking me, Ransom.”

The satisfaction was clear in his voice now. “I know, baby.”

That man was a roller coaster; annoyingly insecure one second, nauseatingly confident the next. But you loved him anyways. The thought hit you like a punch to the face. You loved him. You loved Ransom Drysdale. The realization was still hard to wrap your mind around.

“I wish you were here.” You took the call off speaker phone and brought it back to your ear as you crawled under the sheets.

“I know you do,” he replied.

The room around you was silent, his voice so clear against your ear, that it sounded like he was right beside you. You closed your eyes and imagined it. You pictured him lying beside you, his hands warming your skin.

“God, I would just devour you if I were with you right now,” he murmured into the phone, his tone growing darker.

You let out a sigh. “Ransom...”

“You want that, baby, I know you do. You can never get enough of me.” He laughed, almost to himself, and then asked, “What do you miss most about me? My mouth? My fingers?”

“Your cock,” you answered, the words falling from your mouth before your brain could register what you’d done. But you’d been needy for him all day long. You were too desperate to feel embarrassed now. Besides, he’d seen you naked on multiple occasions and touched every part of your body. There was no reason to be embarrassed in front of him now. Your legs clenched and squeezed together as you thought of him fucking you, sucking on your nipples, spanking you. You moaned, wishing he were here more than anything.

“God, baby, I miss hearing you moan for me.” His voice was husky, growing needier, and you knew he wanted to be here as much as you wanted it. The thought made you smile. Could he really be as desperate for you as you were for him?

“I wish you were touching me,” you confessed, your fingers trailing up your thigh in place of his.

“Fuck. FaceTime me. Now.” He ended the call before you could reply. A second later your phone lit up and began to ring. His name popped up on your skin. You answered the call and allowed the video to load. He was on his bed, resting his back against the headboard. His shirt was gone, as were his pants, and he was left in his underwear. You could feel yourself grow wetter at the sight of him and all his muscled glory. He had a faint five o’clock shadow and you imagined how blissful the burn would be to feel his facial hair rub between your thighs. His blue eyes lit up at the sight of you. “Hey, baby. You’re wearing my shirt.”

You looked down at the band shirt you were wearing. You’d been friends with Ransom long enough--spent enough drunken nights stuck at his house--that you’d collected a handful of his shirts throughout the years. You liked sleeping in his shirts. Partially because he was picky about his clothes and only bought top brands, so his shirts were always softer than anything you owned. But mainly because you loved the smell of him--a faint hint of mint mixed with his cologne. The smell of him alone was enough to make your toes curl.

“Oh, yeah.” You laughed. “I guess I am.”

“Here I was thinking you’d be a good girl and already be naked for me,” he sighed, disappointed. “Do I have to punish you, Y/N?”

A smirk tugged at your mouth. “Maybe.”

The video quality was strong enough that you could see his pupils dilate the longer he stared at you. “Take off your shirt, baby. Let me see you.”

You set down the phone and did as he asked. But when you lifted the phone again, you covered your bare breasts with your arm and fought back a giggle as he growled.

“I’d tie your hands up if I were with you right now,” he threatened. “You can’t listen otherwise.” He adjusted the camera angle so you could watch him begin to palm himself. You whimpered once you noticed the outline of his erection, your walls clenching at the absence of him inside of you. “Should I punish you and force you to watch me cum?”

You shook your head, unable to find words as he continued to touch himself over his underwear.

“Then you better be a good girl and not disobey me again,” he said.

You nodded, eager to please.

“Why so quiet, baby?” He smirked, already knowing the answer. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Ransom,” you sighed, your tone slightly pleading.

“Lower your arm and let me see you, and maybe I’ll give you what you want,” he considered.

You did as you were told and watched as he took in the sight of your breasts. His erection grew and you longed to lower his underwear and wrap your mouth around him. You wanted to know what he tasted like.

“Touch yourself, Y/N,” he ordered. “Touch yourself like it were me touching you.”

Your adjusted the phone against one of the pillows so you could use both of your hands to touch your breasts. You started off just massaging them, remembering how Ransom had done this to you last week. He loved teasing you. You watched the phone as you began to pinch your nipples, aching over the sight of him palming himself.

“Tell me how that feels,” he said. “Talk to me, baby.”

“It feels good,” you confessed, and for a second you closed your hands and just basked in the sensations pouring through your body. You were wet already, though not as wet as Ransom’s touch normally made you. Your body didn’t react to anything the same way it reacted to him. “But not as good as you.”

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned. “I wanna see how wet you are.”

You picked up the phone and fixed the angle so he could watch you run a finger between your folds. You were already dripping. You released a shaky breath as you began to touch your clit, moving your finger in the same achingly-slow circles that Ransom usually did.

Ransom snuck his hand into his underwear and began touching himself. “Shit, you’re so fucking hot.”

“I wanna see your cock,” you told him as you gained a momentary boldness.

He lowered his underwear enough for his cock to peak out, already hard and leaking pre-cum. You whined at the sight. You wanted him inside of you so badly.

You didn’t realize you’d said that last part out loud until he said, “I wanna feel you too, baby. I miss you squeezing my cock when I’m inside you.”

You moaned and your eyes shut as you pictured him above you, slowly entering you and making your pleasure peak.

“Finger yourself,” he ordered. “I want you to make yourself cum.”

As if your body were under his spell, you complied without hesitation. You inserted two fingers inside of your wet hole and curled them in quick movements. Your thighs clenched as the knot in your stomach tightened. For a minute everything was quiet, both of you listening to the sounds of your moans and gasps as you drew yourself closer to release.

“Wait!” Ransom spoke up just as you were about to cum.

Your fingers froze inside of you despite everything in your body and mind telling you to keep going, you were almost there. You let out a small whimper.

“I changed my mind,” Ransom said, his hand still moving up and down his cock. “I’m the only one who gets to make you cum.”

You huffed, knowing you weren’t going to release the tension in your body tonight. Not while Ransom was on the phone, at least.

“But you get to cum?” You asked, the bitterness clear in your voice. This man was completely unfair and he knew it. Hell, he exploited it. He basked in it. It was one of the things you loved to hate about him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he assured you with a smirk, “I’m picturing it’s your mouth around me instead of my hand.”

You moaned and your mouth literally salivated at the thought of him face-fucking you. “God, Ransom, I wanna taste you so badly.”

He groaned and began to move his hand faster. His eyes closed, bliss written all over his face as he said, “Keep talking. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Your frustration at your unachieved orgasm was forgotten. All you wanted now was to watch him lose control--and you wanted your words to bring him over the edge. So you laid it on thick. “I wanna suck you off so bad. I’d start by just kissing the tip and give you little licks--nothing to satisfy you, just enough to tease you and make you need more. I’d give plenty of attention to your balls until you’re so desperate that you start fucking into my mouth. God,” you moaned, picturing it yourself, “I’d want you to grab onto my hair and use me. I want you to make me choke on your cock until I can’t fucking breathe. And then I’d want you to cum in my mouth and let me swallow it all up.”

“Fuck, Y/N!” He cried out and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as he came, his cum shooting out and landing on his hand and stomach.

You felt proud of yourself for getting him to orgasm so quickly. The sight of you turned you on even more and you found yourself even more desperate and needy for him than you’d been the entire day.

“You’re such a naughty girl,” he laughed as he caught his breath and came down from his high.

“Only for you,” you promised.

“Good.”

“This didn’t help with missing you,” you admitted. You only missed him more.

Ransom opened his eyes and looked back at you. “I know, baby. I’ll fuck you real good when you come home, don’t worry.”

“Promise?” You couldn’t hide the hopefulness in your voice.

“When it comes to fucking, I never break my promises,” he said.

You couldn’t get home soon enough.

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