#it still kind of felt like it needed to be longer to me overall

[bbgbbgbbb]

okay this is something i wrote on my wattpad , nothing too serious.

Lethal Basketball Mom

Paige x Black!FemReader

____

______

you walked into the stadium, this would be your first time going against UConn with this team. you also felt like this would be your last time playing with this team as well.

the school wasn't bad, not at all. the coach? a totally different story. she's just overall a bad person. she would always push you too hard, even when you begged her to stop.

"I don't care! Keep running, Katz!"

"But coach! i've been doing suicides for the last 15-"

"I don't care! say something else and i'll add on another 10!"

you were getting sick of her obvious favoritism towards the rest of the team. she knew you were the best, that's why she pushed you so hard. her daughter was number one before you came, and when you did, her and the coach got upset about that.

so you always had to suffer.

-

you and your team were warming up, UConn players on the opposite side. they were good, great even. you thought this was going to be tuff sensing the fact that you'll be carrying your team the whole time.

you couldn't help but take a longer glance towards the paige bueckers. she was a sight to see, she had in her signature two braids into a ponytail.

you took a quick glance at every one else, that team looked like the best ever. they were laughing and just looked like they were having a good time.

you were still grateful, but you told your parents plenty of times you did not want to be on this team. they didn't listen because they went to this college and so they want you to follow their footsteps, although it's not about them, it's about you.

"Y/n! go get the water bottles from out the locker room!" you looked at her with a crazed look. "that's not my job, coach. Ms. Sasha is right there." you told her, trying to stay respectful as possible.

she crossed her arms, you just sighed and went to get the bottles. you didn't notice but a pair of eyes followed you.

(heads up, it wasn't paige 🤫)

when you came back it was time to actually start the game. you were excited, nervous and kind of scared.

"alright ladies, it's time to show up and show out. we all know how amazing UConn is but we got this. y/n, don't try to out shine anyone, especially my baby. let's go!"

the starting 10 players got into the floor, you and nika were doing jump ball, the ref threw it up and luckily you smacked it over to one of your teammates.

they knew to pass it right back to you, so you had the ball and dribbled it and made the shot.

"Y/N KATZ!!"

as paige started coming towards your side of the court, you were ready to guard her. she was a tough one to guard, but you didn't give up. she got passed you and passed the ball towards azzi and azzi made that perfect three.

"THREEEEE AZZIIIIII FUDDD!!"

you sighed but gained focus again once the coach's daughter, Angelica, passed the ball towards you. too hard. you almost lost control of the ball, you quickly looked at her but made your way down the court.

you passed it to your teammate who made an opening and shot an 3. you patted her on the back and ran back to your side of the court.

1stQ, H: 22, I: 21

2Q, H: 50, I: 51

it was now half time and you were up by one point. were you excited? yes but you couldn't get too happy. the huskies will make a comeback, that's what they're known for.

you were drinking from your water bottle and notice that coach, ms sasha, and angelica was missing. you walked out the locker room but noticed three bodies standing in the hallway. you backed up, eavesdropping.

"do you guys think this is a good idea? i mean having a great player should be a good thing." ms sasha asked, you can hear coach scoff.

"hell no, she's not gonna ruin my baby chances of getting drafted in a few years. we need her out." your heart dropped, they were talking about you.

"i agree, ms sasha. she needs to be gone, she's gonna ruin things for me. so ma, what's the plan?" angelica asked. plan?

"you're gonna injure her. make it hurt but don't make it noticeable that you're injuring her." your mouth dropped, what the actual fuck?

"try and trip her but make it look accidental. rough her up, you know?" coach told angelica. angelica smiled, "bet."

how could they do this? you were such an innocent person, you didn't deserve what was coming for you.

"ladies, let's talk about this-" "no, sasha. this is final. now, let's go before someone notices we're gone."

you quickly backed away, now you were scared. you couldn't tell anyone, so it's like you have to let yourself get injured. you just took deep breaths. half time was almost over.

-

"alrighttt, we're back and ready to play these last 20 minutes of the game."

everyone walked back out and got back into their places. the ref blew the whistle and the game started. a teammate passed the ball to you, you were quick to dribble and get to your side to shoot but angelica ran into you.

you fell, "oh shit, my bad." she lied, then proceeded to help you up. the ball went out of bounds to it was on the huskies. you could feel your ankle starting to hurt but you just ignored it.

the huskies got a three which made their team get to 53, you still at 51. it was your ball so you passed it to a teammate, ran up by them and got the ball back. you made the three and got the points.

you felt a smack on your butt, knowing it was a teammate. as you were running towards the other side, you felt a push on your back. it wasn't so friendly, you turned around wondering who did that just to see angelica.

you looked at her confused, she just ignored you and focused on the game. the fuck?

you shook it off, not wanting to cause a problem on the court with an off-court situation. you continued on playing, you already know what angelica plan was, you tried your best not to let it get to you.

nika made a shot and got them two points.

55-54

one of your teammates had the ball, and you were open. but angelica were also open, so she didn't know who to pass it to. you kept telling her to pass it to you but she was still confused.

it was taking up our shot time, before the shot time could hit 10, angelica shoved me which made her the only option to pass it to. you fell to the ground with a hard thump.

"Ow.." you held your arm in pain. you fell on it the wrong way, the ref blew the whistle. when a teammate helped you up, you quickly shot a glare towards angelica.

she put her hands up in surrender, a small smirk on her face. you were about to say something but one of your teammates beat you to it.

"we cannot kept wasting time y'all, get it together. angelica and y/n, start communicating more. let's go." you all patted each other on the back, getting back into position.

you glared at her one more time before playing these last two minutes of the third quarter.

3Q, H: 62 I: 59

it was the last quarter, this could go either way. you were nervous, annoyed and exhausted. you've been playing the whole 40 minutes and half of the time was getting pushed around by your own teammate.

the ball was in UConn possession, Kk was running towards the hoop but you stole the ball, it was an easy point since half the girls was still on the opposite side.

62-61

paige passed the ball towards nika, nika running up the court and passed the ball to aubrey. aubrey looked to see who she could pass it to, azzi was trying to get open but you were guarding her.

aubrey managed to pass it to azzi and azzi made an open 3. you cursed to yourself and got the ball passed towards you.

65-61

7:15

seven minutes left, you thought. you could easily catch up, and if you couldn't, you could at least tie with them.

68-66

5:10

fuck.. this is getting too intense. everyone was out of their seats, waiting to see what happens. your heart starting beating faster and faster.

you ran as fast as you could, seeing that Kk was about to make a shot but you managed to block it. the Idaho part of the crowd went wild and was cheering you on. you successfully made the shot.

68-68

2:09

you were tied, that was your goal. now it's time to get ahead. you passed the ball to a teammate but she didn't catch it, making paige quickly take it and make a three.

70-68

1:59

angelica managed to get the ball and started running down the court. you were close to the hoop so you opened up so she could pass you the ball.

1:30

"me! i'm open!" you yelled, she purposely ignored you and passed it to one of your other teammates who wasn't even open. luckily, she got it the ball and made two points.

you shook your head, are you really that dumb, angelica?

70-70

56.9 seconds

the ball was obviously in UConn's possession and they managed to get across you, fast. paige passed it to aubrey, aubrey going in for the three.

73-70

20.1 seconds

you had the ball now, quickly dribbling and doing good foot work. you managed to get pass azzi and pass the ball to a teammate. you ran to get an opening.

10 seconds

you felt angelica run behind you and bumped you a bit, you ignored it. you literally have ten seconds left on the clock, you did not have the time.

sadly, paige stole the ball from your teammate and managed to make another three.

0.0 seconds

final: 76-70

You walked away, defeated. as you were walking, you angrily grabbed your water bottle, walking into the main/front area of the stadium. your ankle started swelling up, you were playing on it so much.

"damn." you checked it out to see it getting bigger. you then heard footsteps behind you. "why'd you walk off like that? it's your fault we lost!" angelica yelled, her mom right by her side.

what?

you quickly turned around, a crazed look on. "I'M the reason we lost? Angelica, you literally sabotaged me the whole second half! my ankle is bruising!" you yelled, tired of their bullshit. you can see coach quickly step up, "don't yell at her like that! she isn't lying you know. you should've been more careful and communicated more!" she started to yell as well.

you were getting emotional. you heard more footsteps come towards you three but you didn't check to look who is was, too busy looking at coach. you sighed, "you cannot be serious right now, coach!"

"i'm serious as can be, you made us look embarrassing out there, i thought I taught you better!" she was flying her hands all around, angelica nodding along to what her mom was saying.

"taught me better!? don't act like I didn't hear what you guys were talking about in the locker room!" you called them out, you can see Angelica eyes go wide but quickly went back to normal.

"we have no idea what you're talking about." angelica spoke, coach nodding along. you chuckled audibly, "oh so, 'you're gonna injure her. make it hurt but don't make it noticeable.' just doesn't exist? does that ring a bell? huh!? you guys purposely did this to me. now my ankles completely fucked up and I-"

"watch your mouth around me, young one. don't forget who you're playing for." she sternly spoke, angelica just smirking. you looked at them two, hurt, anger, sadness all in one look.

you shook your head and sat back down in your chair, your ankle cramping up again. "you know what? i'm done. i'm tired of being treated like this, ive put up with enough. good luck finding a better player than me because I quit!" you yelled, tears pouring down your face.

coach glared at you with the meanest glare she could probably ever muster. "go ahead. we don't need you anyways. let's go, angel." she grabbed angelica's shoulder and they walked away but not before angelica chuckles at you.

you looked ahead, no emotion on your face but tears still coming down. you still didn't notice anyone watching until you heard a voice.

"Y/n, is it?" a deep voice spoke. you looked over , confused. you saw Geno, Paige, Azzi and Nika all standing  beside of you. you looked at all of them before nodding your head, looking down at your ankle.

"you played really good out there, incredible-" "you don't have to lie to me, coach Geno. you heard her, i embarrassed the-" "you did anything but embarrass the team. phenomenal work out there, katz." you looked up at him, hearing this from the geno auriemma made you feel something you never felt.

it made you feel safe. you see paige, azzi, and nika nodding along with him. "that block you did against Kk? amazing." paige spoke, everyone nodded. "you really think so?" you asked, you wiped your tears off your face.

"yes. don't let her tear you down, she's just mad you're her best player and her daughter isn't." azzi shrugged, nika chuckled. you did as well, you could still feel paige's eyes on you.

"how would you like to join us?" geno had his arm crossed, waiting for you to respond.

you were shocked, "w- what?" he nodded, "you deserve to be a huskie. you have that mentality, i could just tell. here, take this. contact me when you're ready to enter the transfer portal."

you took the little card, looked at it and looked back at Geno. "Thank you, really." you smiled at him, he grinned a bit, "don't worry about it. I'll be waiting for that call. see you around, Katz." He walked off, azzi and nika following him but not before speaking.

"see ya, y/n." azzi spoke, nika nodded her head and they both followed geno. paige stood there, still looking at you. you started to get butterflies, as you two kept eye contact.

"i guess i'll be seeing you around, katz." she spoke, a slight smirk on her face. you smirked back, she had her hand out waiting for you to shake. "maybe, beuckers, maybe." you shook her hand, she smiled bigger.

you giggled a bit, she waved and walked away, going back to her team. "good job, by the way." you called out to her, she turned back around. "yea, you too."

she left and you looked back down at the card. should you really be doing this?

fuck yes you should.

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #basketball #this is what makes us girls #uconn huskies #azzi fudd #final four

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑭𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺.

❛  but i do care about you ... a lot.  ❜ ❛  do you really need me to say it? fine, i love you. happy now?  ❜ ❛  i didn't think you'd feel the same way.  ❜ ❛  the truth is, i don't want just anyone. i want you.  ❜ ❛  you know i love you, right?  ❜ ❛  i want to spend the rest of my life with you.  ❜ ❛  you're the only person who has ever made me feel this way.  ❜ ❛  can't you see how much i care about you?  ❜ ❛  i did all of this for you. because ... because i love you.  ❜ ❛  please don't make me say it. saying it is gonna make it real and i'm not sure i'm ready for that yet.  ❜ ❛  somewhere along the way, you became more than just a friend.  ❜ ❛  i can't keep pretending like i don't love you.  ❜ ❛  well, i like you. i really, really like you.  ❜ ❛  i like you a lot more than i ever thought i would.  ❜ ❛  you're an idiot ... but you are my idiot and i wouldn't have it any other way.  ❜ ❛  when we first met, i didn't think you'd ever mean so much to me.  ❜ ❛  i could do this on my own but i don't want to. i want you right by my side every step of the way.  ❜ ❛  for once, i'm gonna make the selfish choice and be with whoever i want to be. and that person is you.  ❜ ❛  you've made me so incredibly happy.  ❜ ❛  i wasn't planning on telling you like this but now is better than never.  ❜ ❛  believe it or not, i do enjoy spending time with you.  ❜ ❛  i still don't understand what i ever did to deserve someone like you in my life.  ❜ ❛  i love you. i'm in love with you.  ❜ ❛  just being with you is enough ... you are enough.  ❜ ❛  i love everything about you. even the things i don't like, i love.  ❜ ❛  i have been trying so hard not to say anything, to just ignore it, but i cannot do that any longer.  ❜ ❛  when i wake up, you're the first person i think about.  ❜ ❛  i've never felt a connection like this with anyone else ever before.  ❜ ❛  there's something i've been meaning to tell you for a while ... i love you.  ❜ ❛  don't ever do something like this again! i thought i'd lost you ... and i can't ever lose you.  ❜ ❛  i don't hate you. i actually like you. a lot.  ❜ ❛  you don't have to say anything, i understand. and i want you to know that i feel the same way.  ❜ ❛  what's not to love about you? you're beautiful and kind and you're overall the most amazing person i have ever met.  ❜ ❛  i have no idea how i ever managed to fall in love with someone as infuriating as you.  ❜ ❛  i just want you to know how i feel ... in case one of us won't make it.  ❜ ❛  i can't believe it's taken me this long to realize but i love you.  ❜ ❛  whenever you're around, i can feel the butterflies in my stomach.  ❜ ❛  but most of all, i hate how much i don't hate you.  ❜ ❛  you are the most important person in my life.  ❜ ❛  i love you more than words can express.  ❜

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay meme #sentence starters #romantic prompts #romance starters #rph #type: meme

[livelaughlovesubs]

(Repost cuz tumblr still doesn’t like me- seriously, it’s the six time @nvllxiety)

Dom!reader x sub!akutagawa (reader is gender neutral)

Warning: handjob, overstim, overall very soft

Today your love came home especially early. Despite that fact he looked extremely exhausted and tired, your heart throbs a little whenever you see him in that state. You wanted to take care of him, to make him feel loved. Which is why you were hugging him gently as you two lied on your bed. Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind, chin placed on top of his head. “How was your day aku?” You whispered softly, noticing how tense he was. The boy took a deep breath before explaining, “it was fine as usual.”

You never knew if what he said was the truth, or maybe he doesn’t know better. Another reason why you try to be as tender and patient with him as you could. One of your hand found its way to his hair, ruffling through it while scrubbing his scalp slightly. “I see, as long as you are doing well.”

Akutagawa didn’t need to look at you in that moment to know you were smiling. As always you were being your kind and caring self, something that irritated him as well as made his heart pound. This feeling was weird, it hurts in his chest but he doesn’t want to let go. Suddenly you moved closer to him, those arms of yours tightening around his cold body. You were warm, or at least warmer than him. The warmth radiating from you was heating him up, his body was no longer cold. Now his cheeks were getting hotter, and that curling sensation in his stomach grew stronger. Truly bizarre.

“Hey, ryuunosuke.” He could swear his ears just got redder from the way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue made him feel tingles. Was this because you used his first name? “Do you… want me to help you? Down here.” You asked in a quiet manner, then your eyes wandered towards his crotch. “…huh…?!” The boy shook a little, this was surprising, why was his body acting so strange today. A shiver ran down his spine, and you noticed it. You didn’t rush him, waiting once again, matching your pace with his. “If you want to.” He answers, not looking into your eyes, rather avoiding them. “I see, thanks.”

God, he can read you like an open book, can’t you stop grinning at him like this? It was almost embarrassing. He grabbed a pillow, holding onto it like how you were holding him. Panting into the fabric while you slipped a hand inside his pants. “Cute.” You mumbled at the sight unfolding in front of you, feeling your own heartbeat rising.

Slowly you wrapped your hand around his half erect member, he let out shaky gasps as you did. With even more meticulous effort you gave him a handjob, moving it upwards in slow motion. When your fingers reached the top, you rubbed his tip a little, collecting the precum leaking from him to use as lube. He started to trembled, now grasping the pillow even tighter. You knew he was shaking because you could feel it, that was how close your bodies were. Without rushing things too much, you picked up the pace, your hand now moving a tad faster. His face was red as a cherry, completely different than his normal pale complexion. The shame and embarrassment he felt was practically painted on his needy expression, eyes half lidded as he tried to not squirm away from your touch.

In the end, he wasn’t able to keep himself still. Jerking his hips back and forth, matching the rhythm you set. Small whimpers started to slip from the boy. “Mhm..! Hu-uhgnn, hm..” those already barely audible sounds he made were further muffled by the pillow he was holding. If it wasn’t for how dead quiet the room was, you wouldn’t have been able to hear them. The only other noise that occurred were the sounds of yours and his breathing, as well as the blankets being moved aside. Soon enough he reached his limit, clawing at the pillow like a cat while you gazed at him with loving eyes. What are you going to do with him? He was so adorable you were going to overdose on cuteness.

“Ahh…haa-ha, nghhh…” Akutagawa whines a last time before he came, his slim figure trashing around a little. His shoulders also jerked upwards for a split second and his face twisted into one of bliss and want. You could feel something wet dripping down your hand, a familiar sensation by now. “Good job, aku, you did well.” You praised him again, feeling content with him. “mhm.” He gave back meekly, still not daring to look at you.

“… and are you up for a second round?” What? The boy had to think for a moment, you wanted another round? His ears just tainted bright red, it made you chuckle a little. While he was still ponding over your suggestion, you moved your hand again. He yelped, “eh-uhh..!” Now finally facing you, staring at you with hesitant eyes. “It will be fine, leave it all to me.”

This time he was a bit more expressive than before, jumping at every contact. It’s obvious he was more sensitive now, his shoulders were raised to his ears as he bit into the pillow. Was the pleasure too much? Was he ashamed of his voice? How cute. Your hand moved slightly faster, you could hear the pounding of your own heart, it was getting louder and louder. “Mhm..hngnnn, hmm..!” The boy let out some high pitched sounds. He was trying his best to make it easy for you, but in the end, he didn’t succeed. His legs clenched together, the overwhelming feeling was taking him by a storm. It felt so good but also frustrating, how he was losing himself over such a small thing.

“Ah.. y/n.” Akutagawa whispered, not knowing why he called out to you. “Yes? I’m right here with you, don’t worry, you are safe with me.” You reassured him, knowing that he was getting closer which is why you picked up your pace once again. “Hmm-!” Chocked out moans escaped him, a sigh that he was enjoying himself. This made you feel proud, of yourself and him. “So good, so so good for me.”

“Please..” he managed to say between ragged breathing’s, mouth hung agape while he continued to shiver. “It’s alright, dear.” You said, smiling when you noticed him looking back at you. “Ah-ahhHHh…!” Not long after he came again, this time his entire body shook as he came. Another wave of build up ecstasy washing over him, enough to make his mind go blank for a second. “You did so well, I’m proud of you.” You said, while kissing his head, hand still moving though slowly to help him come down. A sigh of relief and disappointment came from the male when he realised this was over. Now he was even more exhausted than before.

Even more of his fluid was running down your hand now, you grabbed a tissue to wipe it away. This was only a temporary solution, you should get a towel. “I’ll go to the bathroom, okay?” You proposed but he turned you down, switching positions so that he was facing you and snuggling against your chest. “… just a minute.” He demanded and closed his eyes. This act caught you off guard, but it wasn’t bad. Haaaah… you just can’t say no to him when he’s being this sweet and vulnerable.

#sub bsd #sub bungou stray dogs #sub akutagawa #sub ryuunosuke #sub character #sub!character #dom reader #dom!reader #akutagawa x you #akutagawa x y/n #akutagawa smut #akutagawa ryunosuke x reader #🌈 anon #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa bsd #bsd akutagawa #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hear the lonely cry out

requested: for some azriel angst, maybe the reader getting pregnant but not telling az (for justifiable reasons ofc), and az only finds out later on and angst ensues?

a/n kind of feel like this might be the saddest thing I've ever written. I hurt myself while writing this so now it's your turn. So that's that...

warning: neglect, fighting, pains associated with pregnancy, nausea, mention of possibility of loosing a child and just suffering.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Baby, you need to sleep," you said, running your hands down your lover's shoulders. Azriel had been sitting in that chair for hours, going through the information his spies had gathered for their master. He didn't even come down to eat, nor did he eat the food that you brought up for him. You knew him well enough to know that when court responsibilities got this serious, reaching him was practically impossible. 

"I'll be there in a couple of minutes. You can go up, love," the spymaster said, catching your hand in his and bringing it to his lips, yet his eyes didn't lose focus on the paper he held in his hands. You knew it was a lie. He wouldn't be there for at least a couple more hours, maybe till the sun started to peak over the mountains. Get an hour of sleep, and then be off for a day of meetings.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to the side of his face before you turned to go. You've had conversations about his workload more than once. And gods forbid you weren't the one to complain. Azriel was an extremely attentive lover. He remembered the things you told him. Listen to what you have to say. He treated you well, and for the most part, you genuinely had nothing to complain about. It was those busy weeks that would turn into months that would make you feel like you didn't have a partner. Make your heart sting just a little.

Instead of going to the bedroom, you made your way back into the kitchen for some tea. For the past couple of days, you have been feeling rather odd. You didn't feel all that sick; it was more like an overall unpleasant feeling that you just couldn't shake off. But if you were being honest, you didn't pay it too much attention considering the little cramping in your lower stomach. And knowing your not-so-regular cycle, you wouldn't be too surprised if, due to the stress, it decided to knock on your door earlier.

Your gaze was drawn to the dining table, and a smile formed on your lips. When you moved here, Azriel had taken it upon himself to redo all the wooden furniture. The oak table was your mating anniversary gift. You had never seen a table so intricately carved with different ornaments of leaves and flowers. But still, what made your heart clench the most were the two letters carved into it. The first letters of your and Azriel's names. "We can add our kids' names as our family grows," he told you then, while you sobbed in his arms, snot everywhere since he had taken you so by surprise.

"Are you mad at me?", you felt two arms slip around your lower stomach, making you jump slightly. "Why would I be handsome?", you questioned, leaning more into your lover's embrace. "Just felt multiple strokes of discomfort coming from your side of your bond", you frowned at that. You were trying to keep your emotions somewhat hidden from him when he was so busy. The fewer distractions, the better.

Turning into Azriel's embrace, you wrapped your arms around his torso. Selfishly enjoying the moment of having him so close to you. "I'm fine, just crampy. I have a daunting feeling that my cycle is close," you huffed, and Azriel hummed in response. "Should I run you a bath?", but you just shook your head, knowing well that the longer you keep him here, the longer he will spend in the study. "I'll make some tea and go curl up in the bed under five blankets. You finish your work and come cuddle," you pouted your lips at him, earning a chuckle from the spymaster as he leaned in to kiss you twice. Even if it wasn't much. Just a few feathery kisses made your heart skip a beat. "I won't be long tonight, I promise," Azriel whispered to you before kissing you one last time.

You ended up falling asleep on your own last night, and it wasn't that big of a surprise when you woke up to a cold and empty bed as well. You quickly shut down your end of the bond before allowing a wave of sadness to wash over you as your mind wandered off. Wondering when was the last time you woke up with Azriel still in your bed? But as you turned to lie on your side, your stomach suddenly rumbled, and the next thing you know, you were up and rushing to the bathroom. Barely making it to the toilet as the food from last night made its way out. The sensation brought tears to your eyes as you tried to hold your hair out of the way.

Once the feeling subsided, you let your head slip down onto the hand that gripped the side of the toilet. Mother, the last thing you needed was a complicated cycle. Especially since you had no one to look after you and you were not going to tell Azriel about it. There was no way. So pretending everything was fine would be the next burden in your path.

You only managed to drag yourself out and get somewhat ready quite sometime later. You promised to help Nesta clean up alongside Feyre. She was now heavily pregnant. The babe was a surprise for both of the mates. Cassian had spent a whole day crying with excitement, and Nesta's fears of being a bad mother had died with every day that passed. At least it seemed like it. They seemed so happy, and it was a dream knowing that the inner circle was growing. Not to mention that Nyx was over the moon that he would get a friend soon. With a quick stop at the bakery, you make your way toward your friend's house. The cooler morning breeze soothed your nausea and made you feel way perkier than before. It was exactly what you needed—some time with the girls.

 Your mood almost immediately picked up as everyone laughed while folding the baby close together. "I'm telling you. I've been catching him doing breathing techniques and muttering all sorts of motivational stuff", Nesta laughed, hand on her tummy as you all gossiped about Cassian and the father mode he had entered. "Imagine hearing a - push Nes push at two in the morning", you three snickered, "That's pretty much how it goes", Nes wiped away the tears that came from laughing quickly. You were still grinning as you stood up with a basket in your hands when everything blurred. You swayed slightly to one side. Pressing your eyes shut tightly before blinking quickly a couple of times, hoping that the fog would clear up.

"Darling," Fayra said as she wrapped her arms around you, fanning you with her hand. "Reach out for Az," Nesta said worryingly, her hands holding onto you now. "No, no Azriel", you said sharply. Quickly giving both of the females a death-like look, "No one is telling him anything." Both of them looked into your pleading eyes with nothing but concern. It was unlike you to deny the presence of your mate. "But lo-", "I said no. It's nothing, just my cycle; I've been feeling weird." The two sisters shared a look. Not believing you but then again fea cycles were no joke. It took women out like the plague. With no strength to move. The list of symptoms was enormous. Yet something about this didn't seem right. Feyre handed you a cup of water. "Maybe you still seek out Madja on your way home?", the high lady asked gently. "That's unnecessary...", "Please, it would give me peace of mind," Nesta said, and you weren't about to put more stress on a pregnant woman. So you nodded your head at her, smiling ever so slightly so you could reassure her.

You softly knocked on the clinic's door, and Madja wiped it open almost in an instant. "It's nothing serious," you started, but she was already guiding you toward the bed. She asked you a question here and there, but for the most part, you could tell that she already knew everything you had told the girls. Meaning Feyre had already informed her of everything.

"Well, lay down, dear," the healer whispered, guiding her hands over your body. A fond smile spread over her face almost immediately. "This year is a blessed one. I'll need to go to the temple and give an offering to the mother," she muttered in excitement. You gave the healer a puzzled look, but her soft hand only moved to touch your cheek, saying softly, "You're with a child, girl." For a moment, you felt like you had slipped into a different universe. Hovering somewhere between the stars and the solid ground. Your head started to spin just like it did before, the sickening feeling once again increasing.

"It can't be, it's... I'm starting a cycle," she said, but Madja only shook her head, "It's early days, but you are carrying a strong babe, dear." Your eyes still searched, waiting for her to burst out laughing and tell you that she was just joking. "Why is the face like that? A child is a blessing, and Azriel, my boy... oh, he'll be so happy," you thickly swallowed at the sound of your mate's name. Oh, gods, how were you going to tell him, and when? Could you just tell him now? Should you? But this would be such a distraction. What if he thinks it's just an additional burden? You quickly pull yourself together as Madja continues to speak again, going through the appointments she would like to have and packing you all sorts of stuff to take home for nausea and aches.

You stop at the side of Sidra on your way back. Needing to clear out your fuzzy head. Put thousands in the right place. You hated the fact that this didn't at all feel as you had imagined. And Mother forbid, you were so happy. Not many get blessed with a baby. Couples grew mad while trying to conceive. But it felt like such bad timing. Azriel was not in the right mindset for this. Or maybe this was exactly what he needed? Someone or something to focus his attention on.

Your hand slips onto your still flat stomach, only slightly bloated, but that was just the impact of the food you had eaten today. "What will we do, my little joy? How do we tell dad?", you whispered into the light evening breeze. The conversation you had about kids playing on and on in your head. You knew that Azriel wanted them. He wanted a family of his own, and there had been times you caught him with his hand on your stomach after a particularly rowdy session of sex, "In case we created something. Need them to feel a warm fatherly touch from the start," he would say, leaning in closer to snuggle into you. He wanted this a lot. You even found sketches of the little crib he was making. Azriel hadn't told you about it, and you didn't ask, of course, but he wanted to have a child. He wanted it before his overworked brain turned on.

However, the moment you stepped foot into your shared home, you could practically feel the lingering essence of anger all over the place. Azriel's back was toward you. He was sitting on the sofa, one leg bouncing up and down, and he was so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even hear you coming in. "Sweet, did something happen?", you asked carefully, Azriel's tired eyes shooting up to meet you as he let out a frustrated huff. "It's all shit," Azriel snarled, "They screwed up the entire mission, and I warned Rhys. I fucking warned him." As your mate stood up to pace the room, you flinched slightly at the sound of his loud voice. 

"Now I have to go there and try to fix this. I don't have time for that," the spymaster continued, visibly growing more and more frustrated. "Can you ask someone to go instead?", you tried to send loving strokes of support down the bond, but you were met with nothing in return, nor did it seem to do anything. "Who You fancy a trip?", Azriel barked back, and you quickly bit the inside of your cheek so your eyes wouldn't fill up with tears as you shook your head no. Well, here went your plan to tell him over a sweet dinner together that you wanted to cook. If you mentioned a child, this would be a tragedy, so you bit your tongue. Promising yourself to stay silent.

"How about I make you some food, and while you eat, I'll pack up your stuff and get everything ready?", you asked softly, trying to at least get his emotions somewhat in check. "It'll take at least something off your shoulders. Even if it's insignificant," you murmured at the end. And usually, Azriel is good at picking up on your emotions from the tone of your voice, but tonight it seemed like he either didn't hear it or didn't want to hear it.

Azriel stayed still for a moment, but then he softly nodded his head, "I'll do some work in the study in the meantime." You gave him a light smile. He did step closer to you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. And the fact that he had lingered there for a moment gave you hope that he might have sensed you, that he considered staying. But he moved past you, his hand lightly grazing your tummy, but he doesn't stop in his tracks. If only you knew, you thought to yourself, if only you knew that that's where your child is growing now. What a difference it would make if you knew...

He doesn't come to eat, and he once again doesn't eat what you bring to him. You pack his stuff up, and you can't help but feel like you are just packing his way out of your life. The shadow singer leaves in the middle of the night. You're not asleep yet, and you don't turn to face him. You hear the sound of his clothes ruffling as he gets dressed. You don't even know how long he will be away or where he is going. Closing your eyes just as he walks to your side, leaning in to press a couple of kisses to your forehead. And with that, he's gone. 

You wait a moment longer until you're fully sure that he was not coming back before you let your eyes fill up with tears. A painful sob slipped past your lips as you clench your finger around the sheets. Cry your heart out into the darkness of the night.

At first, you felt utterly alone. Having to run to the bathroom every morning and well into the day as you gagged with your face hovering over the toilet. Needing to drag yourself to make food. You didn't care that much for yourself, and if not for the baby, you would have probably just spent your days in bed without moving. But then it struck you. You weren't alone. You were never alone. You always had your baby with you. With every step you took, a little joy was always there. Warming your weeping heart. Azriel reached out through the bond while he was away. And because you didn't want him to go flying home, you listened to him speak. Letting his voice slip into nothingness as the words went through you and out. You ignored everyone in your family. Saying that you had caught something and didn't want to get any of the kids sick. So the best decision was to stay away.

You were sitting with a big blanket over your body, eyes gazing at the fire when the front door suddenly opened. You had felt this was going to happen considering that for the past couple of days, you had completely shut off the bond. "Take that off," Azriel said, his voice shaking as he stepped through the living room, making his way to you. Looking like nothing but a frightened animal in the woods.

"Azriel," you spoke weakly, your hallow eyes turning his way, and you just hoped that he would drop it. "Take it off," he yanked at the blanket's side, reaching for your arms to get you to stand. So you did, letting the material crumble to the floor. The spymaster's mouth gaped at the sight of you. At the sight of your bump, which had become more visible. Even if it wasn't all that big yet. "You're..." the male trailed off. Chest falling and rising rapidly. "I am, yes. I am pregnant," you said coldly, as you walked past him and into the kitchen. Azriel just shook his head, turning your way, "Why did you... when did you find out?" His steps followed right behind you. You debate over your answer. The pain stings your chest.

"Before you left", "And said nothing?", his voice grew louder, and you slammed your cup down on the counter. "Don't you dare! You were boiling with rage that night," you said, firmly pointing your finger at him. "That's not a good enough excuse," he muttered under his breath, and your blood filled with so much rage. So much anger was pushed away. "You are unbelievable... I've been neglected by you for weeks like some dirty foot rag. You enjoyed just wiping your shit at me, didn't you?", you shouted at him now. You didn't seem to mind that you'd never done that before.

"What the fuck are you on about?", Azriel barked back, leaning closer to you. "You and your work. Are you sure you shouldn't be mated to your papers?", you spat his way, moving to push past him, but Azriel gripped your hand firmly, making you stop in your tracks. "Don't start with this shit again", "I will start because ahh...", you leaned forward, hand coming to your bump as the pain shoots through you. Azriel's grip on your hand loosens as he moved to wrap his arm over you, but you coldly push it away. Gritting your teeth. Until another pain shoots through you, a much louder cry slipping past your lips, and you have no other option but to let your mate lift you as he carried you to the sofa.

"Love, talk to me, what is it?", his worried eyes sought you out. "It hurts," and you try to take deep breaths in and calm your heart down. Fighting like this. All of these emotions at once were not what your body needed. Not what you needed. You were so tired. You didn't have it in you to deal with this. And it's not even a couple of minutes later that the door opens and Madja rushes in accompanied by Rhys.

Azriel is being pushed out of the room. Your teary eyes, hands gripping the bump, a bump that he hasn't even touched yet, the last thing he sees before the doors are closed right in front of him. A small bump that carries his child. And it all comes crashing down. It's him. It's him. He's the problem. He's the one who caused this. The darkest scenarios cloud his mind, and he's about to march back in, but Rhys is in his way instantly.

"Move, Rhys, move!", the spymaster wept as he tried to reach for the door handle. "Azriel, it's not the right time", "Rhysand, don't test me; there's my mate and my child there. I need to know if they are okay," Azriel roared, trying to somehow find a way to feel you through the bond, but there was nothing but coldness there. "Don't cause a scene. Let her be checked and calm down," the high lord tried to say calmly, but anxiousness was inevitable on his face. "If she.. if I", the images of his father fill Azriel's mind. His mother being pushed around. Whimpering as his father yelled at her. Her cries were all he could hear at night, and she was nothing but lonely and scared. Alone. You've been alone through all of this. You've made up your mind to keep it from him. To keep his baby away from him. Because he wasn't worthy. He was nothing better than a piece of trash. He wasn't any better than his father. Worse, perhaps.

The time seemed to slow down; it feels like years as Azriel stands there. Hoping that he had at least done something good in his five hundred years of existence that would be enough to buy the gift of keeping you both safe. When Madja walks out the door, Azriel practically falls to his knees. "She's okay; both of them are. I've got her to sleep," her words set the tears flowing down Azriel's cheeks, "She's distressed and hasn't been drinking or eating enough."

He walked inside as quietly as he could. The sight of you curled up on the bed both warmed and broke the spymaster's heart. The male debated whether he should just leave you here or carry you up to your bed. Carefully, Azriel ran his hand over your head before scooping you up in his arms. The sofa, no matter how comfortable it was, would most likely leave your back sore, and the shadow singer had a feeling you already had those pains as it was. Once you were tucked in between your sheets and Azriel had sat and watched you for an hour, he went back downstairs. Cleaning up the place as he went along, washing up the dishes, and sorting out the trash. Started making some soup as well. All the little things. Small things he realized he hadn't done in what seemed like an eternity.

You woke up sometime later. Feeling much more refreshed yet slightly dissociated. The window was narrowly open, letting just the right amount of fresh air flow into the room. The pitcher with water was nestled against the side of your nightstand. You reached for the glass, only now realizing just how thirsty you were. Taking a couple of dried fruits and nuts from the bowl as you swing your legs over the edge. The heavy feeling in your chest still lingered, yet you threw on one of Azriel's sweaters before you went downstairs. His scent instantly relieves some of the tension in your body. Azriel was lost in his head again. Stirring whatever he was cooking in that pot so viscously that you almost felt sorry for both the pot and the spoon.

"That smells nice," to the sound of your voice Azriel practically threw the spoon as he rushed to you and asked, "What are you doing up? You need to be laying in bed", his arms were hooked under your legs in an instant as he carried you back to the sofa. "Azriel, I can walk", "Madja said you need to take it easy for a couple of days. Are you in pain now? Do you need anything? Are you craving something? Because I can...", your head was starting to spin again from the number of questions he managed to cramp in the space of one breath. Placing your palm on his, you squeezed it gently.

"Calm down," you mumbled, watching as your mate practically started hyperventilating right beside you. "I don't deserve you. You shouldn't be speaking to me now. You shouldn't be speaking to me ever again," he blurted out, his eyes glossing over with tears. "Love," you tried to interfere, but Azriel only shook his head. "I've failed you. I'm no better than my father. You deserve so much more. I've failed my kid, and the baby isn't even born yet. You shouldn't even tell them that I'm their father", you crooked your head to the side, watching Azriel self-sabotaging himself once again. "You're talking nonsense now. They will know that you are the father, and you will be here by their side as they grow up," you said firmly, sitting up so you could reach for Azrie's face. Gently turning it towards you so his eyes would be on you as you spoke.

"Am I upset with you? Very much so. But I will always choose you. It will always be you, Azriel. I just can't be... I won't be... We won't be a second option," moving closer, Azriel rested his forehead on yours. "You were never a second option. I just... I get so scared sometimes. Your love, it overwhelms me," the spymaster said, his brows furrowed. "It's been years, and I still tell myself that the cauldron made a mistake. I'm not good enough for you; we are not equal. You are so much more than me", "Azriel, you get in your ways with thoughts like that", you mutter, pulling away slightly, so you could see his face better. "You need to realize that you are not the same little boy locked up in the basement. You made it out of there. So live, my love. Don't rob yourself of the happiness you deserve", Azriel's bottom lip quivered before tears started rolling down his cheeks once again. You give him a sad look before pulling him closer to yourself, "Let it all out, my love. You've pushed yourself too much," you said, running your fingers through his already messy hair as you tried to soothe the cries that escaped his lips.

"Give me your hand", you nudged his arms slightly, taking it into your much smaller one. Guiding it under your sweater, Azriel's sweater, "Calm your breathing and listen to this," you said calmly, keeping your hand on top of his. Even the fact that his palm got to rest on the swell of your stomach made him let out yet another cry. But his ears picked up on something else. A tiny little heartbeat. Tiny but so strong. As if it was screaming from the inside of your tummy at it's parents about just how much it wanted to be there and grow. Azriel pulled back to look at you, eyes wide now that he could feel the life growing inside you. "Our baby...", the spymaster mumbled, and you let a tear slide down your cheek, "Yes, our little joy", "I love you", he muttered, leaning in to pack your lips softly before he moved down, lifting the knitted fabric. "And I love you," Azriel said, running his hand over your bump carefully before pressing a kiss on your skin. "I love you. I love you. I love you," he repeated over and over. You watched your mate with a fond smile, finally feeling somewhat content. Finally feeling the other side of the bond flourishing, no longer cold and unwelcoming.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar imagine #azriel #azriel acotar

[mint-yooxgi]

Yearning - Yandere!Phoenix!Mingi

Yandere AU & Phoenix AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Mingi X Implied Chubby!Reader

Words: 1,710

Warnings: Implied stalking, and dirty thoughts. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Felt like getting this out tonight, so I hope you all like it!! Again, I feel like these are tamer than what I originally had in mind, but some of them are going in a different direction than I though. Hehehe, I don't know, I still like them! Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Fourth of The Feral Drabbles

You’re a strange one, aren’t you? You don’t let anyone get close to you, do you? At least, not really.

I’ve seen the way you shy away from their touches. It’s like you know that they don’t deserve you, just as I do. Only I should get to caress your delicate skin. Only I should get to touch you. Your body is a canvas meant to be painted by me, and me alone.

You know that already, don’t you?

You’ve seen me watching you. I know you have. I’m much more in tune to your reactions than you think, especially when heat is involved.

Perhaps that’s just the way I’ve always been. Or maybe, perhaps, that’s just the effect you have on me. Either way, I always make sure to watch you carefully. I want to know your every reaction to everything, so I can replicate the good ones as desired. I want you to see me in a good light all of the time. There’s no room for error. Not when you are involved.

I can never help myself when it comes to you. I always want to know where you are, and who you’re with. I long to know what you’re doing, and especially how you’re feeling at all times. It drives me crazy not being able to be by your side at all hours of the day. Watching you isn’t enough, I need to be with you, and I want you to need me, too.

You’re guarded, that much I can tell. I mean, you certainly live up to your nickname of Ice Princess, wouldn’t you say? You hardly give anyone the time of day. It’s as if no one is worth your time.

Good. They don’t deserve you, anyways. At least you know how much value your life has, and how important you are.

I wouldn’t expect anything less from my twin flame.

I want you to know, that I am worthy. I will make myself worthy.

I have a theory: you don’t give anyone the time of day because the treat you like a princess. 

It’s the princess part, isn’t it? You long to be treated like the Queen you are, don’t you?

You don’t have to worry much longer, My Queen, a fitting King is on his way.

You know, my kind… we mate for life. We’re extremely territorial and possessive of our mates, especially once we’ve imprinted. You’re lucky I haven’t had a chance to court you yet, otherwise those friends of yours… well, let’s just say ‘burnt to a crisp’ would be putting it lightly.

They don’t care for you. I’ve seen the jealousy in their eyes when you turn away from them. They always want what you have, and they hate how effortlessly it comes to you. You’re too smart for them. Too beautiful. Too desirable.

I must admit, taking out my competition lately has been a bit difficult, but I’ve made tremendous progress this past month alone. You’re even acknowledging me on your own, and going out of your way to start conversations with me! I knew playing it cool would work - that seems to be the type of people you’re drawn to. None of this loud and boisterous displays of passion some people attempt to smother you in.

I have to admit, though, there are times where I wish I could scream my love for you from the rooftops. I want everybody to know how much you mean to me, and to be jealous that only I can have you, and only you can have me. 

I’m not blind, I see the way your friends look at me when you all walk passed. I hear them whisper as their heated stares lock onto my figure. I know I’m desirable, too.

The only one I care about, though, is you.

Oh, how I revel in your gaze when I feel you looking at me. Honestly, it’s embarrassing how much I preen myself just for you. I’ll admit, my posture has never been the greatest, until I met you.

It’s almost comical how obvious I can be; my friend tease me about it all the time. My kind, we’re not subtle in our ways, but either you don’t notice, or you choose not to.

Perhaps you don’t want to believe I could ever fall for someone like you…

Is this why you don’t let anyone get close to you? Because you’re afraid of getting hurt?

Well, My Little Dove, you don’t have to be afraid any longer. I will never hurt you, because I will never leave you. I only want you, and I will only ever want you.

Do you want to know the dangers of my love for you? It’s a little thrilling, isn’t it? To know that there’s always risks when it comes to love. At least, I find it amusing, and once you feel the same as I do, I know you will, too.

See, my kind, as I said before, we mate for life. But, not just this life. 

Every life.

Our love is reborn through the ashes with each incarnation. No matter how far apart we are, or who we are, we will always find each other. That’s what it means to love a Phoenix.

Once an imprint, always an imprint. Nothing can change that.

My heart is yours. It burns for you. It yearns for your cold touch to quell the flames that have long since kindled the fires of my passion for you. I am devoted to you in every way imaginable. You just don’t know it, yet.

I desire you, My Dove. I have desired you from the very first moment I heard you utter my name. Never has it sounded so pure, so perfect falling from any other’s lips but your own. It was meant to be yours. I was made to be yours, and you were always meant to be mine.

Fuck, I want to know what my name sounds like falling from your lips after I’ve kissed you breathless. I want to wrap you in my embrace and ignite that same spark of desire in you that has always burned within me for you. I want to feel you gripping at my hair, pulling me in closer to you as you cling to my body as I light the fires of my passion upon your own.

Fucking tug on my roots as you pull me back into your core for more. I want to feel you dripping down my chin, suffocating me with your luscious thighs as I get lost in your pussy for hours. Let me make a beautiful mess of your cunt, lick it clean, and then do it all over again, and again, and again.

I want you to moan for me, like I’m your one and only salvation, and you’ll find rapture in my every touch. I want our breaths to become one, never knowing where one ends and the other begins. I want to taste you until I become drunk on everything you have to offer, and then I want to drown you in an ecstasy so deep you’ll never want to come back up for air.

I want my touch to sear across every dip and curve of your skin, so that you feel my desires for you even when we’re apart. If you cannot feel my love for you by the time we’re done, I haven’t finished fulfilling my duties of your perfect lover. By the time I’m finished with you, my name will be the only thing on your lips, my body the only thing you can feel, and my devotion to you the only thing on your mind. 

And your heart…

Your heart will be mine.

Long have I desired to burn my mark on your heart, just as I know you’ve already branded mine. I will accept no other. I cannot.

My greatest desire, though, is far tamer than any of this. Yet, it is probably the most significant. The most intricate and intimate of experiences I could offer you.

I want to show you my wings.

I want to show you my wings, and watch as that wondrous expression of yours lights up your face. I want to see you in awe of the colours, and the contrasting feathers which are quite plush and so delicate to the touch. I want to watch you reach out to feel them, but hesitate slightly, unsure of if you should or not, and then I want to smile and nod at you, encouraging you to fulfill your every desire.

And, oh, how encouraging I would be!

We don’t let just anybody touch our wings, you know. It’s a sacred practice, reserved for the most intimate of lovers.

That’s how much you mean to me. I want to share in that intimacy with you, and only you.

Fuck, and then once you’ve traced the contours of my wings and run your fingers through my feathers, I would make the sweetest love to you. I would hold you so fucking close, whispering how deeply my affection for you lies with every movement I make, my wings on full display as I bring us both to ecstasy together.

I can practically hear the way your voice calls out my name so desperately for me now…

Many nights have been spent playing out this fantasy, but I’m afraid it never fully captures the full effect of the moment. I know it’ll be even more special and intimate when the time comes, and I can only imagine how your delicate hands will feel gripping me, and stroking along my wings during the moment.

Just thinking about it now gets me so sensitive.

You truly have no idea what you do to me.

I just have to get closer to you. You’re starting to open up to me, I can feel it. I’m slowly but surely melting that cold exterior of yours. Or maybe, you’re just cooling me down to your level. We’ll be together soon. We have to be, or else I don’t know just what I might do.

I’ll be wrapping you in my embrace soon enough. 

I’ll make sure you can handle the heat.

#yandere ateez #yandere mingi #yandere au #yandere kpop #mingi scenario #mingi smut #ateez scenario #ateez smut #kpop scenario #kpop au #phoenix au #chubby reader #ateez drabbles #mingi drabble

[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

A chat with Lady Hekate

.... Well, holy shit.

I do not work with Hekate. I do not plan to- I don't get the vibe that she plans to work with me in the future, either.

But I have a friend who had a period of time where they were seeing her EVERYWHERE, signs of her everywhere, but were too scared to work with her. Recently I offered to do a reading and see if I could confirm or deny that it was Hekate, and see if they truly missed that opportunity or if Hekate still wanted to work with them. (For the record, she did.)

The first card I pulled, asking if Lady Hekate was willing to speak to me, was upright (yes) and the death card. I had thought not long ago that it'd be funny to see that from her, but thought it was "too big an ask" for something that obvious.

Of course, Hekate proceeded to give me a card with imagery that strongly resembles how I've seen her portrayed twice after the first death card. She doesn't fuck around, I've noticed.

At one point, I felt like I needed to "reconnect" the cards to her for lack of a better word, so I sat with them in my hands and asked her to reconnect her energy. I didn't expect her to suddenly put her hands above mine, over the deck, and I felt them. Not physically, but I felt them. Her energy was... soothing. Comforting. Gentle. Kind. I told her that, and that it surprised me since I knew her only as a force to be reckoned with.

"Of course I'm kind, my job is to help people transition from to the afterlife. That's a scary transition to make. Part of being a good guide to them is listening to their stories, their regrets, their fear- all of it." I won't lie, I almost teared up.

At one point, I was feeling nervous about the cards since they felt a bit personal, and I was sending this to my friend, and "what if they shoot the messenger, I'm gonna delete that line-" and I felt Hekate just. "Do not get between a goddess and her child."

LIKE OKAY YES MA'AM, WILL DO-

Overall, she was very kind and I'm no longer nervous about doing readings involving deities and entities I don't work with. I know not all of them will be so gentle, but she was wonderful and just generally pleasant to be around.

#witchcraft #paganism #witchblr #pagan #pagan witch #eclectic pagan #paganblr #witch community #deity work #witch blog #tarot #tarotblr #hecate deity #hekate #hellenic pagan #hellenic deities #SRY I SPELL HER NAME HEKATE #I've spelled it that way my whole life #tw death mention

[latenuitrambles]

Could you do a Diluc x reader (one sided on readers part) and she sees he falls out of love with her (inspired by La gata bajo la lluvia-Rocío Durcal) make it as angsty as you can!! 🥲🤲

𝓛𝓪 𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓪 𝓫𝓪𝓳𝓸 𝓵𝓪 𝓵𝓵𝓾𝓿𝓲𝓪

(Diluc x g/n reader angst Songfic)

Note: finally finished this. it feels maybe a little repetitive at the end but I'm still satisfied with it overall. the lyrics might be a bit off because I had to get the translation for it and that might not be totally accurate! Anyways enjoy and criticism and reblogs are appreciated!!!! requests are open!

TW: nothing much just angst no comfort, not proofread :<

“My love don't worry I wont bother you, and I know there's a torrent running through your mind”

He was different, ever since he had come back. You could feel the distance between you two. The words left unsaid, the late nights at the tavern, the times you woke up in the middle of the night and he wasn't in the bed, the way his smile strained when he looked at you. It had been quite some time since you guys went on any dates, or even just sat down to eat breakfast together. The distance between you two expanded every day and all you did is watch, watch as the love of your life drifted away from you.

“Don't fear there's no reason ,I don't blame you for the past.”

You watched him build his walls.. He quit the knights. He pushed Kaeya away too. When he had told you that he needed to go away from Monstadt to clear his mind, you had thought it would be fine, that he just needed space after his father's accident. And though you wanted to be there for him, if he wanted to mourn alone, you would respect that. “I'll be waiting for you when you come back, no matter how long it takes”, you had told him. It took months, and he returned but also not at the same time. It was as if he had aged decades in that time. He was no longer the Diluc you that had fallen for you. You had smiled and hugged him, tears falling from your eyes, and he had hugged you back too, but his embrace no longer felt warm. You had held hope, maybe things would get better, he just needed some time, things would return to normal. And now, as you sat in the empty room you and him shared, it finally hit you, things were never going to be the same. 

"Love, I know, honestly don't say anything. If you see any tears, I'm sorry I know that you didn't want to make an injured cat cry." 

You were going to end things with him. It wasn't because you didn't love him anymore. No, far from it, you loved him too much, and he, didn't love you enough. Not anymore. But you knew he didn't want the same hurt you. Even after everything you knew he was still that kind boy you had fallen for, the one who would rather stay with you even when he didn't have feelings for you anymore just so you won't get hurt. But you couldn't do that to him. To chain him down. Maybe this was your last gift to him, your last act of love. You were going to let him go, even if it would tear your soul apart to do so.

“Love, if one day , we see each other out there, invite me to a coffee and make me love”

You stood in front of your house, with your bags packed, the rain falling on you. It made your heart clench. The memories you had with him flooding your mind. You felt like a cat in the rain, left outside, with no purpose or home. Because that is what he was to you, home. You had left a letter on the table, breaking it off and telling him to not look for you. It had hurt so much to write those bitter words, but for him you'd do anything. You were going to leave Monstadt and go far away, so that you could not convince yourself to change your mind. Maybe one day you’d return, when both of you have grown and his wounds wouldn’t hurt so much anymore. Maybe he would finally let you nurse them. Let you in again. Maybe one day you would be home again.

#ania.writes #genshin x reader #diluc x reader angst #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #diluc x gender neutral reader #diluc angst #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #diluc x reader

[uyuartik]

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

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

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

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

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

part one | part two | part three

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

[tossawary]

I've only seen 3 episodes of the new "Percy Jackson" show so far and my main complaint with the first two episodes was pacing. I thought the pacing in the third episode was much improved and overall very good, but a lot about the first two episodes felt rushed to me.

I think episodes 1 and 2 both could have been two episodes each to slowly introduce us to Percy, Grover, Sally, Mr. Brunner, Mrs. Dodds and the Minotaur, and then to the Camp, to Annabeth, Luke, Clarisse, the satyrs and the different cabins, etc.. I mean, I think what was there was pretty solid! I like the actors! I don't think it's badly written (I think making Luke show Percy around the camp was a good choice to make later things hit harder, since we will have more time with Annabeth on the quest itself later), but I would have liked more breathing room scenes, like when Percy burned the blue jellybeans, for things to settle in, and I blame the studio for not giving this show a longer season to work with.

As it stands now, the first two episodes felt more intended for existing fans, rather than for onboarding new fans. I feel like a frog being thrown into boiling water instead of the water coming up to a boil around me. If you're not familiar with this religion & lore already, if you don't know who the Twelve Olympians are, the introduction to the Camp doesn't give you much of a foothold, which is quite unfortunate when PJO was many people's introduction to this stuff.

The blue food is not really explained. The tension of the mystery with Mrs. Dodds kind of gets thrown out because it all happens so fast. There's no time to slowly build a feeling of normalcy and then wrongness. Percy's relationship with Chiron is undermined by how little time they get together. Percy finding out who his father is happens SO QUICKLY that we don't have a proper understanding of what's wrong about his claiming when it happens. The camp looks cool and I want to see more of it! How it functions is barely explained! We barely get to meet anyone! It feels like Percy is there for less than 48 hours before he's leaving on a quest again, so there's very little time to build up his attachment to it. I have less emotional investment in Percy's conflict with Clarisse because we barely get to understand what daily life at Camp Half-blood might be like (although I understand putting less focus on Clarisse now knowing that you'll be able to play catch-up during future storylines).

I think the show is making pretty good choices with the time that they have, I just wish they had MORE time. I don't think that they have to include every little detail and scene and character from the books. I like a lot of the changes they've made just fine. I just feel like the writing and acting is being undermined by the fact that there's very little time to set things up so that you can knock them down, and that it takes more time to show something visually than it does to read a sentence. Everything in episodes 1 and 2 is moving so quickly that some of the magical aspects feel... less magical to me because there's less time to develop contrast. And the show doesn't have as much time to potentially develop cool NEW things, to slide in more new funny character interactions, because it's all so smushed down. I want more time to see these actors shine together.

(Although, admittedly, it is VERY funny to feel like Percy is stuck in some sort of speedrun version of the story. Every day is a new rollercoaster of Percy not knowing what the fuck is going on and going with it because he's not given the time to ask questions. Sure! This might as well happen next! His life sucks already. That part feels very true to the books, although I think the feeling could still be preserved if the show was given more time.)

I'm tired of 8 episode seasons. I don't know if I think that PJO needs a full 20+ episodes to tell the story of the first book, probably not, but being constrained to only 8 instead of at least 10-16 feels disappointing.

#tossawary pjo #tossawary watching #spoilers

[fieldofdaisiies]

Like Him?

ship: Eris x Reader type: angst warning(s): overall gloomy, talks about rejection, childhood trauma, abusive households word count: 2,5k words request: "I have a Eris request too. Sorry for my explanation, English isn't my first language. The reader is in a arrange marriage with Eris. And he strats to open himself telling something about his past and things like that"

-all rights reserved -

A gentle breeze caresses your skin as you step out of the Forest House and the earthy scent of fallen leaves and damp soil fills your nostrils. Your curl your arms around yourself, securing the cardigan as you step onto the pathway adorned with the beautiful colours of autumn. 

You never wanted to move here, never wanted to call this place your home, but your father and the former High Lord of this Court arranged a marriage for you, the daughter of an important lord of the Autumn Court. You had to wed his oldest son, Eris, only a few weeks after your first encounter. Soon Eris will rule over the court, you at his side, as he promised to make you High Lady of the Autumn Court, despite your reservations and nervousness. You still remember what he said to you when he put the ring on your finger, “You may didn’t choose me, you didn’t want this, you will probably never love me like a husband, and you were forced into this just like I was, so the least I can do for you is make you High Lady and make this whole situation a little less awful.” He leaned in back then, at your wedding, and kissed your cheek. Not your lips, not wanting to invade your personal space. 

Golden sunlight filters through the trees, casting a warm glow upon the in leaves covered ground as you enter the small forest, heading for the glade nearby. You know Eris will most likely be there, probably with his hounds, as this is the place he normally goes to when he wants to be alone. And you know, when he wants to be alone, you probably should leave him alone. But not today. Today it feels different. I feels like you should talk to him, like he needs someone. You feel it in your chest. There is something like a tug on your ribs that pulls you to him. It is odd and you can’t really describe the feeling so you just decide to follow it. His your husband after all and you get along, so you think it might be good to take another step forward. To actually talk about personal things and not only politic related ones. Leaves, in all colours of autumn - crimson, orange and yellow- cover the ground beneath your feet as you move and a soft rustling accompanies every step you take. You marvel at the beauty that surrounds you and once again remind yourself of how lucky you are that you were born in this court. Of course, Beron as a High Lord if awful, Cauldron forbid if he knew you said so, but the beauty of the court is not comparable to any other. And not all people are bad. The Lady of the Autumn Court is lovely and you like her a lot. And so is Eris. You do like your husband who is distant to you, yes, but never not kind or honest, or respectful. The air is filled with all sorts of lovely of scents—the earthy smell of damp soil and the scent of decaying leaves. Nostalgia fills your mind and brain when you remember playing outside with your family when you were a child. It is so long ago, the memories are no longer that clear, but still you will always remember and keep them in your heart. As you continue to walk, further into the forest, the breeze calms a little as the thick trees and branches don’t let so much of it through. The narrow path leads you deeper into the forest, and you feel a sense of serenity inside of you. You have always felt at ease in nature and nothing has changed that. The days after your marriage you have mostly spent outside, often with Eris’ dogs or with his mother walking around and talking a little. Eris, who will soon, take over as High Lord as Beron’s state gets worse and worse, is busy most of the time, always bent over his desk for hours and even into the night. At the forest house you have often felt quite trapped, like you are in a cage. This arranged marriage, despite Eris’ kindness and respect, has always felt like it as well. You did not choose it yourself and you are stuck, your choice was taken from you. But when you are outside, and the beauty of the Autumn Court envelops you, these thoughts vanish for a little while. Your heart fills with appreciation of these lovely moments outside and then freedom they provide you. You allow yourself to pause for a little and draw in a deep inhale, the fragrance of the damp, early afternoon air filling your nose. You exhale and lift your gaze, spotting the glade as well as the small wooden bench with the heir of the Autumn Court on it in the distance. Your heart makes a little skip when your eyes land on his tall figure, his broad shoulders and involuntarily the corners of your mouth twitch up a little. 

Your legs feel lighter and you walk faster, soon closing the distance between him and you. “Thought I would find you here.” You surround the bench on which jerks backwards a little, but smiles when he meets your gaze. “My wife,” he says in a calm voice, tinged with kindness. He reaches his broad hand forward for you to grab so he can guide you the last steps to the bench. You take it, and relish how warm his palm feels against yours. You sit down next to him, only a little distance between the two of you, and you look up at him. “Are you alright?” you ask with sympathy in your voice. He looks straightforward and then licks over his lips and turns to you. “Honest answer?” The High Lord of Autumn raises his brow a little bit and you bow your head, still smiling a little. “Always!” you say and add, “I am your wife. You can always be honest with me.”

Your husband releases a shuddering breath and wipes his hands down his thighs. “I am afraid that I will become like him. That one day I will treat my subjects just like my father does. That one day I don’t have any respect anymore, that I will become just as cruel as he is, that I will hurt people, that I will hurt you. That I will force myself upon you so you can give me heirs.” His expression is bitter and pained, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he blinks his eyes rapidly. Almost as quickly as he rattled through his words. You can only reach over and take one of his hand into both of yours. “Don’t ever say something like that again. You are nothing like your father and will never be.” You squeeze his hand, staring at him until he finally lifts his gaze to yours. They are nothing but swirling pits of agony, pain and hate. “You don’t know that.” He shakes his head vehemently, his teeth clenched. And so you remove one hand from his, and bring it up to his face. You brush your thumb over his cheek, feeling the soft skin and the light stubble against your skin. “I do know it. I know you are nothing like him. You are kind, and honest. You respect me and I know you would never hurt me. You have never hurt me, and I am sure that you will never do so.” He leans into your touch, reveling in the feel of a person touching him without fear or reservation. “How do you know?” he breathes, voice tinged with a bit of pain. He wants to believe you, he really does, but it is so damn difficult if seemingly everyone hates him and hardly anyone trusts him. “I just do. You have never given me a reason to not trust you. You have never made me feel disrespected. You have never made me feel anxious.” You smile, still brushing over his cheek, your other hand still tightly holding his in his lap. “How long have these thoughts been there?”

“Since always,” he answers in a silent tone. “And I think they will never go away. I think these thoughts will haunt me for my whole life, just like the memories.” You lean in a little, your lips pouted, but not once breaking eye contact. “Memories?” “Honest answer?”

“Of course. I told you before, always honest answer. With me you can always be honest.” This time he squeezes your hand and turns his head just a little so he can kiss your palm. It is just a gentle and quick brush of his lips but it makes tingles erupt all over your body. “But it is quite…gloomy and awful…”

“If you want to share you can share it. If you don’t want to share it, I won’t pressure you. It is up to you, your choice.” You brush your thumb over his cheek one more time before removing your hand and placing it on his thigh, right above his knee. You watch how his throat works on a swallow, and his eyes close for a moment, long lashes drawing shadows to his cheeks. 

“My father used to hit me, used a whip on me, locked me into the closet when he got mad. He forced me to be outside during thunderstorms and he—“ Eris’ throat constricts and he cuts himself off. His lashes dampen a little and you hold his hand tighter. “Gods,” you breath and shake your head, wanting to do everything possible so you can take the pain away from him.

“I am just scared that I will also lose my temper, that if we ever have children, I will become like him. What if I will mirror his experience because it is the only parental education I know?” He swallows thickly and folds his other hand over the one you have placed on his thigh.

“I can assure you, you won’t become like that. I know you will do it differently, especially since you experienced the worst. I know you won’t let anything happen to your children, our children.” His mouth forms a little sad smile at the mention of your children and he finally lifts his gaze to you again. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathes and leans in a little, his gaze never leaving yours. A cool breeze once again dances over your skins and blows your hair into your face. Eris slowly lifts his hand, brushing the few loose strands of hair over your shoulder and then the last few behind your ear. “And I am very lucky to have you as my wife. You are stunning both on the in and outside. Kind and honest, loyal and the most beautiful female I have ever seen in my life.” 

His statement draws tears to your own eyes and you lean in further, leaning your forehead against his. “You do deserve me. We deserve each other and…” You pause, swallow and close your eyes. “And I am lucky to have you as my husband. That it is you and no other. You are kind, respectful, honest, and open-hearted. And of course, very easy on the eyes.” A small grin appears on your face and you heard the male in front of you chuckle, his warm breath tingling your skin. 

“And I want you to know that you can always talk to me. You can always talk to me about those memories, about these thoughts. I am here for you.” “But you don’t have to. You don’t have to deal with my burdens as well. You have already been forced into this marriage without choosing me. You—“ You place your lips on his, kissing him softly and only quickly. “I did not choose it, that is correct. But I am alright with it. I am lucky that I am with you, that we have each other. And I know I don’t have to offer you this, but I want to. Not because I am your wife, but because I like you. I like you a lot and I know you would do the same for me.” This time it is Eris who kisses you, a little longer and the kiss is deeper, almost a little explorative. His sighs when your lips part, inhaling deeply and his eyes open slowly. So do yours. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.” A little giggle parts your lips, your cheeks flushed. “Me too.” You bite down on your lower lip and lean in, your head resting on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his neck. Eris relaxes, cradles you in his strong arms, pulling you flush to his chest. “I can’t wait for us to become High Lord and Lady of this court. I know that with you at my side I can do things better. I will be different than he is. I know that you can help me with that, that you will help me. I know you will be a great High Lady.” You hum, stroking the hair at the back of his neck gently. You want to tell him that you know that he could also do this all without you, that he is not a bad person, but you don’t want to interrupt the peaceful silence that has fallen over you, only some birds and the wind rustling the trees audible around you. 

He caresses you back with his hand, his head resting against yours as you both listen to the sounds of nature around you. “I don’t know how a person can love another person but at the same time hate them so much.” He pauses and inhales deeply, his chest heaving against you. “He always used to say how proud he was of me and that I can do great things. That I will be great High Lord, but then he treated me like I was…I don’t even know like what. All the punishment he used on me was always for education, he used to say.” 

“I can’t even tell you how sorry I am, how much I want to take this pain away from you. And how much I want to walk into the Forest House right now and pierce a dagger through his heart.” Fury blazes through your veins and you lean back, looking up at your husband. He lowers his head, resting his chin on your forehead and releases a breathy chuckle. “I had no idea my wife is so violent. And as much as I appreciate this and love you for it, I can’t let you do it.”

Love. The word reverberates through you and makes your heart skip one or the other happy beat. “He won’t live much longer, we just have to endure and soon it will be over.” He leans back a little and kisses your forehead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @sunshinebingo@tarataraaaa@brekkershadowsinger@azriels-mate123@mandziaaa@cosmic-whispers@mali22@elsie-bells@imma-too-many-fandoms@kuraikei@ginnyweasley06 @bubnix @powerfulpantera @moonlightazriel @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #acotar x reader #acosf #acotar

[chaoticpuff17]

Amygdala

Masterlist

part 16

There was a sadistic sort of glee that Margot took in dragging Yoongi through the store looking at dish set after dish set despite his clear disinterest in the proceedings. He was bored, but he hadn’t come to pick out dishes. He’d come to keep an eye on her, and she was determined to make the experience as painfully boring as possible in retaliation. Margot could be a very petty creature when she wanted to be, and in this instance, she wanted to be petty.

Margot spent an obscene amount of time looking over each dish set that caught her eye whether she liked the set or not, and Yoongi dutifully followed along wondering to himself how she could spend twenty minutes staring at the same pieces of ceramic, but he refused to utter a word of complaint. He was content even in the boredom just to be with her. She wasn’t lying in bed a shell of herself, and she wasn’t hurling insults at him at every turn. Overall, it was a successful outing so far by his account of it.

“Do like this one, jagi?” he asked, peering at what felt like the hundredth set she’d looked over.

“It’s nice.” She admitted, turning over the piece in her hand. “I like the color.”

Yoongi took another glance at it. “It’s green.”

“It has character unlike you’re boring ass dishes.” she shot back, quirking a brow at him as if to dare him to argue with her. “Besides, half the pieces are still white. It’s a mix and match kind of set. It adds some color to your house.”

“Pick whatever you want, love.”

Margot looked him up and down for a moment as though he’d said something incredibly dumb. “Yes. I’m going to. That’s the whole plan.”

Margot turned away from him, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face as she debated if this was the set she wanted to bring back to the penthouse. The color was lovely, a nice calm pale green that would brighten up the space while remaining in her favored color palette. While Yoongi had done a good job of making the space into one her college self would have liked, she wasn’t that girl anymore, and her taste in colors had changed a great deal since then.

“This one.” she confirmed, and Yoongi motioned for an attendant to come over, quickly ordering for the set to be packaged up for them. “Now for mugs!” she declared, moving further into the store as Yoongi stared at her as though she’d grown a second head.

“I thought you came for dishes?”

Margot turned back around, hands on her hips. “Mugs are dishes, and your whole apartment needs a redo if you want me to stay there permanently.” Not that she had any intention of Yoongi’s apartment being her permanent home.

“Do what you need to do.”

While the idea of a complete overhaul didn’t thrill his soul, he was immensely pleased that she was making the space her own. It may not have been the most productive use of his time, but he was happy to be spending time with her and even happier that it was in a normal way.

“These ones match.” he pointed out, pulling a light green mug down from the shelf to present to Margot.

Carefully, she took the piece from him, looking it over with a critical eye, and begrudgingly she had to admit that it was a good choice. It was probably the one she would have picked out herself after a much longer process of hemming and hawing in the name of annoying him.

She bit her cheek and stared at him with narrowed eyes, annoyed at how perceptive he was when it came to her tastes. He picked up on her likes and dislikes far too quickly. In a boyfriend it would have been endearing. In him, it was off putting.

Yoongi smirked down at her, amused by her annoyance. It was all part of becoming reacquainted with each other. Her annoyance would give way to gentler emotions with time. He was sure of it. For now, he found the glowering cute.

“Stop that.” she huffed. “You’re not picking dishes.”

“Do you want this set?” He asked, quirking a brow as though to dare her to say she didn’t like what he’d picked.

She stayed quiet for a moment, eyes narrowed and biting her the inside of her cheek before she gritted out that yes, she did in fact want that set of mugs, earning a triumphant smirk from Yoongi.

“I’m going to keep looking.”

“I’ll have them add the mugs to our tab.”

“You do that.”

Margot continued to move through the store, Yoongi following behind as always. As she perused the ceramics, Yoongi’s phone began to ring, drawing her attention.

A furrow appeared between Yoongi’s brow, his mouth set in a hard line clearly irritated by the interruption. Whoever was on the other side of that call though was apparently important enough to draw Yoongi away.

“I’m sorry, jagiya. I have to take this. You should keep looking.” He placed a hand on her arm in what she assumed was meant to be a comforting way before drawing back to pick up his phone.

“What?” he barked harshly into the device, letting his displeasure be known to whoever dared disturb his day with Margot.

The woman herself continued through the store searching for an opening in this golden opportunity. With Yoongi distracted, she might just be able to get a message out. She wouldn’t be able to fully slip away. He would see her making for the exit, and she knew that her security team was more than likely not far away, but with any luck she might just be able to contact someone and let them know what had happened to her.

Looking around, Margot noticed one of the ladies who worked at the store lingering near by. With a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure that Yoongi wasn’t paying attention to her, Margot made her way over.

“Excuse me.”

“Can I help you, Min buin?” the woman asked, a customer service smile stretched across her lips.

“I was wondering if you had a phone that I could use.”

The woman’s smile dimmed, confusion in her eyes. “A phone, buin?”

“Yes. I don’t have mine currently, and my…” she steeled herself for a moment for the lie she was about to tell, the words lodged in her throat not wanting to come out. “My husband is currently occupied, and I can’t borrow his.” The woman stared at her skeptically. “Just for a moment. I promise.”

Margot kept her expression light and calm as she tried to persuade the other woman not wanting her to know that anything was amiss.

“Of course, buin.” the woman reached into her pocket pulling out her phone and passing it over despite her reservations.

“Thank you.” Margot breathed out a sigh of relief, taking the phone.

Quickly, she dialed one of the few numbers she had memorized, praying as the phone rang that he would pick up.

“Yeoboseyo?”

“Tae-il?” Margot rushed, speaking softly but quickly into the phone.

“Margot-ah?” Tae-il asked clearly just as relieved to hear her voice as she was to hear his. “Margot, where are you? What happened.”

Margot glanced at the woman who was still nearby looking at her curiously. “I’m with Yoongi.”

“What?” Tae-il’s voice shook as he spoke. “Are you alright? Has he hurt you?”

“I’m alright. We’re out running errands.”

“Errands?”

“Could you let Namjoon-ssi know that I’ve been tied up, and I won’t be able to make our meeting?”

She spoke in a hushed tone, careful not to be too loud so as not to attract Yoongi’s attention but not so softly that the call would seem unusual to the other woman. She was also careful to keep her words as unrushed as possible. That would also cause suspicion, and she doubted that this woman had any qualms about reporting any odd behavior to Yoongi. It might have just been her own paranoia, but she didn’t feel she could trust anyone where Yoongi was concerned especially not in a place where the staff referred to her as Min buin.

“Margot?”

“I don’t have my phone right now, so he won’t be able to call.”

“Margot, are you safe?”

“Yes. Please pass on the message.” Margot looked around nervously, noticing that Yoongi was putting away his phone and turning his attention back to her though she wasn’t where he had left her. It would be a matter of moments before he spotted her with a phone in hand.

“Margot.”

“I’ll call again soon.”

“Margot, don’t hang up.”

Margot hung up the call, handing the phone back to the sale’s woman. “Thank you for letting me borrow your phone.”

The woman gave her a look, still suspicious about what she had just witnessed but unwilling to ask any questions about it. “It was my pleasure, buin.”

“Mari-ah.” Yoongi called, sharp eyes spotting her tucked away behind one of the displays.

“Thank you.” she said again before turning her attention to Yoongi. “Calm down. I’m right here.” she huffed, pretending that she hadn’t just done what she’d done.

Yoongi was back by her side in a moment, slinging an arm around her waist in a display of public affection that she wasn’t particularly fond of. “What did you find, love?”

Margot took a quick glance at the items around her. “Tea sets.” she responded quickly and as breezily as she could, ignoring her shaking hands.

“Didn’t you just buy mugs?”

“Mugs and tea sets are different things.”

“Did you find anything you like?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll find something.”

The pair spent hours in the store, filtering through the departments picking out this and that for the apartment or rather with Margot picking out things for the apartment and Yoongi throwing in his two cents every now and again only to receive a withering glare from Margot in return. Even with the glares, every now and then something he would suggest would be begrudgingly accepted into the haul.

Margot made sure to make every moment count, spending longer than necessary looking over each section of the store and each item. She was all too aware that when the shopping was done, so was her time outside. There were only so many excuses she could come up with to remain out of the apartment in one day and only so long that Yoongi would allow her to use those excuses before it was time to head home.

“Come on, jagiya.” Yoongi sighed, relieved to be done with the shopping even if it meant there was now a significant dent in his credit card. “I think that’s everything you could possibly need for the moment. Let’s go grab lunch.”

Margot hesitated, unsure if she wanted to go eat with him and wracking her brain for an excuse as good as going for lunch as to why they couldn’t go back to the apartment yet. She came up with nothing.

“We can even go to Tae-il-ssi’s restaurant if you’d like.”

Her eyes widened, the offer too good to be true, but she could see no lie in his eyes as he made the offer.

“We can go to Tae-il’s?” she asked slowly, just to be sure that she had heard him correctly and wasn’t hallucinating the things that she wanted to hear.

“We can go to Tae-il’s.” he confirmed.

“Okay then. Let’s go to Tae-il’s.”

Yoongi sent their shopping back to the apartment with part of the security team as he drove them back to her former home, her real home. Margot could only hope that Tae-il would have the presence of mind not to say anything to Yoongi about the phone call she had just made. She very much doubted that he would appreciate her making illicit phone calls to send messages to detectives behind his back, and she didn’t want to see what the consequence to that action would be if he found out.

Part of her knew that it was stupid to go to Tae-il right after the call, but the other part desperately wanted to see him and assure him that she was alright. if she was very lucky, Yoongi might even allow her a moment alone to talk to Tae-il where she could give him a more detailed message for Namjoon. She knew the odds of it were slim, a mere hope of a hope, but she was determined to try for her own sanity if nothing else.

“Are you excited, jagi?” Yoongi asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“Excited?”

“To see Tae-il.”

Margot thought for a moment, trying to choose her words carefully. “I’m excited to see him, but I also don’t want to worry him too much. He’s not going to be happy that I’m with you.”

“He doesn’t like me very much does he?”

“No. No he doesn’t.” she huffed out, rolling her eyes. “You can’t really blame him though. You did ransack his restaurant.”

Yoongi’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I didn’t personally do anything.”

Margot looked over at him, once more debating if there was a brain in his head at all given the brainless things that seemed to come out of his mouth routinely.

She started to speak, and then paused, blinking slowly as she tried to piece together her thought. “You were…. you… you ordered it?” She stared at him, still trying to process. “Are you trying to imply that you aren’t at fault because you didn’t physically ransack anything despite being the one to order it? What kind of fucked up sense does that make?” She scoffed, turning to look out the passenger side window. “This is why no one likes you.”

“You don’t like me, jagiya?” he asked, a small smile pulling on the corner of his lips as he gave a small gasp of shock.

Margot turned back to him, face void of all expression. “Not even a little bit.”

“You’re lies hurt me, jagiya.” A pout pulled at his features.

“I’m sure you’ll survive like the cockroach you are.” she waved him off breezily, turning once more to watch the world pass by through the window.

Yoongi let her be after that, content to drive in silence as her thoughts took her away into a world of her own making. His own thoughts drifted to her words.

While being called a cockroach wasn’t the most flattering thing, it also wasn’t a completely inaccurate assessment. He wasn’t ashamed of the things he’d done to get where he was now, but there were certainly things in his past that strengthen the comparison. He’d scraped his way up from the bottom with the same resilience of a cockroach, and everyone who had doubted him or tried to stand in his way were either knew better than to question him or were no longer there to underestimate him. Every attempt to destroy him had failed, and he’d clawed his way up until he’d reached the success he had today. It was with that same determination he planned to approach him relationship with Margot.

Cockroach or not, he was a man who got his way, and he doubted that Margot had the same single minded determination to resist him. She’d tire of it eventually, and the comfort of their previous relationship would win out over the stubbornness she insisted on. It was a waiting game, and he was sure that he was the contestant with the most patience and the most to lose should he have guessed wrong.

If he had bet wrong in this, he would lose everything he had ever wanted. If she had bet wrong, she’d get a loving husband and a beautiful home.

Yoongi’s hands flexed on the wheel again as the thoughts ran through his head. Everything he’d ever hoped for hinged on whether or not she bluffing about hating him or not. He talked a good game and put on a good show when she spewed her vitriol against him, but deep down, beneath it all, there was a kernel of doubt that liked to snake up his spine when she did. What if it wasn’t just a bluff? What if there wasn’t still a lingering affection as he’d been banking on? What if he couldn’t get her to love him again?

Just as quickly as the doubt would rear its ugly head, Yoongi would push it back down again. He couldn’t afford to doubt himself, not in business and not in this. Everything depended on his ability to predict the correct outcome, his unfailing instincts and ruthless drive to succeed. He hadn’t been wrong before, and he wouldn’t be wrong now. She loved him. Deep beneath it, all just as his doubt lingered so did her love, and he would find a way to pull it back out again even if he had to drag it out of her kicking and screaming.

As much as he hated to admit it, it had been quite some time since he’d actually had to woo a woman. The last time may well have been Margot herself, and he’d fumbled that spectacularly. He knew the basic principles though. He knew that it would require softer tactics than he was used to, and he had been made well aware by Margot herself that she was not going to bend to him easily, but she wouldn’t have been his Margot if she had folded at the first attack. His Margot was made of stronger stuff than that, and as frustrated as he found himself at times that they couldn’t just jump back into things as they had been, he also found a certain thrill in the chase. She kept him on his toes.

A slow smile stretched over his features as he pulled over. His Margot wasn’t easy, but he wouldn’t have had her any other way.

“We’re here, jagiya.”

“Can I actually get out on my own or is the child lock still in play?” She asked, tilting her head to the side in question.

“I’ll get the door. "

Margot grumbled as he opened her door for her, offering a gentlemanly had which she chose to ignore. “The child lock is kind of demeaning, you know?”

“We can talk about not having the child locks on when you no longer look like you want to run me through.”

“So not any time soon.”

“That’s completely up to you, jagiya.”

“I dislike you immensely.” she sighed, narrowing her eyes slightly before her entire demeanor switched. Her shoulders pulled back, and a bright smile took over her face, lighting up her features as she made her way to the door.

“Uncle!”

#bts fic #yandere #yandere bts #dark romance #bts #bts fanfic #mafia au #mafia bts #mafia #bts fanfiction #Yoongi x oc #mafia yoongi #yandere yoongi #mafia suga #yandere suga #suga x oc #mafia agust d #yandere agust d #agust d x oc #soft yandere #amygdala #agust d

[cerise-on-top]

pookie 🥹🥹🥹

your writing 🥹🥹

is so 💗💖💝💕💞💓

I love it so much 😔

could I get gaz hcs with a reader who pretyy insecure around how they look around him?? Constantly fixing their appearance and overall just wanting to look their best for him 😢

FEEL FREE NOT TO ITS PERFECTLY IFNE ☺️☺️☺️☺️

Shrimp, thank you so much for your kind words, it's incredible to hear such praise from a writer as great as you 🥹 And of course you can, you can get just about anything if you ask for it!! I was so happy when I read your request today! Was really looking forward to writing it! I'm sorry if I went a bit overboard with those HCs, I just love Gaz so dearly I couldn't help myself, I needed to get this out of my system, every single thought needed to be put to paper for Gaz because he is among my favorites! Need a man like him to buy me ice cream!! Either way, thank you for your request, sorry for rambling, and I hope these are alright!

Gaz with an Insecure!S/O

It would start out with something small: Straightening your shirt and pulling it down when your stomach was showing, patting down your hair to make sure stray strands wouldn’t ruin your looks, maybe even putting a hand before your mouth whenever you were smiling. Sure, Gaz noticed that, but at the time he thought those were just small quirks of yours, nothing to worry about. Some small mannerisms that ultimately won’t mean too much. But what was once you fixing your appearance just a little bit, turned into something much bigger. Sucking in your stomach until it pained you to do so, keeping your back straight until it felt like you were about to topple over, bearing a faux smile even as your muscles begged you to stop. Although Gaz will have asked you a few times to relax by then, his gut feeling telling him that something might be up, it was, ultimately, no use.

If you’re on the chubbier side and you decided to lose weight for him in the only way you knew how, by starving yourself, if you put on layers upon layers of make-up, effectively suffocating your skin underneath, never taking it off, or maybe you think you’re not strong enough for him and thus you’d hit the gym, taking on weights that are far beyond what you should lift, then Gaz will try to intervene immediately. At first he’ll be gentle about it, telling you that you’re perfect as you are, give you a tender and loving kiss along with it, hoping it would help. You’re so beautiful, you’re so soft inside and out, letting him rest his weary head on your stomach, you’re so gorgeous when you leave the shower, body still damp without without the only thing that would make you, as you always thought, pretty, you’re so strong, easily capable of lifting him or the heavy grocery bags with no problem. But whatever you do, don’t overdo it, please. He’ll assure you how much he loves you, how drop dead gorgeous and perfect you are in every way, more often than he used to, but the dreadful feeling that it won’t be enough still lingers.

If you’re okay with it, he’s more than happy to hug you just a bit longer, give you just a few more kisses, praise your looks just a few times more per day. As soon as your behavior turns destructive, though, that’s when he’ll pull you aside and have a heartfelt talk with you. Although he hates making something that clearly bothers you this much about him, he will tell you that it breaks his heart how you’re destroying yourself just so you could appeal to him physically. He fell in love with you not only for your looks, he fell in love with you because of your personality as well. No one could ever make his heart flutter the way you could, no one’s presence could ever soothe and excite him at the same time as yours. Regardless of what you look like, you appeal to him. To him it doesn’t matter if you’re tiny or twice his size, thin or thick, muscular or frail. Marilyn Monroe could show up at his doorstep and he’d shove her aside just so he could spend just a few more seconds with you. Gaz is usually a gentleman when it comes to you, but please don’t be too upset with him when he’s being a bit more stern than usual. He tries his best to be kind and caring, but under extreme circumstances he might be a bit more forceful on accident. He doesn’t mean any harm by it, really, but he’s just that worried about you. You’re the last person he wants to lose. Although something he wants even less is for you to lose yourself. It’s flattering you’d be willing to change yourself for him, if it’s something that would make you a happier person, then he’ll do what he can to support you, but in this case he’ll try to get you to stop.

He knows it takes time to be content with yourself, especially if you think your value lies in the validation of someone else, but he’s patient. You need to vent about your insecurities? He’ll listen to you before making sure to tear down each and every single one of your bad thoughts. Your hair is tousled? This guy will start taking a bag with him, filled with all kinds of goodies to help you. And that includes a hairbrush. He can and will brush your hair, gently taking it in his hands, combing out any and all knots. Sucking in your stomach? He’ll get you to stop. If telling you so verbally works, he’ll settle for that. Otherwise he’ll try to get you all relaxed, making you forget about it. However, he might playfight with you as well if you’re up for it so you have something else to focus on. Point is: Whatever it is you need, he’ll do it. Communicate it with him, he’s willing to try out many things. You didn’t like it when he did this, but it felt great when he did that? There’s really no shame in telling him what you prefer, quite the opposite, he’s happy when you do it. That way he knows what works and what doesn’t. And if you’re ever at a point where you can simply walk up to him and ask him to tell you how pretty you look in that new sweater, how strong you are for lifting that crate, how you just wanna be told that you’re so gorgeous and or handsome today, he’ll do it without any judgment. Granted, you likely don’t need to ask him to do so, he’ll do anything he can to hype you up, but the option is there.

Gaz will, simply put, do whatever it takes to make you realize that you’re the most aesthetically pleasing person on the planet. It’s nice to know someone else thinks you’re pretty, but it’s more effective to know such a thing yourself. As long as he can help you reach that goal he’s happy with himself. He looks forward to those days where you walk up to him and tell him how a peacock is jealous whenever you walk by. He’ll build up your confidence and watch it prosper with your own care over time.

#cod #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #these are almost 1100 words #the words just fly onto the screen when I get to write about women or Gaz #I need Gaz to be real so I can build legos with him and tell him that he is among my favorites #he deserves it he's a lovely man who would treat me right #he'd treat anyone right and that hill I will die on

[clydesavage-thefox147]

So, I feel the need to say something here.

So, I watched a recent video Thomas has been in with Smosh Pit. It was overall a sweet and funny video. But that's not what this is about. It's about the ending. When Thomas was asked the quintessential question of "where can they find you?" He goes like "Oh I do shorts, long form and short form" and "keeping up Vine". I was like yeah makes sense to bring that up, that's fine. But then he brought up Roleslaying with Roman. He was very happy to bring it up. However, no mention of Sanders Sides at all. I get it, Sides could be chalked up the being long form Vine things seeing as the characters are from Vine but...feels off. I remember times Thomas did advertise Sides on collabs and stuff. But other times he wouldn't really advertise anything specifically and just say the socials' names and just say basic shit like "fun videos with nice messages" etc.

But, I've also taken note that Thomas has been REEEEEEALLY pushing Roleslaying, a series that a lot of us weren't really expecting to be the way it turned out to be. We were just told "Roman series" for like a couple years before it was officially revealed. We all expected Sides Roman and we all felt kinda ripped off. Don't get me wrong, the series is nice and all, has a decent story, and it can be engaging to a degree, but it does have it pit falls. But, he's been really adamant on getting the series popular. Constantly promoting it, making a podcast for it(which to me seems unnecessary) and what seems like begging(to me) for 5 star reviews so that Roman of Reston can read them. Now it's like number 25 on Leisure on Spotify because of it. That is great and all but again, Thomas seems like he's forgetting where this series even originated from...Sanders Sides. His bread and butter. The series that garnered a majority of fans he has. A series we're all waiting for proper episodes for with the same spark and energy that it had originally. It seems Thomas has just lost interest in Sides but knows it's what got him popular on the YouTube space so he keeps it up for the money and relevance(for example Patreon branding). He says he still loves the series and enjoys working on it but the longer it takes to produce, the more it seems like it's taken a back seat in priority. I really hope this season finale is really worth the hype he's been pushing for it. But, the way he's been pushing Roleslaying makes it seem like he's saying "Like this! Please Like this! I wanna do this more!" Thomas, buddy, you need to realize that Roleslaying wouldn't exist without the popularity of Sanders Sides. Hell, Sanders Sides wouldn't exist without the Vine characters.

Now look, I get that Thomas shouldn't be tied down to just doing Sides content. But, using it now as a kind of cash grap and attention grabber like dangling keys in front of child feels sad to me. Feels like lately he's been using it as a buzz word or just for products...which is ironic because all sides merch has been wiped off the merch store. Sure, it could be making way for new ideas but they've made several over the years under the same manufacturer and didn't do this before. So, it feels off. If it was because they were out of stock, they could just list it as "Sold Out", not wipe it entirely. And Now he's released Roleslaying merch and new Could be Gayer merch. Which that's fine, just feels weird that that is all that is available right now. Especially because I remember Thomas talking about hoodies for each side back in December of 2021 but a manufacturing issue came up. He said that it was due to the company not being able to do "custom orders" like that detailed. Which, I understood. But then like a week or so later, the Bucket Hats were released which just didn't really help the previous statement. So this whole thing feels off. I'm just hoping it's just a wait of restock or new design releases in the future.

I know this year has been hard on Thomas to do what he wanted in terms of the season finale. I hope that now that things are seemingly getting better, he'll continue the promise he made this year into next year of getting at least Part 1 of it out, maybe two if lucky. I just feel like Sides has plummeted from grace. What it once had is now a slowly crumbling ancient temple, that the more you try to patch it and keep it up..it doesn't last long. If there isn't a significant restoration done soon, it'll all fall apart. I pray that once the Season finale is released, the fandom will have a resurgence. Old fanders come back, animatics are everywhere, art is flying out like hot cakes, forums are booming, it's trending everywhere, and the fandom is reborn...and hope it stays that way into the third and final season. Hell, I hope Joan does come back to a degree and revive the husk the series has become. But, it's up to them to decide that. Now, seems like Quil is the only one left of the old writers of the series. And if she leaves, season 3 is going to be wild and may not even feel canon but again we have yet to see that.

I just want what drew me to this series back again. Is that too much to ask genuinely?

#ts criticism #ts critical #ts opinion