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#but most of all (comma) of myself

smallfrenchstudyblr · 1 year

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#studyblr #phdblr #postgradblr #knife gang

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uyuartik · 2 months

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bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature.

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours. “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles. He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.

“Well, apology accepted.”

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around.

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.”

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway?

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer."

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite.

"I'll be there."

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day.

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.

It is still completely the same.

===

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up.

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?"

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy."

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle.

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm.

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him-

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch.

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further.

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration.

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake…

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.”

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.”

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

“And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-”

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled.

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said?

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it.

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind. “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation.

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh.

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him.

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety.

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason.

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball.

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension.

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-”

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest.

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface.

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point.

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything!

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.” You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him.

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange.

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute.

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.”

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair.

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him.

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.”

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride.

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp, “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.”

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets. “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?”

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.”

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over.

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.”

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection.

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right?

Oh my God, it is.

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with. “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.”

“Is there?”

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good.

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close?

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.”

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.

“I’m waiting, darling.” You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin.

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time.

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows.

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.”

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room.

Though he has no rush to join you.

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him.

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that.

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.” And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.”

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax.

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better.

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance.

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him.

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do.

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big.

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?”

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent.

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too. “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.”

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-”

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.”

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily?

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already.

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on.

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan.

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light.

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant.

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self.

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks.

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.”

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out.

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind.

“Darling?”

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind.

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.”

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail.

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?”

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads.

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi fluff

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doxypsychlean · 2 years

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Cupid's Chokehold

Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader

|Oneshot|

Warnings: Explicit language, implied nudity ig?? dude's ass was out for everyone to see in that one scene anyway?

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your nose off!

English isn't my first language. I don't proofread. I slap commas wherever I feel they're needed.

A/N: Lol this one's kinda sad...Oh yeah, and no use of Y/N, couldn't get myself to do it.

"Where the fuck were you last night?" She entered their shared quarters, angry tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "For fuck's sake, Aegon!"

"Hm?"

"Where were you!?"

"What?"

She tore the sheets off of him. All he did was roll over and mutter something under his breath.

"Why do I even bother..." She sighed in defeat, crashing down on the corner of the bed. Their bed. At least in principle. In reality, the princess had spent most of their marriage sleeping on one of the lounging chairs they had in their chambers. She couldn't bring herself to get into the same bed as him. Especially when he smelled of wine, vomit, other women and Gods know what else...

"I never wanted this, you know..." She said more to herself, than him. "I would've been more than happier to marry some unknown lord of some unknown pile of shit on the other side of the realm."

There was no stopping now, it all came crashing down. The words kept spilling from her mouth.

"I can still see it. Me and this fanthom lord husband of mine, smiling at eachother, our children running around. A babe growing in my womb. I could've been so happy, Aegon...So,so happy."

Unbeknownst to her, he had heard it all. Red puffy eyes looked back at her, tears creeping their way down his flushed face and landing on the soft pillow under the prince's head. He sat up, hand reaching out for her.

"I never knew... I-" His voice trembling.

"How could have you ever known, you're never here..." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, moving away from his touch. "Sometimes I wonder if you even know my fucking name"

She stood up abruptly and started circling around the room like a caged beast. A pair of crystal blue eyes followed her movements. Aegon could see it all now, clear as day. The pain, the distrust, the resentment.

"I tried loving you... Back when Cupid still had me in his chokehold" the woman let out a bitter laugh. "You fucking idiot, you have no idea what it's like! All I wanted was someone to love me. Someone to fucking love back! If that is love, then I don't know what love is..."

She slammed a hand against the wall, bones shattering. All the adrenaline that rushed through the young body kept her from feeling the severity of what she'd just done to herself.

"Instead I got you- a lifelong sentence. And I have yet to figure out what kind of monstrosity I must have committed to deserve such a punishment."

"Please, I'll-"

"You'll what? Change?" She interrupted. Her voice was barely above a whisper now, clutching her broken hand with the one that was still intact. "Oh, please. You've had all the time in the damn world to do it. You think me yelling at you once is what's gonna do it. Please, Aegon, even I am not that naive."

The prince looked down at her broken hand. He knew it. She was right.

"My dear, sweet Aegon..." The woman grabbed his chin between the thumb and index finger of her good hand, lifting up so he could meet her gaze once again. "You'll spend the rest of your life chasing whores and bottles. You're not good for much else. Remember that."

She bent down and kissed him gently. The first and last kiss they'd shared since the wedding ceremony. His eyes fluttered shut.

"Not long after your pretty silver hair will start to fall out. You'll get weak. Frail. The only children you'll father will be bastards that you'll never meet. And the only person that would have tried to love you for who you were, will be long gone..."

She was at the door by the time his eyes opened back up.

"Farewell, my love."

#aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the usurper #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd one shot #gameogthronesfanfic #gameofthrones #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #oneshot #angst

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fillinforlater · 9 months

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Monday of Appreciation: Part 98

Hello everyone, Smite here!

Another step closer to one of the most satisfying number... and it's a number I did not really think I would reach. But it is real, every damn Monday, a pist like this has appeared on my blog for 22+ months - and my goal is still the same:

Giving love to other writers with awesome stories, new ideas and gorgeous, insanely hot idols. So click on the damn links and get ready to enjoy these four smuts:

-1-

@minarisplaything: What You're Missing Part 1 ft. Kazuha, Yunjin

So I liked this, simple concept, but also very hot idols who kinda fit the characters (Kazuha seems to fit everything though lol). I just eant you to use this one button, then add a couple of commas and I'm fully hooked. I know this fic is a bit older, but please use capital letters lmao

-2-

@jisoosimpxd: Your Turn ft. Yunjin, Chaewon

This is just straight up squeezing all of my horniness out, ugh, watching this would be a such an overwhelming experience - good thing that I can imagine myself pounding Yunjin and making Chaewon a desperate longing mess (mess mess mess mess mess mess).

-3-

@closedafterdark: My Girlfriend's Best Friend ft. Nancy, Ahin

Oh look, another fic about cheating. Something about this immoral practice paired with smut just works. You already have this stupidly hot and needy idol, why go cheat? Why ruin your life? Because she is seductive, tempting you to commit this sin, and we (men) are weak. In the case of Ahin... yep, I would probably fall too.

-4-

@smuttysabina: GahDongs Dirty Duo Fuck ft. futa!Gahyeon, futa!Handong

WHOEVER COMMISSIONED THIS, DESERVES A MEDAL. Holy shit, this was... short but impactful. I'm losing it, I need this, woaaaahhhh!

Please, never stop @smuttysabina releasing such crazy, unhinged, kinky-af pieces of horny art lmao luv u

(God, Miyeon makes me so horny lately) I mean, have a great week everyone! <3

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romanarose · 7 months

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Fic Recs

I'll admit I've been slacking. A lot. It was a high anxiety summer as you know, and I've finally been able to pretty much cut ties with an abusive friend who was causing a LOT of those anxiety and panic attacks. BUT I want to rec some of my fav writers and fav stories.

To keep the presure low on myself I am only linking ONE story per writer, whatever story that speaks to me. I do hope if you like the story you'll check out more from them!

Please remember to reblog their stories if you read them, and if you feel inclinded, leave a kind comment! Big comments are fantastic but even a short "Great story!" Means the world!

Dead Dove Do Not Eat and all dark fics will be in red. Might make a whole other dddne tag list on my dark blog on of these days lmfao

Moon Knight

Fractured Moon by @melodygatesauthor : DDDNE Yandere Moon boys x reader, non con, extreme violence but such good interpretations of the boys

Friendly Favors by @runa-falls best friend steven, friends with benefits??? friends to lovers??? yes plzzz

Rydal Keener

Oxford Comma by @whatthefishh : Collage AU, Rydall is cunty, serves cunt, and eats cunt. What can I say.

TLOU (Most of what I'm reading rn if im being honest)

Linger On by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin : Pre-outbreak!Joel, angst, yummy smut, ft. my boyfriend, Tommy (Angela said I can be Tommy's gf)

Caught by @toxicanonymity : Inspired Keep Cry'n, Joel catches you when you try to run, masterbates onto your face. part 2 has TOMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Maintainence Man series by @gracieispunk : Joel is a, well, Maintenace man in our building! He is married but that doesn't stop him from fucking you

Hungry Hearts @atinylittlepain : If ya'll know me, you know I love Bruce Springsteen. I have 2 fics named after springsteen songs, one joel one javi/santi/reader. I've fallen behind on the series but loved it enough to make fan art! terrible fan art but still! Pre-outbreak, takes place in two timelines- college age and then the 2000'. Joel has Sarah, reader is ellies mom which I think is fun.

Exit Wounds by @strang3lov3 : No fic masterlist so I tagged the main masterlist. Now listen. I love Tommy Y'all know I love tommy... but cheating on tommy? Im so sorry baby. But ur also an asshole lol. Had it coming.

Creep by @theywhowriteandknowthings : I- ugh just read it. darkish but nothing insane like the wrong way lmfao. pretty mild comparatively but use discression but THAT TWISTTTTTTTT

Only Daddy That'll Walk the Line by @millerscoffee Yellow istead of red bc its not like. dark but Joel's pretty mean

Not A Survialist Girl by @tightjeansjavi again yellow bc joel's a dick lol but THE DIRTY TALK?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Miguel O'Hara

Halo by @missdictatorme : Miguel O'Hara goes full Nathan Bateman and fucks his ai. Whore.

Only You Only Me by @astroboots : so im behind on this one too. What about it! Im terrible I know but like Hungry Hearts above I may be a slow reader but I didn't forget and also did stupid fan art of this great fic too. lol. Anyway plz read this, I cant give a great summary bc im only a few chapters in but if youre in the oscar fandon you know cici writes only bangers

No One But Me by @koshkamartell : You try to break things off with Joel and begin spending time with the hot librrian in Jackson. Joel does not like thi

Triple Frontier

Under Neon Lights by @campingwiththecharmings : sexy drunk sex with my baby boi, santi <3

Through the Scope by @ssuperficialspacecadett : Reader works for Benny and falls for frankie. Great relationships with all the boys, reader has sexual trauma so you knoooooooow i eat these fics up!!!! lovely to see all them be appriciated with special focus on FRANKIE my precious lol guy

Shared Breathes by @frenchiereading : DAD FRANKIE x teacher reader. Triple frontier may have forgotten Frankie has a baby (he deserved the money for her) BUT WE DID NOT!!!!!

The Story of Us by @pimosworld : You served in the military with the boys but they made a deal not to sleep with you. Years later after helping you escape abuse, one by one they begin to waver aka you fuck them all. FishBen as a bonus!!

Goddamn have I really only been reading TLOU XD lmfao makes sense bc thats mostly what Im writing. That and the Javier pena x reader x santi and then the will fic but im soooooooooo much of a TLOU whore rn its insane.

Im sure ill remeber some more amazing TF fics soon but for now here we are!

Gonna plug real quick my latest one shot tho bc it's a holiday and I can self promo if I want! Shana Tova, moon boys x non jewish!reader where the moon boys share a part of their jewish identity with you!

THANK YOU TO ALL WRITERS FOR YOUR HARD WORK, I APPRICIATE YOU!

If you ever seen my like and not reblog know its just bc I forgot and im sorry. If you ever tagged me in a tag game and i never responded its bc I forgot and again IM SORRY

If I didnt tag anyone and you think i didt think your fic was worthy THATS NOT IT im simply overwhelmed with how much ive read and how this summer was and i just havnt organized it all. Im sorry!!

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dilatorywriting · 6 months

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Hey you! Yes you! I was just curious if you could share a little bit about your writing process?! Your works are so well thought out! And your concepts so fun and interesting! You make the readers so colorful and distinct yet still easy for the reader to imagine themselves!

Thank you!!

Unfortunately, I don't really have any sort of definitive process outwith flying by the seat of my pants 😅 Most often I'm just sitting around pondering and go "oh! That sounds like a fun idea!" Plop myself at my laptop, and just start banging it out. Sometimes if I'm stuck on something, or know I want a certain event to happen or a certain ending I'll sometimes write out a little checklist to keep myself on track. Or like put things into bullet points to try and make sure I can come up with a reasonable path of getting from A to B and so on.

My only other general rules I keep for myself as I go are

1) not to repeat words in back-to-back sentences unless it's intentional wordplay (like, if I'm describing someone moving their hand, I'm not going to say "they move their hand. And then lift their hand" back to back). Because I feel it helps the flow of things personally.

And 2) to say fuck grammar and do what sounds best, even if it technically breaks the rules. Like I use commas all wrong for example, but I use them as how I want the sentence to be read. If I want more pauses, I put more commas. If I want a faster-paced bit of text, I'll skip a lot of punctuation and proper sentence structure.

I'm also a fan of using descriptive words that aren't normally associated with certain things (like describing air as soft, or using imagery of odder but very specific things to compare one reaction to another), because I feel like it creates some clearer imagery and forces people to associate very specific traits with a scene, or character, etc. Which I never really considered before until I was talking with my sister one day and having the whole "what do you think when someone says 'apple'" conversation. And learning that some people can't just picture everything in their heads as like a definitive image? Blew my mind. And made me very conscious of not just relying on the theater of the mind for getting people to understand what's going. Sometimes you have to build the theater, the actors, and the soundtrack for them--not just the story. And that's my goal usually if I can reach it.

#Asks

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sgiandubh · 10 months

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Kthxbye

When lurking, you do and you actually should try to have at least an overview of the dialogue dynamics in the different camps of the fandom.

A quick walkthrough of how it shows on an outsider's screen:

Something: happens.

The Shire: who? where? when? why? does it match with what we know? does it make sense? what do you think? aren't we writing the script? will they double down on the narrative? what do you think? is that enough to put it to rest? does it click 100%? who found it? who sent it? who said what? what do you think? is it a good thing? a bad thing? a meh thing? what do you think? did that happen before? you want to go to DMs with that one? what do you think? is it the right time to talk about that? we haven't spoken enough about that, have we? I've just noticed something, what do you think? what do we think?

Mordor: oh God, they are stupid. Nothing there. She said nothing. Who is that one, posting there? What does she want? There is nothing there. God, they are stupid. I've never spoken to that one, but she's a nutcase. Fact. Nothing happened. God, they are stupid. I have it in good faith based on a twitter post from Jakarta with no pics. Yeah, "with family". God, they are stupid. And who is this one? Oh, I know her commas, just took another handle. God, they are stupid. There is nothing there. Nothing happened. I have just called Wakanda Bay Resort, he checked in yesterday. How do shippers mean, resorts don't give these details on the phone? They are stupid. There is this Tick Tock reel by somebody from Oaxaca, they were at the market, no, the person didn't know who he was, but let me post it here. I've chopped it into frames, then watermarked. All rights reserved: it's mine. But can't you see how they can't even stand each other anymore? They have nothing. I've just sent myself an Anon in German, that should be enough facts. Oh, God they are stupid. I am just going to ignore that critical detail, it's not even there, shippers are very sick people. If I just told you so, then this is the truth. I mean, he followed her on Insta, and then unfollowed. Must be love. Must have been love, yeah. But it's over, now. And I don't even watch that shitty show anymore. It's dead. OL is dead. God, they are stupid.

... and so on, and so forth, until the next something happens.

The Shire is what it is, but it is a place of debate. Questions are asked, stones are turned, answers slowly, organically emerge. It can sometimes be a place of suspicion, but how could that be otherwise? After all, this is also the side which has been the most bruised and battered by the narrative itself. One can not and should not expect credulity, here. But kindness, yes. Always.

In Mordor, I have never seen anything else than false premises, a narrative revered North Korean style and little to no questioning, let alone original content.

And then they wonder why people still come here from the outside and stick to this camp. Yeah.

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ofstoriesandstardust · 1 year

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the one where they go camping (b.r.b.)

a/n: i started sending thoughts about the one bed trope with @gretagerwigsmuse and it suddenly turned into a full-fledged fic. also, there’s a playlist for this fic!! this is probably a full-fledged disaster but idk i enjoyed it.

summary: You spend your spring break camping with your friends from UVA. Cue the most awkward five days of your life when it turns out you and Bradley will have to share a bed.

flight risk masterlist | UVA cast of characters

warnings: swearing, alcohol, one bed trope, cuddling, arguing, food mentions, there’s a knife but it’s only used in a cooking context, the word bitch is used in a derogatory context, canon death of a parent, body insecurity, reference to former toxic relationships, sunshine needs therapy, this is semi-researched and semi my imagination, man i sure do love those fucking commas

word count: 10,612

The sound of keys being tossed on the table catches your attention. You look up from your book, catching a glimpse of Bailey, pulling out a chair next to you. From across her is Madison with Bradley, who is pulling the chair out across from you. You squint in the sunlight, offering him a soft smile.

"Hey Sunshine.” He says as he sits, tugging his backpack off his shoulders.

“Hi.”

“Any fun plans for spring break?”

You pick up your bookmark, shutting it in the book and setting it on the table as you shake your head. “No, I’ll probably just hang out here. Sleep maybe.”

Bailey’s head flies up from where she’s looking through her bag. “What?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What you do you mean what?”

She doesn’t get a chance to respond as Tommy approaches the table, Eli behind him dragging two other chairs from another table to where you’re sat in the courtyard. It’s a warmer than usual day for March, letting you study outside for the first time in months.

“Are we discussing camping over here?” Tommy asks, sitting down between Bailey and Bradley. Eli wedges himself in between Tommy and Bradley, barely fitting in the group.

Bailey nods absent-mindedly, still staring at you. “I thought you were coming camping with us.”

“Oh- I didn’t-” You swallow, feeling the itch to pull the sleeves of your UVA sweatshirt down around your fingers. “I didn’t realize I was invited.” You mumble, cheeks going hot.

“What do mean you didn’t realize you were invited? Madison and I discussed it like, six times in front of you.”

You shrug. “I don’t have any gear to go camping. I’ve never actually even been camping.”

“How have you never been camping?” Eli asks incredulously, eyes going wide.

You shrug again. “I don’t know, we always did backyard campouts. My parents couldn’t really afford to take the time off of work.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t think you’d be invited.”

“I don’t know Bailey, it- it wasn’t an explicit invitation.” You stammer out, wanting to shrink down in your chair. “My parents always told me to never assume I’d been invited places or to invite myself to outings or trips. I didn’t want to assume I’d been invited and have nobody want me there.”

The table falls silent at the words and you resist the urge to squirm. Madison grabs your wrist, forcing you to look at her as she says your name softly. “You’re invited. We want you there. You don’t need to worry about gear or anything; Tommy and I are already compiling all of our stuff.”

“Okay.” You say softly, as she gives you a bright smile.

“Cool beans, cool bean.” She says, punching a laugh out of both you and Bradley.

“Didn’t you do Girl Scouts?” Eli asks, still frowning. “I’m still struggling to comphrend the fact that you’ve never been camping.”

You shrug. “Yeah, but only for a few years when I was little. It just got expensive, especially cause my siblings had their own extracurriculars and whatever. Never really got to the age where we did the whole camping thing. Who’s all going on this trip?”

“You, me, Bails, Mads, Eli and Bradley. I thought Kade would join us but he has to work.” Tommy responds.

“What about Anna?” You ask, eyebrow raised. “Or Blake, I know he likes camping.”

Tommy coughs awkwardly. “Yeah, well Blake is busy I think. Anna is going to Oregon to see her boyfriend.”

“Oh, gotcha.” You glance at the time on your watch. “Anyways, I have to go to class.”

“We’re leaving on Sunday at seven am sharp! Four days and five nights. Madison will pick you up. Bring clothes to swim cause we’re going to the lake.” Bailey says, pulling a notebook out of her bag.

“Are you guys still camping at Lake Shenandoah? Why leave so early?”

“Only gonna be there for five days. We have to maximize our time.” Madison says authoritatively, pulling her sunglasses down on to her face.

“There can’t be that much to do.” You mutter as you stand up from the table.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Someone calls your name, making you turn. It’s Tommy, running out of the office you’d just walked past. “Hey Tommy.” You say, turning to face him. You have to look up to make eye contact with him, his lanky body towering over yours (and everyone else’s).

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you about camping actually.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to suck in your bottom lip to chew on it nervously.

Did they not want you to go anymore?

“So, we’ve done some preliminary packing and it turns out there’s not going to be enough room for Madison to drive you.” You swallow, waiting for the inevitable.

Sorry, we just don’t have room. Maybe next time?

He continues on however, not noticing your sudden panic. “Anyways, Bailey and Madison will be in Mads car together, but the only other person who’s car will fit all of us is Bradley’s, cause my truck will only fit two people and Eli refuses to drive his quote ‘nice, expensive car to a camp site’ so we’re left with Bradley’s. Anyways, are you cool to ride with him?”

You nod, even though the thought of being in a car with Bradley for a whole hour feels like the worst idea.

At least there would be other people? And, given the hierarchy of the friend group, you’d probably end up in the back.

It would be fine.

He smiles. “Great. Bradley has your address, right? He’ll pick you up at eight. Eli vetoed the leaving at seven thing.”

“Oh great, a whole extra hour.”

Tommy chuckles. “He was originally pushing for eleven.”

“And that somehow got negotiated down to eight?”

“Bailey threatened to key his car if he didn’t stop being difficult.”

“Why do you hang out with him again?”

“He’s cool.”

“Yeah, remember when Bailey told you you were frat bro-adjacent? She was right.” You say, turning on your heel.

“See you Sunday!″ He calls from behind you, smile clear in his tone.

You’re sitting out on your front porch, fiddling with your shoelaces nervously as you wait for Bradley. The sun is still rising, just peaking over the horizon. Your head is tucked up into your knees, admiring the sky when Bradley’s car emerges from around the corner.

You lift your head, up, noticing it's just him in the vehicle as he parks in front of your house. “Where’s your annoying buddy?” You call as he steps out of the car, the door slamming shut behind him.

He sighs, rounding the vehicle. “Oh boy do I have a story for you.”

You give a half-laugh, standing up from the step as he walks up the sidewalk towards you. “What? What happened? What did I miss?”

He shakes his head, not answering the question as he picks up the duffle bag that was siting by your feet. You double-check that the front door is locked and then follow him to the car, where he’s setting the bag in the back with his stuff. “Hop on in.”

You pull the front passenger door open, sliding in the seat. “Can we stop and get road trip snacks?”

He pauses from where he’s putting the key in the ignition to look at you. “It’s an hour drive.”

You shrug, pulling your seatbelt on. “Well, you don't have to get anything but I’m hungry and didn’t eat breakfast. Plus, I love a good road trip snack.”

He sighs, starting the car. “Yeah, I didn’t eat anything either. We can stop at McDonald’s, if you want.”

“That works.”

“Thank you for putting your seatbelt on, by the way.” He says, starting to pull out from your driveway.

“With this friend group, no one goes anywhere without it on.”

“I know, but I DD for the frat parties and you would not believe how hard it is to get drunk frat boys to put their seat belts on.”

You chuckle. “I could guess.” There’s a pause as you consider your next words. “You know, I always forget you’re in a frat because you don’t act like a typical frat bro.”

He turn his head, half towards you, still keeping his eyes on the road. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Frat bros are certain type of people like...” You trail off, searching for how to describe the guys he hang out with without also insulting the people he’s around so often.

“Like Eli?” He asks, a smile growing on his face.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, returning his smile. “Like Eli.”

“I’m kind of annoyed at him at the moment, so you can talk shit, it’s okay. I know you don’t like him.”

“Bailey doesn’t like him.” You correct. “I really don’t mind him. I know you guys are best buds. Why’re you annoyed?”

He grumbles as the two of you pull into the McDonald’s parking lot. “I’m annoyed with all of them. You missed the packing disaster that happened last night, but to make a long story short, Tommy ended up having to drive and didn’t want to drive alone. It would’ve made sense for him to just come grab you and have the two of you drive in his truck since Eli and I live together, and I could’ve driven us but no, you were too far from Tommy’s and Eli wanted to hangout with Tommy and drive with him so somehow Eli ended up spending the night at Tommy’s and now we’re here.”

“So the short version is our friends are pains in the asses?”

He chuckles, turning to look at you as he pulls into the drive-thru line. “Pretty much. What do you want?”

You shift in your seat, trying to get a better look at the place as Bradley pulls into the driveway. “Bailey and Madison did good.”

“How the fuck did they beat us here?”

You pull your gaze from the small but cozy-looking cabin, to where Bradley’s eyeing the other cars in the driveway. Sure enough, there’s Tommy’s truck and Madison’s white Chevrolet SUV that somehow always felt larger than necessary. You shrug. “I don’t know, we did stop for McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, but when have you ever known our friends to leave on time?”

You tilt your head in acknowledgement of his question. “True.”

The two of you climb out of the car, Bradley grabbing the bags out of the back as you trek up the driveway. The front door opens before you can even knock, revealing a grinning Bailey.

“You guys finally made it! Bradley, the boys are upstairs, if you wanna take y’alls stuff up there.” She grabs your wrist, already moving you towards the kitchen. “Let me give you the full tour.”

The cabin is two-stories, with a small kitchen and a dining table just big enough to fit all six of you. She shows you the back area of the house from the French doors in the kitchen, where there’s a wonderful lake view and a fire pit. There's a smaller living room, with a loveseat and a recliner in front of a fireplace. She takes you up the stairs, where you realize with a sinking heart that there’s only three bedrooms.

“So this is the master, which is mine and Madison’s, because Madison planned the trip and I found this place. That’s Eli and Tommy’s room down the hall, with the two twin beds. Which means...”

“I’ll be sharing a bed with Bradley.” You sigh. The bed isn’t very big, a double if you had to guess.

Fuck.

You turn slightly, shooting Bailey a look. “You did this on purpose.” You whisper as the boys emerge from the room down the hall.

She sighs shaking her head. “No, we weren’t expecting Eli to be such a pain in the ass about the sleeping arrangements.”

You raise an eyebrow, doubting her words. “Really?”

“Yeah, really Bailey?” Madison asks, appearing over Bailey’s shoulder. “He’s the reason we’re in a cabin and not camping camping.”

“There’s dirt!” Eli shrieks as Bradley wedges himself in the doorway, realizing what the three of you are discussing. He gives you a brief glance, offering you a nervous smile.

“We’ll make it work. Only four nights right?”

You glance up from your book but quickly pull your attention back down once you catch sight of Bradley in nothing but his boxers.

He was trying to kill you, you were convinced of it.

Your eyes remained firmly planted on the page, even though they aren’t absorbing any of the words, becoming a blurry mess as you focus really hard on not looking back up to see practically naked Bradley. He flops down on the bed, only shifting up to turn the lights off, flooding the room in pitch-black darkness.

“Goodnight Sunshine.” He mutters, rolling over on the bed to have his back facing you.

“Hey, I was reading!” You protest, fumbling on your side of the bed for the switch to your lamp.

“Stop studying, we’re on spring break.” He says, hand blindly reaching out to grab the book out of your hand. He rolls over to put it on his nightstand with a rather loud thump.

You gape at the faint outline of his figure, barely illuminated by the light under the crack of the door. “You’re a pain in my ass. I won’t even know where I stopped. ”

“Yes, you will, because you always write in your books. Go to sleep.”

You huff, but comply, setting the pen you are in fact holding on your nightstand and pulling the covers over you as you roll to have your back face his. You shut your eyes, listening to the only sound in the house of Tommy washing the dishes downstairs.

It’s not long after that the light downstairs and in the hallway gets shut off, Tommy being the last one up and apparently going to bed for the night. The room does become pitch-black, the house falling silent.

You aren’t sure how long you lay there, eyes squeezed shut as sleep continuously escapes you.

All of the sudden, Bradley lets out a loud snore, causing you to jump. You shift up, looking over to him. As your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you see the faint outline of his chest rising and falling continuously. You let out a soft groan, palms of your hands reaching up to press themselves into your eyes.

It was going to be a long night.

The first thing you realize when you wake up is the fact that you’re abnormally warm.

It’s March and you’re in a cabin in the middle of the woods. For as much as you had all played with thermostat the night before when the darkness had settled in, and with it the colder temperatures, you hadn’t gotten it to be very warm in the cabin before giving up and going to bed for the night.

The second thing you register is that there’s a steady weight across your stomach and something tangled in your legs. You slowly let your eyes open, taking in the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, the sound of the coffee maker on downstairs. Tommy must be awake already.

You turn your head slightly, following the arm thrown around your center. The steady weight is connect to the person next to you who’s...

oh shit.

You wince, realizing what’s happening.

Bradley-the-human-furnace-Bradshaw is cuddling you.

Worse yet, you think he’s still asleep, which means he isn’t conscious of what he’s doing. At all.

That’s what you tell yourself as you begin to panic, unsure of what to do. Did you wake him up? Did you tell him to get off of you?

You had to admit that it was nice, the way he was holding you. The way his arms around you made you feel protected. Safe. It felt a little like being home, if you were honest.

You’d never felt that before.

You take a deep breath to center yourself, remembering that you and Bradley weren’t even friends. You were just two people who knew each other because of a mutual friend group. You were just two people who’d been invited on this camping trip and got stuck sharing a bed together.

It meant nothing. He didn’t mean anything by it.

He stirs, shifting slightly on the bed. You quickly turn your head, trying to ignore the way he’d looked with the golden rays dancing on his skin, squeezing your eyes shut.

Maybe you could pretend you were still asleep and the two of you would never have to talk about this and could pretend it never happened.

Yeah, that was a good plan.

He shifts, arm tightening around your middle as he rolls closer. You can practically feel his breath on the crook of your neck. “Morning Sunshine.”

The words take your breath clean from your throat as you tense, willing yourself to be very still. Maybe he thinks you’re still asleep.

“I know you’re not asleep.” The smile is clear in his voice and you move your head a little, looking back at him, swallowing when you realize how close he is. How good he looks in the morning.

“Hi.” You whisper.

“Hey.” He says, but then pulls his arm back, untangling his legs from yours. You instantly feel cold. “Sorry about that. I’ve been told I’m a cuddler in my sleep. Probably should’ve warned you.”

“It’s fine.” You say, the words physically painful to squeeze out. He sits up, comforter falling around his hips to reveal his naked chest that is bathed in golden sunlight. You turn back around, squeezing your eyes shut once more at the sight of him.

“What are we doing today, do you remember?”

“Um.” You swallow, throat scratchy. “I think we’re going hiking I think Madison said.”

Behind you, you can feel him move off the bed, his weight disappearing. You can hear him move around the room, walking to where his bag is sat and unzipping it. “Sounds good. I’m gonna get changed. See you downstairs.”

“Yeah.”

You hold your breath until you hear the bedroom door click shut, and then begin to count backwards from 20 by 2s as you try to regulate your breathing.

Then you sit up, not bothering to grab clothes to change into as you dart out of the room and down the hall, grabbing Bailey’s arm as she steps out of her room. Her eyes scan your face, searching for a sign of something being wrong.

“What? Is everything okay?” She asks. The two of you are squeezed in the doorway as Madison stands on the other side in the room, listening to the conversation.

“I woke up to Bradley cuddling me.” You mumble, eyes flickering to the door of Tommy’s room opening.

Her frown changes to a smile, growing wider. “Oh yeah? And then what? You two finally bang it out? Have sleepy, cuddly sex?”

You shoot her a look. “Fuck off that, will you?”

Madison snickers, causing you to also toss her a withering look.

“Whatcha girls talking about over there?” Eli calls, Bradley appearing over his shoulder.

“The stick up your ass.” Bailey calls back, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

“Smooth, B.” Madison mutters.

Bailey ignores Madison, turning to face you with her hands on her hips. “Tell me everything. Now.”

You faceplant on the bed with a groan. “There’s nothing to tell. I woke up to him cuddling me in his sleep and then he said ‘Sorry, I’m a cuddler in my sleep’ and then got up and left.”

The words are muffled into the comforter of the bed as your legs dangle off the side. It goes quiet in the room and you almost wonder if they didn’t hear you. Finally, you lift your had, pushing yourself into a seated position as you bring your legs to sit criss-cross.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to be normal around him now. He literally wears nothing but his underwear to bed. I just have to look at him like that after he cuddled me in his sleep and somehow be normal?”

“So don’t.” Bailey says with a simple shrug. “Grow a pair and tell him. Tell him that you have a huge raging crush on him and then bang it out and become the world’s cutest couple so the rest of us can stop doing this dance with the two of you.”

“You don’t have to sleep with him, like that.” Madison adds, sitting down on the bed. “But you should tell him how you feel about him.”

You groan again, moving to face-plant once more into the comforter but Madison’s hand shoots out, keeping you upright. “He doesn’t like me back, I told you that.”

“You’re the only one who thinks that.” Madison says firmly, giving you a little push so you’re upright.

“Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.” Bailey says flatly with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s not denial, Bails. He doesn’t like me like that. I don’t even think he’s sees us as friends. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m annoying.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible.” She says, turning around to the door.

“Will one of you switch rooms with me, please?” You beg, turning to Madison first, knowing that if anyone will switch with you, it will be her. Her eyes flicker over to Bailey, who shakes her head.

“Do you honestly think any of the other guys would’ve accidentally cuddled you in their sleep?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, he did say this is normal for him.”

Bailey sighs, taking another step back closer to the door. “I don’t think he’s the only one making excuses.”

“What does that mean?”

She ignores the question, hand on the doorknob. “Give it one more night and if you’re still uncomfortable, you and I will switch.” She opens the door, slipping out into the hallway.

Madison squeezes your shoulder. “Tommy just made us a pot of coffee. Do you want me to pour you a cup while you get dressed?”

You look down, realizing you’re still in pajamas. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

She nods standing up from the bed, as you fall backwards on the bed, the heels of your hands once again coming to press into your eyes.

You were so screwed.

You squint, the bright sun overhead filtering in through the trees as the sounds of your friends yelling at each other causes the birds to fly away from the treetops.

“I told you, we’re lost!” Bailey shouts, throwing her hands up in frustration. “And it’s all your fault, because you ignored Madison and said you knew where you were going!”

“I do know where we’re going! I’ve made this hike a hundred times!” Eli shouts back.

“Okay, both of you, cut it out. Bickering isn’t going to change the fact that we’re standing on the edge of a cliff.” Tommy said, wedging himself between Bailey and Eli.

“I’ll push him off the edge of the cliff.” Bailey says, hands moving to her hips a she stares daggers down at Eli.

“You’re a bitch.” Eli shoots, causing Bradley’s head to fly up from where he’s watching you kick a rock.

“Hey!” He shouts. “Uh uh, we don’t talk about women like that.”

“Don’t bother Bradshaw, I take pride in being called a bitch. “ Bailey says smugly.

“Oh, of course you do.” Eli snarks, rolling his eyes.

“Where the fuck is Madison going?” You mutter, watching her disappear off the trail and into the bushes.

“The right way probably.” Bradley mutters back.

“Should we follow her?”

He tilts his head in consideration of your question. “We could. Or, hear me out-” He says, holding his hands out. “-we could go back to the cabin and play cards.”

You bite your lip, nervous about the prospect of being all alone with him since this morning, but one look back to Tommy keeping Bailey and Eli form ripping each other’s throats out is enough to have you nodding.

“Done deal, Bradshaw. Lead the way.”

The two of you walk down the path from which you came, the shouting and bickering of your friends slowly tapering off into the distance. It’s quiet for a minute as you follow his footsteps, crunching over the leaves and dirt along the trail.

“So... you excited about graduating?”

He shrugs, pulling back to fall in step with you. “Kind of. This trip is making it all sort of real for me you know? This is the last time it’ll ever be like this.”

“Any grand post-grad plans?”

“I’m enlisting.” Your head flies up at the words.

“You- wait, you really are?”

He nods, offering you nervous smile. “Yeah, I sent in my paperwork the morning I came to pick you up. I’ll have a better idea in a little while of where I’ll be going in a few weeks, but it’s happening, pretty much straight away.”

“Wow.” You mutter.

On the one hand, you’re thrilled for Bradley to get everything he's ever wanted. For as long as you known him, the Navy was the dream. Everything he’s worked for would soon be coming into fruition for him.

On the other hand, you’re terrified. Terrified you may never hear from him again, that Bradley Bradshaw may become nothing more than a memory to everybody who’s ever known or loved him.

Because that was it, wasn’t it?

To know Bradley Bradshaw was to love him.

And maybe that didn’t scare you as much as it should’ve, the thought that you might be in love with this boy.

But what did scare you was what could happen to one of the kindest human beings you’d ever met.

He catches your look, reaching out to gently nudge your shoulder. “Hey now, don’t worry Sunshine. I’ll be as safe as can be.” You offer him a smile, nodding. “So what about you? Going anywhere fun for the summer? Tom and Bailey mentioned something about you going to D.C.?”

You shake your head. “Nah, nowhere fun. The D.C. trip kind of fell through and I couldn’t really afford it to begin with. I decided to renew the lease on my house with my roommate. I’ll just be working. Maybe doing research if my proposal gets approved.”

His face brightens. “Hey, that’s great Sunshine! You get paid for that?”

You nod. “Through the school, yeah. And that’s if they accept me.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that they will.” He sighs, looking at you before biting his lip. “Hey Sunshine, about this morning, if I made you uncomfortable or-”

You shake your head. “No! No, I-” You cut yourself off, unsure of what to say to assure him that it wasn’t him, it was you.

“I just wanted to apologize in case I made you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I would want to do.”

You take a shuddering breath at how kind he is, the way it makes your heart do silly little things, like want to reach over and kiss him, before you can bring yourself to respond. “Nope, you’re all good Bradshaw.” You say, forcing a smile.

And you'd make it be good.

“Sunshine, what are you doing?”

You look up from where you’re setting up the pillows to Bradley, who’s just walked through the door. He’s wearing sweatpants tonight (albeit still no shirt) but you’re grateful nonetheless because maybe with pants on you’ll be able to maintain some semblance of normality around him.

Kind of.

“Sunshine?” He asks again and you shake your head, looking back down at the decorative pillows you’d grabbed from the loveseat earlier.

“I’m building a pillow wall. So that way we, you know, both get our own side of the bed, and there’s no accidental cuddling or anything.”

He clears his throat awkwardly, an unusual blush rising on his cheeks. “Sunshine, I told you I was sorry about that.”

You shrug. “And I told you it was fine. But problem solved.”

Really, truly, honestly - it was boundary for you and you alone. You were afraid that if you woke up one more time to him cuddling you in nothing but his underwear, you do something stupid. Like kiss him or tell him about your stupid crush on him.

Still, his jaw tenses, his hand twitching at his side. The two of you stand in awkward silence for a minute before he finally sighs. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

He walks the few paces towards the bed and then climbs in, pulling the covers all the way up to his chin, leaving you to get the lights. You sigh, walking towards the door and flicking them off. You walk around the bed to climb in on your side, curling up all the way at the very edge of the bed.

The tension hangs in the room, his body stiff. You wait for him to tell you goodnight like he had the night before but he says nothing.

It’s not long that the two of you are laying there before a loud cheer erupts from downstairs.

Your friends had long passed the line between tipsy into drunk and both you and Bradley had tapped out when they started creeping into drunkenly obnoxious territory.

“What the fuck are they doing down there?’ You ask, shifting slightly to look back towards the door.

He grunts.

“Sorry.” You whisper, turning back around. “Good night Bradley.”

“Night.”

When Bradley wakes up, you’re all too aware of it, having tossed and turned all night long. You were surprised he didn’t kick you out of the bed from how much you had rolled around, although you’d tried to sit very still for as long as possible.

At one point you even went to the bathroom just to sit so as not to bother him. Unfortunately, Eli came in not long after to puke so the reprieve was short-lived.

A quick glance at the digital clock on the nightstand next to you tells you it’s only 6:10 am, far too early for Bradley to be up, and much less any of your friends who are definitely going to have hangovers. You shift slightly, watching as he sits up, pulling the comforter off of him.

He gently pushes himself off the bed and softly pads towards the door, shutting it behind him with a gentle click. You hold your breath, waiting for him to return to the room, thinking he’s just peeing, but it’s only when you realize it’s 6:31 am that he’s not coming back.

You groan, rolling back over as an ache settles in your chest.

Maybe now you’d finally be able to get some sleep.

When you’re awoken again, it’s to the sound of the door opening and someone saying your name. You groan, rolling over to the offender. You’re greeted by the sight of Bailey standing there with the door wide open.

“Good. You’re alive.”

“The fuck do you want?” You say through a yawn, a quick glance to the clock showing you it’s 11:17 am.

“Everyone minus Madison is downstairs eating breakfast and then we’re all going to the lake.”

“Where’s Madison?” You ask, not moving from the bed.

“Violently hungover. Eli quote ‘puked and rallied’, but Tommy and I can hold our alcohol. We also had way less to drink than the other two.”

You hum, but still make no move to get off the bed. She nods her head towards the downstairs. “C’mon, up and at ‘em.”

“Can’t I join you guys later? I didn’t sleep very good last night.”

Her eyes skim over the pillows next to you. “I can imagine, what with the great pillow wall of Lake Shenandoah. That Bradshaw’s idea?”

“Mine.”

She blows out a breath. “Explains why he was up at the ass crack of dawn. Even beat Tommy up. C’mon, he made sure we saved you some breakfast and a cup of coffee.”

With a final groan, you push yourself off the bed and follow her into the hallway and down the stairs. The boys grin at the sight of you, Bradley even offering you a small smile over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Hey sleeping beauty, thanks for joining us here in the land of the living.” Tommy teases.

“Good afternoon.” Eli says, a smirk on his face. Your eyes flicker to the time on the oven (11:21 am) and then back to Eli’s face.

“Fuck off, it’s not even noon yet.”

“Practically could be.”

“Good morning.” Bradley says softly as you approach the stove, picking up the coffee cup that’s sitting next to him. “Here, I save you the last cup of coffee although I wasn’t sure what you liked in it. And I made sure we saved you some breakfast: eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. There’s also toast.”

You don’t even have the heart to tell him that Bailey had already told you all of this, what with the way he’s looking at you so genuinely, so earnestly. “Thank you Bradley, really.”

Tommy clears his throat, standing up from the table. “Alright well, I’m ready to go down to the lake, if everybody else is.” There’s muttered agreement, your friends moving from their various places in the space.

“You’ll come down and join us when you’re ready, right?” Bradley says, a little concern filtering into his tone. You muster up a smile, hands wrapping tighter around the coffee mug.

“Will do Bradshaw.”

You watch them from the window for the next hour, puttering around the kitchen as you clean up the dishes from breakfast. It’s the least you can do considering everyone else cooked.

You were definitely not stalling, suddenly nervous to go outside to the lake in a bathing suit with all the boys, knowing they’d be looking at you.

You still couldn’t forget the way Noah’s eyes had roamed over your body, saying it might be a little too much.

That you were a little too much.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you braced yourself against the counter.

You didn’t do that anymore. You hadn’t done that in months. They were your friends and they’d never make you feel small or uncomfortable or-

ugly. unwanted.

You’d packed both bathing suits you own, one more risqué than the other. Both were one-pieces, easy to cover-up in, but the words you ex-boyfriend had said to you about the one that showed off your chest and had an open back lingered in your mind, reassuring you that the simple suit was the much better option.

You pull your hair back, sighing as you try to work up the nerve to go downstairs and outside.

“Hey.”

You turn, seeing Madison in the doorway. “Hey. You don’t look as awful as I thought you would.”

She shrugs, leaning up against the doorway. “I think if I went outside, I’d throw up. But other than that, I’m definitely feeling better than I was at 9 am. Cute suit.”

You look down, adjusting the strap of the blue-green clothing. “Thanks.”

“I still like the red one better though.”

“Yeah?” You ask, your teeth catching your bottom lip.

She nods. “Yeah, I like the back on it and I think the color suits you a lot more.”

“Should I change?” You ask, turning back around to look at yourself in the mirror.

She shrugs. “Up to you. I’m going back to my cave of darkness.”

You sigh, turning back towards your room to change into the other suit.

You’d packed shorts and a t-shirt to go over the suit in case you did get insecure (you knew you would) and well- no one said you had to get in the lake, right?

You groan as you pause at the doors, suddenly wanting to turn around, go back to the bedroom, slip under the covers and hide.

Because Bailey was Bailey. She had always reminded how pretty you were even when you couldn’t see it.

And Tommy was Tommy. He saw you as a little sister, someone he could goof around with and build Legos with.

And Eli could choke.

But Bradley?

It was important to you what Bradley thought of you. Especially in a bathing suit, because apparently you were twelve again, wanting the approval of the boys at the pool party.

You sigh as you slip out the French doors and out across the grass to where the group is located. Tommy’s a ways out, disappearing beneath the waves with every passing moment, brunette curls sticking his face. Bailey and Eli are stood on the edge of the shore, bickering.

And there’s Bradley, sat in a camping chair, beer in hand.

“Hey.”

He looks up at you, face squinting from the bright sun overhead. “Hey. Why aren’t you changed?”

You glance down at the t-shirt from your high school with the word S E N I O R S spelled out like the Friends logo. “Oh, I did, but I figured the lake might be cold...”

You can’t help but let your eyes roam over his body, the way his tan skin looks in the sunlight of the day. Where his once-wet curls are slowly drying, curling more than usual, especially around the nape of his neck. You can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through them.

“It’s not that cold, honestly.”

You nod absentmindedly, watching as Tommy swims closer to shore. You bite your lip as Tommy hoists himself up on the deck that sits out over the lake.

These were your friends, but even you weren’t blind to the fact that they were all a great-looking group of people. And they’d never make you feel small. But it was hard not to feel insecure standing next to guys and girls who got everyone they wanted, Bradley included.

“You coming back out Bradshaw?” Tommy calls. He looks up to you, pulling his sunglasses off.

“Depends. You gonna join us?”

You blow out a breath. “Yeah, I guess I could come sit for a little while.”

The two of you head down towards the dock, as you try to remind yourself that it doesn’t matter what Bradley Bradshaw thinks of you in a bathing suit. You woke up to him cuddling you the other day; how could it get any worse?

You follow him down towards the lack, the grass beneath your feet tickling slightly.

Memories of summers spent in your back yard, running through the hose with your siblings, flash through your brain. The nostalgic ache for the familiar itch of grass on your bare legs and laughter settles in your chest as you watch Bradley cannon ball into the lake with Eli.

You swallow as Bailey tugs your arm, dragging you further on to the deck. “C’mon, get in the water with me.”

“Um-” You say, eyes flickering back over to the boys, Tommy diving into the water and popping up next to Eli and Bradley. “What if they say something about-”

You cut yourself off, unable to bring yourself to say the words, but you know she understands anyways.

She raises an eyebrow, giving you an unimpressed look. “I’ll cut their dicks off if they do.”

The words punch a laugh out of you, some of your nerves going with it. You had known Bailey long enough to know that that was a threat she’d follow through on.

You shake your head, already reaching to pull your shirt off. “Okay, okay.” You pull your shorts off, walking further down the deck with Bailey by your side as the boys attention drifts to you.

It takes everything in you not to shrink back as you watch Bradley’s eyes go wide. Eli catches the moment, whispering something only him and Tommy can hear, causing Bradley to punch his shoulder before tipping his head back into the water.

Your mouth suddenly tastes sour, your self-consciousness rising through your stomach and up into your throat as you near the edge of the deck, realizing they’re all watching you.

It almost makes you want to turn around and go back into the house, but you don’t get a chance as Bailey is grabbing your hand. “On the count of three, okay?”

“Wait-”

“One.”

“No, Bailey-”

“Two.”

“I don’t want to-”

“Three!” She shouts, leaving you with no choice but to jump with her for fear of being tugged off the deck if you didn't.

The water is cold against your skin as you preemptively scrunch up your face, hoping to keep the water out of your eyes.

You gasp for breath you break the surface, hair already clinging to your back as you blink, searching for your friends.

A splash of water catches your attention, causing you to turn your head. It’s Bailey, popping up after you. “That was fun.”

“For one of us.”

She lets out a little laugh, offering you a shrug. It’s quiet for a minute as the two of you try to catch your breath before she nods towards the boys, signaling to head over to them. “Thanks for joining us on this trip.”

You nod as the two of you move towards the boys. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“We’re happy to have you here.”

A few hours later, you watch the sun begin to set in the distance, the orange hues settling across the lake in ripples. You take a deep breath as you admire the view, the distant conversation not even distracting you.

Until there’s a particularly loud splash of water.

You turn, spotting Eli swim away from Bailey as fast as he can.

Bradley floats over to you as you watch Bailey try to shove Eli under the water as she catches up to him. “Hey, your strap is all twisted.” He says, pointing to the top of your suit.

You look down, realizing it’s twisted all the way to the back. “Oh shit. Do you think you could untwist it for me? I don’t think I’ll be able to get it.”

He nods, swimming a little bit closer to reach out for your shoulder. “It’s a nice suit, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, the color looks good on you.” He says, pulling away and offering you a small smirk.

You think your cheeks are as red as the suit adorning your body.

You pad down the stairs, wet hair falling over your shoulder where the water seeps into your UVA t-shirt. Bradley’s alone in the kitchen, cooking dinner. He looks up at the noise, smiling at the sight of you. “Hey.”

“Smells good.” You say, walking further into the kitchen. He nods.

“Yeah, I wanted to do something a little bit more involved for dinner tonight since I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in our friend group who can actually cook besides Madison and she’s still hungover.”

“You want help?”

“Actually, yeah, could you help me cut the bell peppers? It would really speed things along.” You nod, taking the knife from him, even though you have no idea what the proper way way to slice a bell pepper is.

It couldn’t be that hard, right?

You stand there, examining the vegetable in your hand as you debate the best way to approach this, desperately wanting to not fuck it up.

“You know what you’re doing there?” He asks, eyebrows raised. You point the knife at him.

“Hey, I might not have the cooking skills of Madison but I think I can figure out how to cut a bell pepper.”

There’s a pause as he stares at you. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“Absolutely not.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Here, I’ll show you.” His voice is void of a condescending tone, which you appreciate.

He takes one of your hands, curling your fingers inward. “See, you always want to have your fingers curled inward, otherwise you run the risk of chopping your fingers off.” You nod as he takes the hand, setting it on the bell pepper while the other hand guides the hand the knife is in. “You’re just gonna cut the bottom and top off like this.” He says, demonstrating the movements.

His skin feels warm against yours as you desperately try not to lean into him, his chest pressed against your back. “Where’d you learn how to cook Bradshaw?”

The question is meant to be teasing but your tone ends up being more genuine as you feel him chuckle, chest vibrating. “My Mom. She always made me help her cook growing up. It was a way for us to bond. Food kind of brought us together, I guess.”

“She sounds like she’s a great woman.” You whisper, tilting your head just enough to look in his yes.

A flash of pain crosses his face, even as he returns your smile. “She was.” he says softly. “I wish you could’ve met her. She would’ve loved you.”

You swallow, realizing how close the two of you are. How vulnerable he’s being and how much you just want to reach up and-

He clears his throat, ducking his head. “Anyways, um, you just cut the inside pieces of like this and then cut it into slices.”

You nod, blinking at the sudden change in tone and body language, the wya he had rushed walking you through the second half of the process. “Alright, thanks.”

He gives you a small smile, stepping out of your space. “No problem.”

The two of you work alongside each other, the only sound coming from Bradley humming to the ABBA songs playing from the small speaker in the corner of the kitchen. As you cut the bell peppers, you think about the way Bradley hasn’t called you Sunshine since before “the great wall of Lake Shenandoah” as Bailey insisted on calling it, the way he’d made sure to keep his distance.

In an effort to keep yourself under control, you’d somehow managed to make things worse.

Yet, he’d still saved you breakfast and was teaching you how to cut bell peppers. The kindness in his eyes whenever he looked at you made your chest ache, and honestly all you wanted to do was to make things not be weird.

“Hey, do you think you could-”

“Bradley, I’m sorry I made things weird or like- awkward between us.”

He pauses from where he’s fiddling with he stove, eyes going wide. “What?”

You sigh, gaze dropping down to the knife sitting on the cutting board. “I’m sorry if my- my stupid pillow wall made things weird between us.”

He shrugs, turning back to the stove. “We’re good.”

“We’re not good. You haven’t called me Sunshine since before our walk back to the cabin yesterday after the failed hike and I don’t know- it feels a little strange.”

He huffs out a breath, keeping his back turned to you. “Fine, Sunshine, there we go, easy fix. Can you please get the sour cream and cheese from the fridge?”

You comply, setting the food on the counter before you walk over to him, standing next to him in front of the tiny stove space. “Bradley-”

He sighs, keeping his eyes trained firmly on the cooking chicken and veggies. “Sunshine, I just- The last thing I ever want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. I know it’s not any of my business, but I know Noah wasn’t-” He pauses, jabbing at the mixture in the pan. “I know Noah wasn’t good to you and the last thing I want to do to is put you in a position to feel like you have to put up with a man who makes you uncomfortable for the sake of your friends, like you did with him.”

Despite yourself, you let out a little laugh. “Bradley, what?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I mean, it is, honestly. It’s laughable because you and Noah aren’t even in the same stratosphere of human beings-” He shoots you a look, cutting off the laughter bubbling out of you. “Oh, Bradley, c’mon I’m serious. You’re actually a good person, not like him who was just born as an asshole.”

“Sunshine, I’m serious.”

You feel like you forget how to breathe with the way he’s looking at you, suddenly ignoring the cooking food.

“Okay, I-” You pause, trying to take a deep breath. “Bradley, I didn’t keep him around because of my friends.”

“Yeah? Not even after he dumped you and broke your heart?” He asks, frowning.

You bite your lip, looking down to the browning veggies. “I- Yeah, okay I did. But I- if you made me uncomfortable, especially like he did, I never would’ve agreed to come on this trip, much less share a bed with you.”

He turns the stove off wordlessly, pulling the food as he sets it to the side before turning to look you in the eye. “You promise?”

You sigh, stepping forward to rest your hands on his biceps. “I promise.”

You can hear the laughter echo from the cabin, all the way by the French doors as you slip out, Madison offering you a thumbs up and Bailey and Tommy giving you all-knowing grins.

You roll your eyes, pulling your jacket around you tighter as you lightly pad down the steps and across the grass to the fire pit where Eli and Bradley sit. You can hear the low mutter of their conversation as you approach, almost making you second-guess yourself.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?”

Both boys turn in their chairs to face you. Eli offers you a small smile, shaking his head. “Not at all Sunshine.” His voice is teasing, the nickname sounding strange coming from someone who wasn’t Bradley. “I was just headed back inside.”

You nod, taking Eli’s place next to Bradley as he passes by you, walking back towards the cabin. Bradley doesn’t say anything, just kicks his feet up to sit on the edge of the fire pit. The only sounds come from the birds above and the crackling of the fire in front of you.

“You know what I like about us?”

You hum, eyes still watching the flames dance in front of you.

“I like that no matter what, we can always sit in silence together and it not weird or awkward, it’s just comfortable. I can just be.”

You lift your head to smile at him. There’s another pause as he opens another beer from the cooler by his feet.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Anything, Sunshine.”

“Why are you so fond of Eli?”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head at the question, and lets out a little chuckle, almost nervous. “I’m gonna tell you a story, Sunshine, and it’s not one that I tell very many people.”

You nod, keeping eye contact with him. “I’m listening.”

You almost think he whispers “I know.” under his breath before he sighs, shifting to rest his arms on his knees. “When I came to UVA, I was in a pretty dark place. I’d just-” He cuts himself off, mouth beginning to frown. “I’d just been dealing with a lot of family issues and personal stuff. Which is vague, I know. Um- to save you the pain of listening to my issues, I can sum it up with the fact that my Mom had just died, just before my senior year. I was alone and on my own and I knew it. But uhm- there was that kid on the first day of Spanish 1, my partner for the icebreakers. And I didn’t want to share or really even talk to this kid, but there was just- No matter how upset I was, he just- man Sunshine he just kept making me laugh.”

He pauses as he takes a sip of his beer. “Those are the best kinds of friendships.” You whisper.

He nods. “They are. They’re my favorite kind. But-” He says, tilting his head again in acknowledgement of his words. “I get that he’s not like that with everyone. We gelled from the very beginning and I’ve never thought twice about him. His family has welcomed me into their home and their vacations, into their lives and love. He’s always had my back, no questions asked. But he’s a dick to a lot of people and I do know that.” He takes a deep breath, shifting on his chair. “He’s a dick to you, and I know that.”

You shift on your chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the way this conversation is going. “I didn’t mean to make this about how he treats me-”

Bradley shakes his head, cutting you off. “It’s not a justification but- Eli’s family, they come from old money. And I mean like, old money. And the way he was raised- the sheer competition to be better, always better, it bleeds into who he is as an adult. He likes people who can challenge him—I think it’s why he keeps going back to Bailey despite all the bickering—but I think in all the worst ways possible, you remind him of his sister. Younger and yet somehow always better. Always destined for more.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, watching him lean back in his chair. “He’s a good person at his core. He knows when people are in need and he does his best to help them. But—and again, this isn’t to excuse or justify it—it doesn’t change the fact that you’re brilliant Sunshine. You have the whole world at your feet and we all know it. And for whatever Eli ends up doing, he knows that you will do more.”

You rub your lips together as you snap the lid on the chapstick shut. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror, your UVA sweatshirt pulled on with a pair of old sweats before flicking the light off.

You move to open the door, to head back downstairs and outside to join all your friends at the fire pit , when you hear the door down the hall open, the sound of Eli and Bradley arguing following it.

“-Bradshaw, all I’m saying is that, if you were to have feelings for her, I think you should go for it.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stepping closer to the door. You felt a bit bad, eavesdropping on their conversation, but the thought Bradley might have a crush on some girl made your stomach churn in the worst ways.

He wasn’t yours to lose and yet-

Your train of thought is cut off by the sound of Bradley groaning, his footsteps stopping at the top of the stairs. “Where the fuck is this even coming from, Eli?”

Eli’s footsteps stop and you hear him sigh. “She’s really good for you Bradley.”

“Okay?”

“I just think you’d be better off admitting that you have feelings for your Sunshine. Even just to yourself.”

Your entire body freezes.

“I don’t like her like that!” Bradley exclaims and you swear your heart stops beating for a minute.

Distantly, you realize they must think you’re outside with the group, or they’d never be having this conversation with you near.

“You’re fucking impossible Bradley, you know that? Sunshine is halfway in love with you and you won’t even entertain the possibility of it?”

“Entertain it? I don’t like her like that. She’s my friend.”

Eli snorts. “Sure, keep fucking tell yourself that Bradshaw. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

The words trigger a memory, words Bailey had said to you at the very beginning of the trip.

Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

Horror and embarrassment floods over you as you realize they had set you up. They’d taken your crush on Bradley and had set you up.

The whole trip had been a set up.

“It’s not denial. I honestly don’t even know if I’d classify her as my friend. I’d say she’s probably more Tommy’s friend than anything.” He says the words so casually, yet you’d been around him long enough to recognize the defensive tone hidden in his words.

Still, it makes your entire body go cold as you realized you’d been right all along.

Eli sighs, and then there’s a long pause between them as your heart beats rapidly in your chest, tears pricking at your eyes.

“Whatever Bradshaw, it’ll be your loss when she’s the one who got away.”

Bradley splutters but he follows Eli’s footsteps down the stairs.

You strain your ears for the sound of the French door shutting before you let yourself breath, mind whirring at what had just happened.

Part of you desperately wants you to believe that this hadn’t been a set-up, something done to embarrass you. That your friends wanted you here, not what they thought you could be for Bradley.

Part of you wonders if it had all been a joke, a gotcha moment while they laugh at your humiliation.

You become more horrified as you play the trip back in your head, realizing it wasn’t that Bradley hadn’t wanted to make you uncomfortable.

He didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

You begin to feel empty as the words play on repeat in your head, realizing that without a doubt, no matter what you felt for him, Bradley Bradshaw felt nothing for you.

You hear the door to the bedroom open some hours later as you squeeze your eyes shut, clutching the comforter around you tighter as if it can protect you.

After overhearing Eli and Bradley’s conversation, you had gone back to your room, slipping under the covers as you suppressed your tears. You hadn’t want them to come back into the house and find you in the state you were in.

Eventually, the emotion had left you, just leaving you emotionally exhausted while unable to sleep.

“Sunshine?” Comes the whispered voice of Bradley as light floods the room. “You awake?”

You measure your breathing and he must buy it, because he shuts the door, slipping into the bed next to you, smelling distantly of campfire.

You resist a shudder, almost instinctively wanting to lean into the smell and roll over and cuddle him. Let him pull you close like he did that first morning. Let him run his fingers through your hair and tell your everything will be okay.

It’s quiet in the room as you beg sleep to come to you, yet it is painfully out of your reach. Your brain won’t stop replaying the words from earlier, how Bradley had said we’re just friends, but really if anything, she’s Tommy’s friend.

You hear the sheets move as Bradley shifts, rolling from his side to his back. The movement pulls you from your thoughts, forcing you to steady your breath, as you will yourself to be still. “Are you awake?” His voice is barely a whisper, not wanting to wake you if you’re asleep.You can’t be sure, but you almost think you hear his head move to face your back. You bite your lip, wanting to ignore him, but it’s his soft “Sunshine?” that makes your resolve crumble.

“Yeah.” You finally whisper back.

“You wanna go look at the stars?” He asks in the same quiet tone. You finally turn, almost rolling over on to his hand that’s splayed out on the sheets. He is looking at you, you note.

“Yeah.”

You aren’t sure what you’re doing, knowing what was said that night, but there’s some part of you that’s aching to be closer to him. To reassure yourself that you were still friends and maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of a chance.

And that was the part that was winning out.

“Grab a jacket.” He whispers as you slip your shoes on. You slip the jacket around your shoulders, bracing yourself for the cold you know you’ll be stepping out into. You are both quiet walking down the stairs, catching sight of the lights on under both sets of doors. He gently opens the door, holding it open for you. “After you.”

You snort, stepping out into the chilly air of the night. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“You wanna go for a walk by the lake?” He asks, shutting the door behind you.

“Yeah, sure, why not.”

The night is quiet, the stars twinkling overhead as the two of you walk.

“Orion was my favorite constellation growing up, probably because it was the only one I could recognize.”

You’re not sure why you’re sharing the information with him, knowing you originally told yourself you’d keep your distance from him.

He smiles at you. “It was one of the first ones I learned in Boy Scouts.”

“You seem the Boy Scouts type.”

He snorts. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

You shrug one of your shoulders. “It’s just a neutral thing, I think.”

He nods. “Hey, thanks for coming with us on the trip. It was fun to have you around.”

You swallow at the words, wanting to tell him he was a liar and he knew it.

Instead you shrug again. “You know me, just happy to be invited.”

“I think it’s good for me to be surrounded by good people you know? Especially before I leave in a few months.”

You hum, not trusting your voice.

Good people. He meant Tommy. Tommy and Madison. Tommy and Madison and Bailey. Tommy and Madison and Bailey and yes, even Eli.

You wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking he meant you.

“Can I admit something?” he says, voice suddenly small. It catches your attention, causing you to look up at him.

“Of course.” You whisper, stopping to watch him.

“Is it weird to admit that I’m scared?” He asks, voice a little breathless.

“Scared... of me?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“No. No!″ He almost shouts, holding his hands out. “God no, never of you. I’m- It’s gonna sound so stupid.”

“It won’t.” You say firmly.

“I’m terrified of my future. I- I know I was the one who choose it but- what if I’m not good enough? What if-” He ducks his head, sucking in a breath. “What if this is it? What if this is the best I’m ever gonna get?”

The wind feels knocked from your chest as you stumble forward, reaching out for him. “Bradley.” You whisper, taking his hand. “Bradley, no.”

His shrugs, eyes watering. “I’m just scared.”

You offer him a sad smile squeezing his hand. “I think- I think it’s okay to be scared. You’re doing something scary! Going after your dreams is the most terrifying thing in the world, but if you didn’t, if you never knew, you’d always wonder what if.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, not meeting your eye. “Thanks Sunshine.”

“Bradley, you deserve the whole world. You are going to accomplish so much and the rest of us are just lucky to know you and your greatness. We’re all better for knowing you.”

He lets out a choked chuckle, pulling you into a hug before you can even protest. His grip is tight around you and you hesitantly reach up, wrapping your arms around his larger frame.

You frown into his jacket as you stand there, knowing in your heart that no matter how Bradley Bradshaw feels about you, you will always love him.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #flight risk

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arlana-likes-to-write · 1 year

Text

I Hate Myself By Florence Pugh

Summary: Loosely based on a song in Florence Pugh’s new movie A Good Person. You are struggling with grief and guilt of your fiancé. Life seems to be going down hill when a blonde Russian forced her way into your life.

Warning: This story contains some heavy and possibly triggering themes. Heavy drinking, addiction of opioids, attempted suicide, guilt, grief, mention of death, overdose

Word Count: 2.9k

It’s crazy how life could change in an instant. A month ago you were planning your wedding. You were trying on wedding dresses, tasting cakes, and designing wedding invitations. A month ago you were celebrating with friends and brainstorming destinations for your honeymoon, and you decided on Japan. A month ago you were happy. But a car accident caused by a truck driver falling asleep at the wheel took your happiness. You were driving. You woke up from a two-week comma and your fiance never woke up. Her family never blamed you like you expected them to. No, they did the opposite and kept being there for you. They brought you to doctor appointments and helped pay for medical bills when they were grieving the loss of their daughter. But the guilt and the grief became too much and you did what you used to do before meeting Courtney, you ran. You left South Carolina and moved to New York City. Her family tried to call you and you’d send them a text to confirm you were alive. You were, barely, surviving on cheap pizza, buzz, and prescription medication.

It was lightly raining on your nightly walk around the neighborhood. You weren’t wearing a jacket, only a T-Shirt and sweatpants. The rain didn’t bother you. You loved it. On some days, Courtney would drag you off the couch into the backyard to dance in the rain. You missed her. You missed her so fucking much. You wondered if this pain was ever going to go away. Would the weight feel lighter to heavy? When would it hurt less to breathe?

You felt someone grab your arm and drag you into a nearby alley. You were so startled you didn’t even scream as you were pushed up against the brick wall. You stared at the girl in front of you. She was blonde, with striking green eyes, and she was a little shorter than you. But you didn’t miss the gun in her hand. “Do you have a death wish?” You asked. Was she Russian?

“Maybe,” you said. She lowered the gun. “Well, I mean we all die one die right,” you chuckled nervously. She put the gun on her hip and let you go. “I made this extremely awkward. Look if you are going to kill me, can you get it over with?” You had to admit it wasn’t how you thought you’d go out. Would you see Courtney? She pulled back her hood and her blonde hair was braided.

“Do you live close?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah,” you said. “Most girls take me to dinner first before I show them where I live,” you joked. She didn’t laugh. “Right, this way.” In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea to show a mysterious blonde in your apartment that was just holding a gun but life worked in weird ways. The rain picked up and by the time you unlocked your apartment door, you were drenched. You toed your sneakers off and walked into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home,” you said, over your shoulder. You heard the door close and lock as you grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured your guest a drink. She was looking around your apartment. It had the bare minimum, no photos or decorations, all that was left in South Carolina.

“You live alone?” She asked.

“Yup,” you said, taking the bottle to the couch and laying down, not caring about your wet clothes. You took a generous sip, liking the way it burned down your throat. Your guest walked softly, you barely heard her walking over to the drink and then to the couch. You stared up at her. “Want more?” Offering the bottle.

“Stay off the streets for the next few nights,” she said. “It’s dangerous.”

“Whatever you say,” you turned on the TV. She spared you one more glance at you before exiting your apartment. “Odd,” you mumbled, taking another sip from the bottle. You hoped that would be the last you saw of the Russian.

However, life had other plans for you. Every time you left your apartment you saw the blonde. At the corner store. The pizza place. The shitty dive bar you worked at. But it was brief because when you looked away and back again she was gone. It wasn’t until Friday night, 5 days after your meeting with her did you see her again and this time when you looked at her she didn’t disappear. You had the night off. So, you were sitting on the couch, wearing only a sports bra and sweatpants. You were high, drinking beer and eating pizza with Criminal Minds on the TV. You were high. It was a glorious feeling because you felt floaty and free. You heard the handle of your apartment jiggly and when it opened you were staring at the blonde. “I should call the cops,” you told her.

“You won’t,” she closed the door. “Not when you are high on oxycodone,”

“Vodka is on the top shelf,” you opened the beer bottle and faced the TV.

“I know it is,” you heard her move around your kitchen. “Do you not have food?” She asked.

“Pizza is food,” she huffed, mumbling something under her breath that you couldn’t make out. She sat down next to you with a Gatorade and a protein bar.

“Drink this,” you looked at the blonde down to the drink then back at her. You didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a stranger. You took a sip of the beer instead.

“You’ve been stalking me,” she took a slice of pizza.

“No,” she said. “Just watching.” You chuckled.

“Yeah, that makes it sound better,” you sat back on the couch and focused on the episode. You felt her eyes on you, mapping out the scars from the accident. You would have them covered but sometimes clothes irritated your skin. Walking around in a bra was easier plus you never had anyone over. “Take a picture, it'll last longer,” you mumbled.

“Thanks for the pizza,” she said, standing up.

“Yeah, no problem. Let me know when you're gonna stop by and I’ll have dinner ready for you,” the blonde opened and closed the door. “What a freak.”

The next morning you found a bag of groceries at your door.

Some days were better than others. You could make it throughout the day without your hands shaking and wondering when you were going to get high next. On days like that, the weight on your chest felt manageable. Those days were few and far between. Lately, the guilt was becoming heavier and the nightmares invaded your mind. It was harder and harder to stay sober and leave your bed. The bar fired you but you didn’t care. You had no energy. But like clockwork each week there were groceries at your door. It’s been a few months since you’ve seen the Russian. You tried not to think about her but it was impossible. It was annoying. Why did she care?

You were drunk. Music blaring in your apartment and you were dancing around when the door opened. There she was. “My favorite Russian,” you ran over to her and put your arms around her. She caught you, stumbling slightly which caused the door to close. You rested your head on her shoulder, taking a deep breath in. “Mhmm. You smell good,” Whatever perfume she was wearing had an earthy scent to it like the smell after it rained. You leaned into her more.

“Are you hanging out with more Russians?” She chuckled, stepping back from you slightly but she kept her hands on your hips. You giggled.

“No, silly. You are the only one but still my favorite.”

“Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll go get you water?” She went to move away from you but you stopped her.

“I don’t want water. I want to dance with you,” you pulled her into the space between your living room and kitchen.

“No dancing. You need to go sit down,” you scuffed, rolling your eyes.

“You're no fun,” you mumbled, stumbling into the kitchen. “Aren’t Russians supposed to be big partiers?” You twisted off the cap of the bottle and took a large sip of vodka.

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” she took the bottle from you.

“I don’t like you telling me what to do,” you pulled the bottle back but she was stronger than you. “Whatever,” you let her have the bottle and open your cabinet. But she came around and closed it. “You are starting to piss me off.”

“What else have you taken?” She asked. Your jaw clenched.

“Nothing,” you walked over to your fridge to pull out a beer.

“So you haven’t taken hydro or morphine today?” She was pulling out the bill bottles. You took a hydro this morning. You woke up screaming from a nightmare. What were you supposed to do? “Courtney wouldn’t want this.” Your blood went cold.

“What-what did you say?” She rolled her eyes.

“Did you think I wouldn’t research who you are?” She asked, facing you. “You and your fiance Courtney Smith were in a car accident caused by a truck driver 4 months ago.”

“Shut up,” you said.

“You woke up from a coma but she never did,” she continued. You wanted her to stop talking. “After the funeral, you packed everything up and ran to New York. You found employment at a local dive bar and spent your free time downing yourself in alcohol and prescription medication,” An anger was building inside of you, blinding you. How dare this stranger walk into your life and feel as if she had your whole life figured out? “Courtney wouldn’t want your life to be like this.”

“Stop saying her name as if you knew her because you didn’t,” you snapped. “You wouldn’t know what she would want,” you squeezed the beer bottle, afraid the glass would shatter in your hands. “I think you need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Get out of my fucking apartment before I call the cops and have them arrest you for stalking and harassment,” she didn’t move. “Leave me the fuck alone,” you threw the bottle at her. She barely dogged it and the bottle shattered on the cabinet. You took off towards your bedroom, slamming the door closed, and locking it. You slide down the door and brought your knees to your chest as the blonde banged on the door pleading with you to let her in. But you couldn’t face her when somewhere deep inside of you believed everything she said. You crawled over to your nightstand, the banging becoming a distant memory and pulled out a polaroid picture. It was of you and Courtney on your third date. She took you camping in the Adirondacks. You didn’t have any photos of her as you left all of them in South Carolina.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “It should have been me,” you kept repeating as you pulled out a pile bottle and uncapped it. You swallowed the few pills dry. You fell to your side and cried, holding the picture to your chest.

You woke up in a bed and room you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t a hospital but you were attached to an IV drip. You were wearing a sweatshirt that wasn’t yours but it smelt like the blonde. You took the IV out of your arm and swung your legs over to the side. Your legs were shaky and it took you a minute to feel confident to stand up. On socked feet, you walked to the door and opened it. You were in a house and it was quiet as you walked down the hallway into a living room. You should have tried to find a way to get out but your eyes were glued to a piano. It was a beautiful, white Steinway model. You sat down on the bench and opened it. The keys were cold underneath your fingers but there wasn’t any dust on them. It was well taken care of. You couldn’t remember the last time you sat at a piano, it felt like a lifetime ago. You began to play, afraid you wouldn’t be able to but it was like riding a bike. It came back to you without much thought.

“I woke up today, at least that much is true,” you sang. Your throat was raw and it hurt but you kept going. “I saw what people see, what a year this made of me? I tried a hundred times but each time I thought of you,” you closed your eyes. You saw yourself sitting at the piano playing while Courtney sat on the couch studying. “I hate myself. I hate myself. I fucking hate myself.” She supported you in your dreams of wanting to be a singer-songwriter.

“And I want days of pain. Oh, to feel the things I need.To pay off this shame. And I know that makes me broken. I know that makes me weak. I guess I'll put my armor back on now,” you asked her instead of doing a first dance if you could write her a song and play it. To your surprise, she said yes but she made you promise you would dance with her at some point. You promised her. You would have done anything for her if she asked.

“I found a way but I turned around. One step to start but I’d rather fall. Too much of a coward to say, ‘I’m wrong.’ Too much of a coward to admit I need help me, please.” When you opened your eyes, the blonde was leaning against the wall. She was wearing a sweatshirt with SHIELD written on it. It was so different from the clothes she wore when she was at your apartment. You ended the song.

“That was beautiful,” you felt the tip of your lips turn into a smile.

“Thanks,” you ran your hands across the keys. “It’s been a while since I sat down and played.” She nodded, pushed off the wall, and sat next to you on the bench. “What happened?” You asked.

“You overdosed,” she played A-C#-E on the piano. You copied her. “You’ve been out for 7 days.

“Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” She played C-E-G and you did the same.

“Hospitals ask too many questions,” she smiled. “I figured you wouldn’t have to deal with questions. Your safe here,” she added. “An old friend owns this house.” You nodded, and you played E-G#-B. She tried to copy it but her last note was off. You smiled, placed your hand on top of hers, and arranged her fingers to the correct keys. It reminded you of when you tried to teach Courtney when she had free time.

“I tried to teach Courtney how to play,” you told her. “She wasn’t very musically inclined. Her head was filled with math and science. She was in medical school when she died,” she didn’t respond but you knew she was listening. “You were right. She wouldn’t be happy with me.” The blonde sighed.

“I should have handled that differently. For that, I’m sorry.” You played F-A-C and she copied it perfectly.

“Why do you care?” You asked. “I’ve tried to rack my brain around it. You don’t know me.”

“Do you know who I am?” She asked. You looked at it. She didn’t look familiar. You shook your head. “My name is Yelena. My sister was Natasha Romanoff.” You knew the name. Even in your small town, you knew who the Avengers were.

“You're an Avenger,” she nodded. “What does that have to do with me?” She sighed, playing G-B-D but you didn’t play it back.

“The truck that caused the accident didn’t fall asleep. He was murdered,” your stomach dropped. You could hear your heart pound in your ears. You had a vague memory of overhearing Courtney’s brother, who was also a truck driver, said he thought it was odd that a truck driver with that much experience would fall asleep at the wheel.

“Did you-?”

“No,” she said. “No, but I was responsible for trying to stop the group. I was too late,” it clicked. She blamed herself for what happened to Courtney and in turn what your life became. You wanted to ask more but you sensed she didn’t want to give the specifics. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t to blame for her death,” she didn’t look convinced. “Did you stop them from hurting other people?” She nodded. “Good, that’s all it matters.” Yelena seemed lost in thought so you continued to play to fill the silence.

“Her parents miss you,” she said, causing you to stop mid-song. “They called and I told them you weren’t feeling well and that you’ll call when you are better.”

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” your hand shook. “My parents weren’t supportive of my relationship with Courtney or my career choice. They looked after me even after the accident. I-” she placed her hand on top of yours.

“It’s okay,” she said. “In your song, you said you were scared to ask for help. I want to help.”

“I don’t want you to help me because of guilt or pity,” you said. “What will you get out of it?” She smiled.

“Well, you could provide pizza,” you laughed. A real laugh that sounded foreign. “And you could teach me piano.” You stared into her green eyes and saw something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a very long time. Hope.

“Okay,” you whispered. “When do we start?”

“Play something for me,” you did. You played for her and she sat and listened to you. You poured your heart and soul into these songs hoping a stranger would help you put your armor back on.

#yelena belova #florence pugh #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova x female!reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x fem!reader #Black Widow #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow x female!reader #Marvel AU #marvel one shot #marvel oneshot #inspired by music

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cerriddwenluna · 4 months

Text

Happy final Six Some Sentence Sunday of the year!

Don't you just love it when the last day of the year is a Sunday? It just feels so tidy to start a new year on the first day of a new week lol

I'm still working on Pas de Deux, my story for @esilher as part of the @klainesecretsanta2023, of which I've just posted the next chapter.

Instead of some sentences, I have decided to share six lessons I learnt this year, either about writing, about myself (as a writer), or just through my writing. Thank you to everyone who's been a part of my process this year, and I'll see you all tomorrow for even more fandom love! 💖

Writing is fun. Harder than most things I've ever done, but fun.

Being evil can be fun, too. Just not indefinitely.

If you put on one specific playlist every time you work on your multichaptered WIP, you might as well call yourself Pavlov because now you can't write without it. Sigh.

If I ever hire @quizasvivamos to edit something for me professionally, she should charge me per comma. She'll get rich in no time.

My family is weird. But that's okay, French culture is too. That superstitious custom we have of obsessively making eye contact with each other when we toast or click glasses, just so we won't have seven years of bad sex, is not just us being nuts. Apparently it's a thing in France, too. I'm still gonna keep joking around with grandma about it not mattering for us anyway, though.

Community. We all need it, and I love the one I found in this fandom more than I can put into words. With 7 siblings, I never thought I needed many friends, but what I didn't realise was that I was just waiting for you all to arrive. I love each and everyone of you, no matter if we're friends, mutuals, followers or just passing each other in the tags. You've made my life richer than I thought it could be, so thank you for that.

And on that note, a special shout out to all the people who've been a direct influence on my journey this year as both a writer and a person. There are many more I could name, but at that rate we'll be here till next year ;)

@quizasvivamos, @sarnith, @jayne89, @special-bc-ur-part-of-it, @datshitrandom, @little-escapist, @forabeatofadrum, @caramelcoffeeaddict, @jinglejavey, @rockitmans, @mynonah, @esilher, @fallevs 💕

#Happy New Year!#six sentence sunday #gwen writes #glee #klaine #klaine fanfiction

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tensionpoints · 2 months

Text

Anyway, let’s ask questions & make note of things!

(It's a strange letter. It's more or less completely illegible…)

“Strange letter” there’s various ways to interpret this— is it strange for a vday card? Or strange for other reasons? It’s very long, for certain. and it disappears! Why else could this be ‘strange?’

“Completely illegible” is this bad handwriting, or is this wingdings? Or a secret 3rd thing?

(But, if you squint your eyes, and, you squint your heart… For some reason, you feel you could understand it)

“Squinting your eyes and heart” is a very strange sentiment, and I feel it’s too easily brushed over. Heart, obviously could refer to the SOUL, but what gets me the most about this is the grammatical structure of the sentence.

1. “But,” starting a sentence with a coordinating conjunction is, for the most part, frowned upon. Why separarte this from the first sentence, starting another?

2. “But, if you squint your eyes, and, you squint your heart… For some reason, you feel you could understand it” let’s start by sorting this into clauses.

“But, [if you squint your eyes], and, [you squint your heart…] For some reason, [you feel] [you could understand it]”

Time for some questions! Why put a comma after “and?” I could be misremembering, but a comma AFTER “and” is very awkward-sounding.

Also. It’s inconsistent? Why write it as “But, if you squint your eyes, and, you squint your heart…“ when it would be more consistent to have “But, if you squint your eyes, and if you squint your heart…” or “But, if you squint your eyes and (your) heart…” why repeat the verb? how many “you”s is the sender talking about?

3. Squinting your eyes is common to try to read illegible text, as you focus more on the finer details. What could squinting a HEART do? what would squinting a heart be LIKE.?

All in all for this section, the narration feels different to me than the usual narration in UTDR, but I can’t quite place why.

WELL,

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

OR, WAS IT THE OLD YEAR.

1. First impression I’m getting here is “does this person experience time linearly?”

2. Second thing I’m noticing: a question ending with a period rather than a question mark.

3. Thirdly, the sender seems, at best, unaware, or, at worse, confused.

WELL,

IN ANY CASE, HOW IS DELTA RUNE?

1. Why are you asking US, sender?

2. What is MEANT by “delta rune?” the game? The symbol? What are we talking about?

AS YOU ARE WAITING

PATIENTLY, THE TIME IS GOING AROUND.

THERE WAS EVEN A RUMOR OF "VALENTINE'S DAY".

HOW ABSURD.

EVERY DAY IS A DAY OF LOVE,

IF ONLY YOU BELIEVE IT SO.

DO YOU BELIEVE IT SO?

…

1. What are we waiting for? The next release, or something else?

2. “The time is going around” feels like it’s worded this way deliberately. What does this mean?

3. “There was even a rumor of “valentine’s day” is this world building? There are lightners AND darkners with valentines. Why does this idea sound foreign to the sender to the point that the day is a “rumor?” Where are you from, sender?

4. “How absurd. Every day is a day of love, if only you believe it so. Do you believe it so?” What do we mean by “love?”

SO, THE PURPOSE OF THE MESSAGE.

I WANT TO HELP!

YES, THERE WAS SOMEONE I WANTED TO HELP

…

1. Given the last section, this creates an interesting vibe imo? This is a letter of “I want to contribute” and not “be mine 💘” which makes this feel even MORE out of place. Are you supposed to be here???

I SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN WHO..

YES, IT'S QUITE IRONIC, BUT I SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN.

WAS IT MYSELF? NO.

WELL, PERHAPS.

1. What, exactly, makes this ironic? In general for deltarune, or is there something about you that makes this something very odd?

2. “Was it myself? No. Well, perhaps.” What is a self, sender? How could it be that “no” and “perhaps” are both answers that are viable?

REGARDLESS, WHEN I SEE THEM, I'M CERTAIN I WILL KNOW IT STRAIGHT AWAY.

I NEVER FORGET SOMEONE I DON'T REMEMBER.

WILL YOU HELP ME?

…

1. “I’m certain I will know” will this be true for us as well? Are you a new character, or are you a character we’ve seen before?

2. “I never forget someone I don’t remember” also feels VERY deliberately worded. Something about this line is important, I think.

3. What do you need help with? I thought you were helping someone else?

4. The two lines of “…” next to each other strike me as odd. What does this mean?

YOU ARE VERY ODD, RESPONDING OUT LOUD TO A LETTER.

BUT, YOU SEEM RELIABLE.

I WILL BE COUNTING ON YOU.

1. This gives more of an in-game vibe than the rest of the letter, acting as though we have turned this into a dialogue.

2. What makes us reliable?

3. Counting on us for WHAT?

4. I feel like there’s some kind of joke lying in wait here over “letter” juxtaposed with “counting”

NOW, PUT ON YOUR COAT AND WASH YOUR FACE!

OR, PUT ON YOUR FACE AND WASH YOUR COAT.

NOT NECESSARILY IN THAT ORDER.

OR, IN ANY ORDER AT ALL.

1. This general section really has me curious as to who the sender is. After all, this is a very strange manner of speaking here. Love the silliness. Very unsure of what this means on a larger scale.

2. Why are we being told to do this?

GOOD BY!

1. I’ve seen SOOOOOO many people mention the spelling here. Curious if it means anything, or if it genuinely is just a mistake.

(There was a sound like something walking away

And, the letter was gone.)

1. Again, the narration seems odd with the grammar here?

2. This is SO funny when we consider this letter was replaced with a blank. Toby why did you do this it’s hilarious.

3. I wonder if inanimate object (letter) with legs and the cup Toby asked us to look at are connected.

Verdict: probably Not gaster, but Deffo suspicious. Cant count anything out yet imo.

#nova posting #utdr newsletter #utdr valentines #gaster #this is a CHICKEN SCRATCH sorta post #I just haven’t seen anyone analyze this yet so I wanted to put MY thoughts out there at least

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ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 1 year

Note

Sorry for being dumb, I'm literally terrible when it comes to social intelligence, so could you explain what is painful so I can avoid asking it?

Anon, you are very kind for reaching out, but I need you to understand that you are absolutely not the person I was targeting with that throw-away tag.

This? This is not for you.

You wanna know why?

Because you have one of these:

and also one of these

What I am referring you is not literally a painful topic.

I am referring to sentence soup the likes of which is incomprehensible by anyone except the person who wrote it.

I am referring to run-on sentences so long they stretch into a new topic of conversation without a single comma or a period in sight before being guillotined by a character limit

And look. This is not a callout. I understand that this isn't English class - this is tumblr. I don't care if you use the right 'your' vs 'you're'. It's casual. I don't care if you capitalize stuff. Y'all'd've been perfectly fine if you just kept it short and sweet as long as I understand it.

But therein lies the problem.

As long as I understand it.

Writing messages on the internet has a goal.

That goal is to communicate an idea to another person. To establish a peer-to-peer connection. To make yourself heard.

And although I respect you guys sticking it to the man and refusing to capitalize, and using casual speech and inventing fun new words like 'yeet'

You need to realize

that if you yeet your basic ass punctuation

you will also yeet

my ability to understand you

If the message I receive looks like this

hey just wanted to ask if you i thought maybe could u draw me pony big one could be playing together with a different one could you do it please i rly like your art would be paid or no its ok if no want to show u my stuff as well have a lot of art u could maybe like anyway the pony is blue if u still want

Then halfway through this mess I had to stop, start over, and re-read everything while muttering swear-words to myself.

Because this is not a message

This is just you shoving 3-5 sentences into a blender and throwing them at my head and giving ME the task of untangling it.

USE. PERIODS. BETWEEN SENTENCES. PLEASE.

If your teachers did not explain to you how to do this - I apologize. But periods are a pretty ubiquitous part most languages. This is not an EFL or ESL issue. This a big ole' F grade on the Theory of Mind Test.

I cannot read YOUR mind. We are not connected through an ethernet cable. You need to make an effort to make your ideas CLEAR. That means breaking up your separate sentences and using a question mark once in a blue moon.

THAT is what I mean when I say some of y'alls messages pain me.

I still love you all. I just need you to come in after class, because we need to do some one-on-one tutoring.

#chekhov answers #sometimes i side eye the tumblr age limit #because there is no way some of the people i get these messages from are 13 and still write like this #if you wanna assault your friends with this #fine #but not strangers on the internet who are not familiar with you #please put effort into communication #if you want effort returned

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melancholysway · 1 year

Note

Okay okay I know your ask is closed but this idea has been eating away at my for a week now

Alright so imagine the reader is a feline mutant, could be a house cat or a big cat mutant whatever you imagine, and they’re cuddling with their turtle and they start kneading, making bread, their paws into said turtle while they sleep. How would the boys react to that? Cause it just seems so cute, especially if the reader gets embarrassed by it.

preferably 2007 or Rise, cause I’ve also seen you mention your desire for 07 requests

I’ve read a bunch of your posts and I’m sure you can do my request wonderfully, now you make sure you take care of yourself and if this is too much for you right now I can wait ❤️💖

I JUST SAW THIS & I THINK THIS WAS THE BREAK I NEEDED BC HUH

Yes YES YES

If your request hasn’t been fulfilled yet, IM SORRY BRO IM TRYING FR FR😭I think I jumped at this bc it’s just a short shot & I literally have to mentally prepare myself to write a long shot

Also me using the same 4 gifs of the guys bc there’s barely any TMNT 2007 gifs 😫😫

TMNT 2007 Headcanons: Baking Biscuits (Cat Mutant!Reader)

Leonardo

This turtle loves every second of it

Tries to catch you all the time kneading, he’s infatuated with how normal cat habits fall onto you

How turtles have things like chitters(?) & mating season, he likes to see you have cat qualities

You knead the ends of his mask a lot

Cats sleep a lot, so I think you’d fall in between sleeping for a full 8 hours all the time no matter what

And once you wake up, Leo’s gone(in the event you stay the night or share a bed,) but he always leaves an extra blue mask for you to knead while he’s training or meditating

Like how turtles enjoy their shell to be scratched, you’ll definitely both have a set time where you just love on each other like that, where you just cuddle and scratch while he rubs your back

That’s so cute omfg wait I might’ve just did sum

Raphael

Won’t ever tell you, but he feels it while sleeping

So much so that he’ll have a dream of you kneading on or around him

We all know he’s a cat lover

Guys that love cats >>>

But anyway, he’s already fond over you and protective

Also I hc that he feeds the stray cats around the city & the best part is watching them make biscuits in an alley

So to see you do it is the cutest

Raph is a known heavy sleeper, so he doesn’t awaken that easily

HOWEVER (comma)

He would not mind it at all if he woke up to you trying to knead on his shell before he rolled over

Also if he does wake up, he’ll lay on his stomach for easy access to his shell for you

Also doesn’t tell you if he’s awake, he’ll wait a few just to hear you purr while baking those biscuits

Donatello

Donnie doesn’t sleep

However (comma) he wouldn’t mind it if you kneaded next to him while he was working on something

My cat usually kneads right next to me and buries their head on some part of my body, so if you do so, Donnie seriously doesn’t mind

In fact, he loves it! Just feeling you next to him is all he needs

Actually, since Donnie doesn’t sleep, I feel like he would take a cat nap (no pun intended) via bread kneading

He thinks of it as a nice massage. Although kneading is usually on a blanket or something, Donnie’s shoulders are free real estate for kneading

Michelangelo

He notices right away

He’s not a heavy sleeper idc RAPH is 😭NOT Mikey

He immediately does the lil head pat

Also likes to joke around about it

“Guys please stop ordering biscuits Y/n’s been baking for hours please they haven’t seen their family in weeks”

That line. All. The. Time.

Is definitely the most physical out of the four brothers

Meaning he’ll absentmindedly pet you or rub your back knowing you enjoy it as if you’re a non-mutant cat

If you get a little embarrassed (especially if done around his brothers or April/Casey,) Mikey would just switch and do it in private

But tbh he just wants to show off his cute s/o to everyone

Gifts you a (very fluffy) orange blanket of his exclusively for kneading and baking those nice loaves of bread

Since being a mutant feline, your nails will naturally be sharper than average, so he always (attempts to at least) stitch the blanket back up for you?

Taglist:

@bee-1n-space @ducky-died-inside

Masterlist

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #raphael #leonardo #donatello #tmnt 2007 #tmnt imagines #tmnt headcanons #tmnt x reader #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2k7

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neyswxrld · 6 months

Text

meeting the family

echo x reader (gn, first person)

summary: After half a year, Echo's partner finally meets his brothers, but some people just can't mind their own business.

warnings: insults, (maybe alcohol? can be read with and without) halloween & costumes, someone makes a comment about eating habits, kissing (i think that's all, please let me know if i missed something!)

words: ~2500

a/n: this is my first own post on this blog and uhmmm yeah. i'm slowly trying myself on the boys soo uhm. yeah.

here is a little spin-off, about how the boys (especially wrecker) got their costumes!

p.s. english isn't my mother tongue, sorry for misspellings! (commas are a pain in the ass.)

"Are you ready?" Echo asked and smiled at me from the side.

"I... I don't know," I admitted, and started to chew on my lip until I felt a sweet pain and recognized the taste of blood. Disgusted, I crinkled my nose.

We were standing in front of 79s. After about half a year, I finally got to meet Echo's family: his brothers. And which establishment could have been better than the place where we met, with the small extra that it was Halloween and we were wearing costumes.

And that's how we were standing here, fulfilling a cliché with being devil and angel. Echo was wearing a white rope, a self-made Halo and small wings with feathers - and he looked gorgeous!

I was dressed in sweet, red robes, had little devil's horns on my head and leathery wings on my back.

Even though Echo wasn't that confident in his clothes at first, he had to admit that we were looking kriffing good together today.

But still - it changed nothing about the fact that I was nervous. More than nervous. My hands were warm and sweaty. I was almost embarrassed that Echo held one of them in his own hand and had to feel that. My heart was beating unpleasantly fast, and my fingertips and my chest were tingly.

I was afraid they wouldn't like me or judge me at first sight.

Were my robes too short? Would they think I'm cheap? Did I appear respectable and serious, or would they think I'm just for short-term? What if they thought I wasn't good enough for Echo? What if they really wouldn't like me? What if I wouldn't like them? Both options would be absolutely devastating. They were the most important people in Echo's life. Of course I wanted to like them!

My boyfriend seemed to notice my insecurity.

"You will do great. They're excited to finally meet you," he assured me and squeezed my hand a little bit. In contrast to mine, his hand was cool and dry. He was able to ground me a little bit again. As long as I wouldn't come across like a spoiled brat, everything would be fine. They wouldn't have a reason to not like me.

I took a deep breath, nodded and breathed a small "Okay."

With determined steps, we walked through the entrance of the famous clone bar and headed for a booth in the back of the bar.

Even from far away, I recognized the boys Echo already showed me on pictures. Of course they were wearing costumes at the moment, too.

Hunter's shaggy hair was standing out among the other clones. In addition to that, he wore wolf ears with fake fur, a red and blue checked shirt that was ripped on a few spots and a black leather jacket that looked really good on him. His black painted nails looked like claws.

Next to him sat Crosshair. He wore an elegant, black cape with red accents and a high collar. On his chest was a silver brooch that looked perfectly old-fashioned. While he was talking with Hunter, every now and then small, sharp fangs were poking out of his mouth.

I also recognized Tech relatively fast due to his goggles. He was wearing a big, pointed hat that almost swallowed his head and dark robes with silver embellishments. In front of him was a thick book, and while he was talking with Wrecker, he lively gestured with a small magic wand to defend his point: "Wrecker, I am not a witch. I am a wizard!" I vaguely heard him say, and a small smile appeared on my lips when Wrecker started to laugh out loud. "Ahw, that's the same!"

Wrecker himself was wearing a purple and yellow Onesie without a hood. It was purple on the most part of it. His tummy was a light yellow, and I could see a short tail that had some stripes in the same shade of yellow as his tummy. On his head, he was wearing a purple beanie with cute, little tooka ears attached to it that had the same pattern as his tail. It looked handmade and was absolutely adorable. Suddenly, I remembered Echo telling me about Crosshair and Tech staying up all night to craft this thing for Wrecker.

"No, there is a fundamental difference between a witch and a wizard!" Tech kept going. While Echo and I moved closer to the table, his words got clearer for my ears.

"Stop bickering, you two. Wrecker, Tech is a wizard. Tech, stop gesticulating with your stick, I'd rather keep Wrecker's other eye," Hunter intervened. Both were quiet for a few seconds until Tech started talking again.

"Hunter, this isn't just a stick-" he started, but this time, he was interrupted by Echo and me.

By now, we had reached the group, and my boyfriend cleared his throat to get their attention.

Immediately, all of them stopped talking and turned their heads towards us expectantly. I felt four pairs of eyes landing on me, scrutinizing me curiously. This time, I squeezed Echo's hand a bit tighter. He answered me with squeezing back.

"Boys, this is my partner," Echo started and introduced us to each other. I smiled and nodded at them as a greeting.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," I said shyly and was glad that Echo pulled me down with him into the cozy locking booth.

I sat down next to Wrecker and Echo slid in close to me. There were a few moments in which nobody said anything. If it hadn't been for the loud music or the chatter of other clones and their dates, we probably would've been able to hear a pin drop. Luckily, Wrecker broke the silence and saved the whole situation.

"Woah, you're as pretty as the pictures!" he observed, and I felt heat rise in my cheeks.

"You showed them pictures?" I asked Echo, a little bit embarrassed. "Of course, I also showed you pictures of them," he nodded smiling. That made the whole thing a little bit better.

"Yeah, that's right... Thanks, Wrecker. You're much bigger than what you look like in the photos," I answered grinning, and Wrecker proudly puffed out his chest. "All muscles," he told me. Echo and Hunter sighed in a short manner.

"Wrecker, stop flirting with Echo's girlfriend," Hunter ordered and pulled a quiet chuckle out of me with that.

With this small exchange, the ice was broken, and all of us started one interesting and exciting conversation after the next. Crosshair took the part of the observer more often than really talk, but this was okay. Due to Echos stories, I already knew that he wasn't a big talker, especially with new people around.

While the evening went on, we drank some drinks here and there, Echo and I shared a small portion of fritzle fries and after that I still was a bit hungry, so I bought a bowl of snacks for the whole table. Especially Wrecker was happy about that and ate most of it.

To this point, the evening was a whole success. I liked Echo's brothers, and I felt like they at least thought that I was okay. We talked about this and that with so much ease, like we knew each other for many years.

Tech told me about the special wood his magic wand was made of and where to find it, and in addition to that he started to tell me everything he knew about that planet, which I found very interesting.

When a good song came on, Echo and I went to the dance floor to awkwardly shake our bodies and have fun. I was so happy that he didn't mind others looking at us or thinking about what they might think. Since a long time, he was able to let loose again. I was very sure it was his excitement about our small meeting with his brothers going that well.

After some time Wrecker joined us, a little bit shy at first, because he was scared of third wheeling, but found dancing looked too nice to not try it, and like that we enjoyed the music as a group of three.

After a few songs, we went back to the others and picked up our conversations again. Even Crosshair started to talk a little bit more after some time.

Only Hunter was a little bit distant. Although he talked and joked with us, he still was a little bit reluctant and observed me warily.

With the drinking came the urge to visit a bathroom, and I excused myself from the table.

Then it happened.

I was in one of the cubicles and straightened my clothes sluggishly, as I heard the voices of two other people.

"Did you see that table full of Freaks? The goggled one was just a smartass about shit no one wants to know about. What a waste of breath. And what he's talking too much, the other is talking too less. I thought he's mute at first, but I've seen him talking sometimes." - "Don't forget about that giant baby. How can he be so well-built but so stupid? He wouldn't be good for anything if he wasn't a clone." - "And that little, filthy devil. How could someone eat that much in one evening? A little less wouldn't do any bad." - "Yeah. I bet that little devil fucks with all of them. Have you seen that costume? It's literally calling 'take me'." This was accompanied by spiteful laughter.

Confused, I shook my head - they could only be talking about us.

Just as I wanted to step out of the cubicle and ask them what the kriff they were talking about, they started making derisive remarks again.

"Did you see that wannabe angel?" - "You mean the cyborg? Yes. He should've come as a droid." - "Droid? Would that even be a costume, then?" - "Disgusting. I've never seen something that ugly. Just the idea to come here as an angel... I thought clones like that are getting decommissioned." They were laughing again.

This time, it was too much. They went too far. It wasn't okay to talk about anyone like that. None of the boys deserved that, but when it came to Echo, I saw red.

I took an angry breath through my nose and shoved the cubicle's door open. It hit the wall forcefully.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked outraged, while the two of them let out a short yelp. They were costumed as nurse and loth-cat. Both of them looked at me confused at first, but then their glance changed to something bitchy.

"Oh, the little devil is here to save the little angel," the nurse giggled, put her finger in her mouth and acted like she would gag on it.

"Oh, and how I am here to protect him. The boys and especially Echo are the most lovable people I've ever met. He's sincere and honest and admirable and so much better than you. What the hell are you thinking to talk about people like that?" I breathed angrily and started to wash my hands aggressively while I stared at them through the mirror.

"What? We just talked about preferences. Droid just isn't on our list. Unlike yours, hm? Does he give you a good time with his scomp?" Again, this annoying, arrogant voice.

"No, this has to do nothing with preferences. Otherwise, you could just say he's unattractive. What you are doing is not okay. You're mean because of what he looks like and you dehumanize him. But Echo feels just as much as every other human. If you ask me, you're the ones who are cold, heartless droids. And if you're complaining so much about Tech's stories, then I'm asking myself how you can listen to each other. All I hear from you is 'mimimi'. I'm interested in what he says. And Wrecker? He would achieve more in his life than you ever will. Maybe you should take advice from Crosshair and just shut up," I scowled and threw my paper towels in the trash bin next to them with the last few words.

While the nurse still had an arrogant expression in her face, the cat looked a bit guilty at least. I wasn’t sure how long he would feel like that before they were harassing others again.

"Oh, and Echo gives me the best times. Better than any of your flings ever could," I growled a last time, shutting the door behind me. Stupid people.

While I stomped back over to the boy's table again, I tried to calm down my breathing, blinking some tears away that started to water my eyes, but it didn't work that well.

Echo immediately noticed and glanced at me, worried. "You okay? What took you so long?" He asked quietly.

Droid. Don't make me laugh - a droid never could be as sensitive and kind as Echo.

"Yes. Sorry, there was a long line," I murmured and sat close to him. Our knees and sides were touching. He put his scomp arm around me carefully, letting me melt in his side comfortably.

"Okay," he breathed, even though he wasn't that convinced. He knew I would talk to him when it was something important or something that was worrying me. But I didn't want his mood to be dampened. So I didn't say anything.

We looked in each other's eyes for some time, and while I was observing him, I noticed how beautiful he was again.

"You're so pretty," I mumbled, and Echo's smile grew a little bit wider while his cheeks turned pink. "Thank you. You're very pretty, too," he returned the compliment. Now, I was the one with the heated face. We captured each other's eyes again. Suddenly, there was a tension between us.

With a small, fast motion, I moved forward and gave him a small peck on the lips. Echo returned the quick kiss, smiling as we departed from each other again.

Shortly after, we took part in the heated conversation of the others again. Echo's arm was still around me, and I enjoyed the comforting warmth that grew between us.

Just before I really could dive into the conversation again, I felt something carefully poking my shin.

Curiously, I looked up and met Hunter's gaze, which held warmth and thankfulness. He nodded at me with acknowledge.

He moved his mouth, and even though I couldn't hear what he was saying, I was able to read his lips: "Thank you."

At first, I was a bit confused, but then I remembered Hunter's advanced senses. He had to have heard us talking in the bathroom.

The corner of my mouth twitched upwards. I nodded back at him.

Even though I met Echo's brothers just now, I already had a soft spot for them - and that was okay.

At that moment, I promised myself to defend them and especially Echo from everything I could.

Always.

#the bad batch #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #echo x reader #first person pov #clone force 99 #tbb #echo the bad batch #echo fanfic #bad batch echo #insults #halloween

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