#and been like 'too predictable i'm too smart for this'

[confused-stars]

rip light yagami you would've hated benoit blanc movies

[sheepdog-and-fakegoldenretriever]

Last time I'll see him tomorrow as I move jobs next week

Also saw my rue girl for the last time Monday broke my heart I'll actually miss these dogs so much. I hope they find their perfect home soon

[talentforlying]

none of the muses on my hellblazer multi are linked to the canon of my constantine portrayal, but i think that i am going to bring my ellie's canon divergence over here (summary post) in regards to hellblazer #104 & its ramifications in 125-128, bc that still does not sit well with me and i will be annoying about it forever. john constantine respects chantinelle in this house, even if they did still betray each other in the end; they simply have too much history for him to be so pointlessly goddamn cruel when he knows full well that she would probably have agreed to a trade of some kind instead.

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

the tension between you and miguel rises to an all-time high —a ficlet featuring a grumpy miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. fem!reader, 1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel has asked you multiple times to leave him alone while he's working. The strike force can't run itself (or so he claims —Margo and Lyla seem plenty capable, in your eyes) and he needs time and solitude to organise the protection of canon events, and—

"Blah, blah, blah," you say, dropping your voice to a soft, teasing melody as you skirt around his frankly audaciously jacked chest. 

"Don't blah, blah, blah me," Miguel says. You'd be intimidated if you weren't so happy to mess with him. "I'm not kidding around." 

Okay, maybe you are intimidated. That just makes messing with him more fun. 

The room he operates from, as you've so fondly monikered The Office, is in organised chaos, and much too dark. You drag a lone chair toward his control panel and set yourself down in front of all his screens and computers. 

"Ooh," you hum, reaching for an unlabelled switch with a purposeful slowness. 

Predictably, Miguel slams his hand over yours, yanking your chair back with an annoyed, "No." 

"Come on, Miguel. What harm could I possibly do?"

"You could–" 

"Topple the multiverse?" you suggest. "I've heard." 

"You could turn off every member of the Society's DMW. That's what that does. Potentially endangering each of their lives by stranding them in unfamiliar dimensions, and preventing them from correcting canon events." 

You feel bad for teasing him when you see the look on his face, anger and exhaustion and the slimmest allowance of defeat. It must be tough to lead the Spider-Society. Tougher to micromanage more than half of its members. 

Pulling your hand from under his, you cross your arms over your stomach and give him an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Miguel."

Evidence of his sweet spot for you lines his expression, softening his sharp jaw and the stoic set of his brow. It's gone as quick as it came, and his mask falls back into place. He turns away from you as though pretending you aren't there and scans one of his holographic screens, his face glowing with a yellow-orange haze. 

Miguel has to tolerate you, because you're a Spider-Girl. Though you've never called yourself that aloud, and you're not sure anyone else has, either, it's an undeniable truth. You were bitten by a radioactive spider that gave you super mutant abilities, though yours aren't as potent as others. You're not especially strong, you probably couldn't stop a bus with your bare hands, but you're smart. You haven't saved the world or anything, but you lost your Uncle Ben. You paid the toll. 

Every spider person has lost someone. Miguel seems to have lost more than that. 

"You know," you mumble, kicking the ground lightly to make your chair spin on its axle, "I've been thinking…" 

"That's never good." 

"Why do we wear our suits here?" you ask, spinning for a second time, the room moving past your eyes in flashes. "It seems performative." 

"Ah, I can answer that. Some of us work when we're here." 

You wrinkle your nose at his deadpan and kick the floor again, spinning so fast it makes you laugh. "What did you say? I can't hear you from your high horse– woah!" 

Miguel grabs the back of your chair, bringing you to a sudden and firm stop. You blink hoping it'll assuage the dizziness between your eyes, and when it doesn't work you keel forward, muttering, "Woah, I'm gonna die." 

"You won't die." 

"How do you know?" you ask. 

"You're under my watch, aren't you?" 

"I knew you liked me," you say. "Oh, I don't feel well." 

"You brought it on yourself." 

You catch your breath. When you feel okay enough to stand you almost trip, and Miguel doesn't bother pretending that he had any intention of stopping you from landing flat on your face. The you before the spider bite would've wiped out. This you giggles and holds Miguel's elbow for a second while you plant your feet. 

"Okay, boss-man," you ask, looking up at the unnaturally high screen he's investigating. "What are we doing today?" 

"I'm supervising a task force operation on Earth-31913. You're going home." 

"Miguel," you say, not sure if you want to flirt with him or piss him off. He looks incredibly pissed off already, so you choose flirtation. "Have I told you how handsome you look this evening?" 

He doesn't react. His hands don't so much as shift where they're akimbo on his hips. 

"You really have the most handsome eyes," you continue, weaving around his arm to stand in front of him. You have to crane your neck to see them. "Sulky. Do I really have to go home? I'd rather stay here with you." 

He looks down his nose at you. "Yeah?" he asks quietly, his voice rough as hewn stone.

"Yeah," you say, taking a small step back. 

"And do what?" 

You mirror his stance, hands on your hips. Your suit isn't form fitting like his, doesn't showcase nearly so much lean muscle, but you like it. You'd chosen a simple black ensemble to match the spider who bit you with a pinky purple heart over your stomach. Miguel had asked about it once, just once, when you'd first met and he had no idea how much of a problem for him you were going to become. 

Why there? 

Why do you think? you'd asked, giving him a sticky-sweet smile. 

Forget I asked. 

He lifts a hand to your chin, pinching it between two deft fingers. You're lucky he isn't wearing his gloves; his claws would pierce your jaw. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks, again so quietly. "If you stay?" 

"I could help with the task force." 

"That's what you want to do?" 

You flush with heat but refuse to let him know how you're feeling. Your heart bumps against your ribs, breath caught in your throat as he tilts your head up, as he leans down. 

"No," he says near your lips, "that's not it." 

"I could help you?" you offer. 

Something flashes in his eyes. You hesitate to call it lust. It reminds you of a cat with a mouse in it’s clutches, only his pupils are blown, black and inky and wide as dimes. 

"You want to help me?" he asks, his lips an inch, half of that from yours. 

You nod minutely. "Yes," you say under your breath. 

His hand moves to your cheek. He leans in closer and closer, until there's a hair's width of air between his mouth and yours, the tips of your noses bent together. His breath fans over your bottom lip and it's hot. You swear you can feel his heart as his chest presses to yours. He lingers there for an endless handful of seconds, silently egging you on.

You call his bluff and refuse to close the distance. 

Miguel pushes you away from him, far from cruel but certainly not sweet. "I have a tower of paperwork you can file," he says. 

"Here I thought you were finally going to bite my head off," you hum. "You're a sore loser, Miguel." 

"And you're my pest," he says, holding your gaze for a half-second too long. He turns away. "Lyla? Arrange the recounts from the last canon event for Spider-Girl's perusal, please." 

"So you've remembered I'm here?" Lyla asks wryly.

You don't mind the paperwork. You sign each one with a winky face and a pink gel pen heart, knowing Miguel will go over them all again, and knowing he'll grow angrier and angrier with each heart.

He'll kiss you and mean it one day. You just have to play the waiting game.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

[1800-lemonadeg1rl]

Sleepless nights

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆

Summary - you go on a routine mission which ends badly how will your girlfriend react

Warnings - gunshots, violence, bullet wounds, mention of stitches, likely medically incorrect, blood, hospital? Not proofread

word count - 1.5k

A/n - I dont know what happened while writing this its all a blackout. As always any feedback is rlly appreciated!!!

It was just supposed to be another simple routine mission. Over and done with in a matter of hours. But of course nothing was ever as easy as predicted.

It had all been going with relative ease until you and Clint were fighting off agents left and right. Something you were usually both good at. However where you'd found yourselves was very much enclosed meaning you couldn't run and you had no idea how many or where these agents were coming from. Your backs were against each other as you moved in circular motions around the room.

"You did this you know, everything was going just fine until you said 'wow this mission has been quite the breeze.'" You mimick Clints earlier words in a squeaky high pitched voice while taking out a couple agents. "Couldn't have just waited till we were on the quinjet could you?"

"Look I really thought it was over. At least I wasn't the one who knocked over the vase alerting everyone in the Tri-state area of our location." He pipes back as you both fall into the usual bickering banter you often did, squabbling like small children. You and Clint had always been close and worked well with each other despite the constant pecking at each other. You'd become even closer once you'd gotten together with his best friend Natasha. Well, after he stopped threatening you about breaking her heart that is.

"Okay well atleast I'm not stupid."

"Yeah real mature. What does that even mean?" He retorts back with a chuckle at how quickly you begin to lose an argument and just throw childish insults at him.

"I thought you'd be smart enough to understand a simple senten-.." You trail off as you see an agent aiming at Clint, one he hadn't noticed. Though you considered letting the agent hit him and getting to be considered the better fighter it wasn't worth letting your friend die just to one up him.

"Clint watch out." You yell frantically as you watch the agent take aim. Clint wasn't going to have time to move. You panicked and shoved him to the floor knocking him from the bullet.

You don't think much of it when you don't see the bullet land or even when you vision blurs. It's only you notice somethings up when you see a blood splattering on your hand. Instinctively you look for Clint worried something hit him but you find him staring right back at you. That's when you feel the searing pain from your hip. Placing a hand over it to find out what's wrong, you feel a cold and wet substance spilling from it.

Thats when everything starts spinning. Moving too quick but not fast enough at all. The pain feeling worse, like nothing you've ever felt before as the adrenaline wears off and the severity of the situation sets in.

"Y/n look at me." Clints voice is grounding and calm making you briefly feel better. "There's no agents left okay. We're going to walk together to the quinjet, don't rush yourself it's going to be okay." You nod along even though your unsure you'll be able to walk that far as your vision fades in and on like a flickering TV.

He moves over to you and presses your hand firmly over the wound. "Keep your hand there and apply as much pressure as you can." Despite the way you stumble around as you try to apply any pressure at all to the wound he still sounds calm like he believes you can do this.

His hand hooks around you helping hold you up as the two of you begin a slow walk back. Things aren't looking too bad at first I mean sure you can hardly see infront of you an everytime you open your mouth to speak the only thing that sounds is a groan of pain but your managing it, you feel yourself believe you'll be able to do this walk back.

That is all before you trip over a stone which sends you tumbling onto your front, directly where the bullet wound is is where you hit the hardest when you fall causing you to scream out in pain with a noise you never knew you'd make. Clint immediately tries to pull you back to your feet while telling you how close you are to getting home but it's no use as your body goes stiff, legs refusing to move.

"Natasha is gonna kill me." I mumble half heartedly as he holds me up and my vision fades for what I believe might be the final time.

"Not if she kills me first." He chuckles and that's the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

Two days. Two whole days they said you were out for. You missed two days. Two days where you didn't see Natasha but she saw you, she sat by you every minute she could and when she couldn't sit anymore she slept by you not leaving for a second. She wouldn't even leave your hospital room for food. Clint having to practically force food down her throat so she didn't end up in a hospital bed alongside you.

You blinked awake. You'd been awake about an hour prior but were too drugged up to process anything going on and had quickly fallen back into your slumber. This time you were much more determined to stay awake, that and your pain medication was wearing off and you could begin to feel a sharp pain replacing the previously dull one.

As you woke yourself up to the bright white fluorescent lights of the hospital, those lights which practically felt blinding. Giving you little time to adjust to being awake, Natasha started speaking.

"So what happened?" She sounded angry. A little rough maybe as the Russian tinged her accent slightly in a way you only heard few times. As you located where her voice had come from, a small chair just to the left of your bed. Now that you could see her she seemed more worn out or stressed out the angry. Dark circles lurked under her eyes as her forhead creased showing visible lines.

"Uh.. didn't uhm.. Clint... tell you." You slowly mumble out as you try to push myself into a sitting position but before you can Natasha is up and pushing you back down to lie down.

"The doctor said you can't sit up yet or you'll move the stitches. And no he hasn't explained anything, so you better." She lays your head back on the pillow with such a contrasting softness to the way she's speaking which is almost as if she's interrogating you.

You roll your head over the side to face her as you recount what you remember from the mission. "So basically me and Clint, well especially me are kicking ass knocking these agents to the ground. But then one aims at Clint and I push him out the way and now we're here." You explain the best you can but it's just so difficult when your heads all fuzzy and until five minutes ago you were convinced you were dead. "I thought I was gonna die 'Tasha."

"You shouldn't put yourself at risk like that baby." She says while brushing stray hairs away from your face and back behind your ears. "Things could have been a lot worse.." her voice trails off all usual roughness gone as she appears as if she may break down crying at any second. "I could have lost you."

That's all it takes for you to start crying as hot tears stream your face making it hard to see anything. Seeing your deteriorating emotional state Natasha makes the descion to crawl into the bed next to you. "Oh hush now, it's alright. I was just worried about you lyubov." she coos while leaning over to kiss your dampened cheek.

"I know I know.. I'm just really sorry... I dont ever want to lose you Natasha." Your tears keep falling despite her soft, reassuring words.

"Y/n, I don't want to lose you either. Which is why I think it could be time we retired before either of us do. Of course it's up to you though, I won't pressure you."

It takes you a minute to process her words but when you do your glad for them. You'd been considering at least cutting down your workload recently but hadn't considered Natasha would be open to retirement at such a young age. You can feel your face break out into a small smile as she suggests it herself. Her own face is one of nervous apprehension as she chews on her lip.

"Yes. Please I want nothing more than to retire and with you." You reach in to kiss her face eagerly. Your lips smothering hers in an almost desperate fashion as if you were worried it could be your last.

"If this is what retirement is like I cant wait." She whispers as she pulls away from your lips, nipping them gently first. She cups your face in her hands before leaning back in.

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (19)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer finally takes her out on a date. Part Warning: 18+ explicit content (Public fingering) A/n: I did not forget this series, I've just been distracted I'm sorry!! I also apologize if there are any inaccuracies in some random facts, I am not as smart as him, I can only do a quick research from Google.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

"SO, HOW DO I LOOK?"

She spun in front of the mirror, showing off the dress she had picked out that afternoon on an impromptu shopping spree. The garment had looked stunning on the store mannequin, and now, in the soft glow of her bedroom, it was more appealing.

The spaghetti straps delicately framed her shoulders, and the lavender fabric accentuated her curves. The bottom of the dress, hovering just below her knees, gave a playful vibe with a teasing slit inching up her right thigh. And the neckline, with its very low plunge, offered a glimpse of her cleavage she couldn't help but wonder whether it was showing too much skin.

"Like you want to get laid," a playful voice called.

Her laughter echoed through the room as she turned to face her phone and realized the dress was hugging her ass quite snugly. "It's too much, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Sandy's voice echoed through the phone again. She glanced at the screen, seeing her friend's smiling face. "You look gorgeous."

She grinned, the reassurance from Sandy making her feel more at ease. "You think so?"

"Absolutely."

She reached for a sparkling necklace and dangling earrings, holding them to the camera. "Necklace or earrings?"

"Hmm." Sandy squinted at the screen, studying the options through the video call. "Go with the earrings. They'll add a touch of glamour without stealing the spotlight from the dress."

She nodded in agreement. "Earrings it is, then."

As she carefully slipped herself into the accessories, Sandy couldn't help but muse her thoughts. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear purple."

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "What do you mean? I've worn this color before."

"Your wardrobe either consists of black or gray. You had to go out shopping to buy this dress."

She laughed nervously, caught in the act of her predictable wardrobe choices. "Alright, fine." She pursed her lips together before letting out a sigh. "I may or may not have asked his friend what his favorite color is."

"You sly fox," Sandy laughed with a huge grin. "So you do want to get laid."

She blushed, adjusting the earrings. "I mean, if the occasion arises..."

"You've got this all planned out, huh?"

"Well, not exactly, more like... strategically considered?" She tilted her head and observed herself in the mirror again. "Does it make me look desperate?"

"Of course not," Sandy reassured. "It just shows you're putting in effort. Besides, confidence is attractive. You look hot."

She blushed at the compliment, but before she could respond, the distant hum of an engine reached her ears. Her eyes widened, and instinctively, she moved towards the window and noticed a car pulling into her driveway. It wasn't the usual sleek, black government vehicle; instead, the car looked like it had seen better days, although it held a vintage charm that caught her by surprise.

Then reality finally kicked in—he was here for a date, not because of his job. They were actually going out for a nice dinner he had prepared.

She suddenly felt sick.

"Sandy, he's here," she whispered, her voice betraying a touch of panic.

Somehow Sandy still managed to hear her voice from across the room. "You'll be fine! It's not like you haven't spent time with him before."

"Not when my life wasn't on the line." She was met with silence and walked over to her phone, picking it up to find Sandy's disapproving glare. She sheepishly smiled towards the screen. "Too soon?"

Sandy shook her head with a sigh. "Only you would joke about your near-death experience."

"Spencer told me it's a coping mechanism."

"You've joked about it to him as well?"

She nodded. "He's not a fan either." The sound of the doorbell ringing brought her back to the present. "I need to go."

"Wait!" Sandy's urgent voice echoed through the phone again. She watched as her friend's expression softened. "How are you feeling today?"

A warm smile graced her lips, moved by Sandy's ongoing concern. Ever since they reunited at the hospital, Sandy couldn't stop apologizing for what had happened, even when it wasn't her fault to begin with. Her friend consistently checked in on her well-being.

"I'm actually feeling pretty good. Nervous, but good."

Sandy nodded, her smile carrying reassurance. "Good. Now, go enjoy your date."

She reciprocated the sentiment with a blow of a kiss towards the camera. "I'll call you later," she promised before ending the call. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself, slipping her phone into her purse as she descended the stairs.

Spencer was waiting at the door when she opened it, all cleaned up and undeniably handsome. His well-fitted suit accentuated his strong shoulders, and the crisp white shirt beneath complemented the subtle purple tie he wore. The fabric of the suit, in a rich charcoal shade, seemed to bring out the warmth in his hazel eyes.

A nervous smile played on his lips, only enhancing his charm and giving him an endearing quality that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes, however, spoke volumes as they assessed her, taking in the way her dress hugged her curves. Spencer couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sight before him.

He was so mesmerized that without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist, catching her by surprise. In an instant, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers in an unexpected yet tender kiss. The warmth of the moment enveloped them, and for a brief instant, her worries seemed to fade away.

Her initial surprise transformed into a soft smile as she reciprocated the kiss, savoring the way lips moved against hers, and when he finally pulled away, he looked into her eyes with a mixture of admiration and affection.

"I couldn't resist," he admitted, his nervous smile now replaced by one of genuine warmth.

She couldn't help but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. "I'm certainly not complaining."

As they exchanged smiles, she noticed a smudge of her lipstick on his lips. She burst into laughter, breaking the moment with a lighthearted touch.

"You've got a little something right here," she teased, reaching up to gently wipe off the lipstick with her thumb.

He simply gazed into her eyes with a sincere smile. "You look beautiful."

Blushing at the compliment, she smiled appreciatively. "Why thank you. You don't look too bad yourself," she replied with a playful glint in her eyes.

"Come on," Spencer urged, gently tugging her arm, and she willingly followed him after locking her door.

As they walked down her driveway, she felt Spencer's hand on her lower back, a gesture that added an extra layer of comfort to their connection. Unable to contain her surprise, she couldn't help but comment on the unexpected sight of his vehicle.

"I never pictured you as someone who owned a car," she commented, her tone teasing but filled with curiosity.

Spencer chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It may not be as sleek as the government vehicle, but it gets the job done."

She laughed, finding his revelation endearing. "Well, I'm impressed. It suits you." Her eyes scanned the vintage-looking car. "It reminds me of you actually."

"What? Old and worn out?"

She shook her head, smiling. "No, not at all. I meant classic, with a certain charm."

His smile widened at her response. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Spencer graciously opened the car door for her, and she beamed appreciatively, slipping into the vintage car's comfortable interior. The soft glow of the dashboard highlighted the nostalgia-infused details of the vehicle, making it clear that Spencer had a penchant for classic styles beyond his usual government responsibilities.

As he closed her door, he circled to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel. The engine hummed softly and as she watched him, she felt a certain warmth traveling through her body.

In the soft glow of the car's interior, she couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked. His features were highlighted by the dashboard lights, casting a subtle yet captivating glow. Before he could pull away from the driveway, a spontaneous impulse surged within her.

"Wait," she said, her voice breaking the quiet ambiance of the car. Without overthinking, she reached over and gently grabbed Spencer's arm, tugging him back for a moment.

He looked at her with concern. "What's wrong?"

She smiled, feeling a surge of boldness, and leaned over to him. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a more passionate kiss than before.

He responded with a mixture of surprise, yet his hand gently found its way to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. His lips moved in sync with hers, and when she softly sighed in contentment, he pushed his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her ever so slightly as his other hand found its place on her thigh.

But when his hand inched under her dress, she laughed and gently pulled away. "I don't think we'll be eating anything if we continue this."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Right," he murmured, readjusting himself in the driver's seat. "Sorry."

With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she settled back into her seat, fastening her seatbelt. "So, where are you taking me, Handsome?"

His lips curved into a smile as he finally pulled away from her driveway. "It's a surprise," he said. "You'll see."

It wasn't really a surprise. Spencer had already mentioned wanting to visit this place and the big sign saying 'PLANETARIUM' at the entrance was already a dead giveaway.

However, the unusual quietness that enveloped the space caught her off guard. With only a handful of staff present, the vastness of the empty lobby echoed the click of her heels.

The atmosphere shifted when he gently urged her to close her eyes. Suspicion mixed with curiosity, she couldn't resist teasing him as she followed his instructions. "What do you not want me to see? I already know where we are."

A secure arm wrapped around her waist as Spencer guided her through the darkness. She could sense a grin in his voice as he replied, "Sure, but the location isn't exactly the surprise."

"What is then?" She asked. The echo of their footsteps persisted, creating a rhythm in the quiet space of the planetarium.

"The experience," he simply answered. "Keep your eyes closed a bit longer, we're almost there."

"This is kind of making me nervous," she admitted. "You're not going to kidnap and murder me secretly, are you?"

His steps faltered briefly before she let out a sigh, urging him to continue moving. "Sorry, that sounded way better in my head."

There was a heavy silence before he replied, "We should do something about you joking on that matter."

"It's called dark humor."

He softly hummed. "There's actually a psychological explanation for dark humor as a coping mechanism. It's a way for people to navigate and make light of challenging situations."

"You've mentioned this before."

"I know," he confirmed. "I just want to remind you that every time you think you're being morbidly funny you're using a well-established psychological defense mechanism."

"And what do I have to do with that information?"

"Well, for starters, you can appreciate your brain's attempt to keep things light." He gently squeezed her hip. "But maybe try to cut yourself some slack for the occasional dark joke."

She couldn't help but smile, even with her eyes still closed. The subtle squeeze on her hip added a reassuring warmth to his words. "I still don't get why your boss wants me to see the therapist you guys provided when I already have you."

Spencer chuckled and pulled her closer. "Because one, I'm not a licensed therapist. And two, my therapeutic techniques might involve a bit too much intimacy for the average counseling session."

She laughed. "You mean sex?"

"Sexual intercourse," he corrected, still not wanting to say the word, which she nudged her elbow into his side in response.

As their footsteps finally ceased, Spencer gently urged her to open her eyes. When she complied, her eyes widened in astonishment at the breathtaking sight before her—a vast array of galaxies projected onto the ceiling of the planetarium. The cosmic display painted the dark expanse with hues of celestial beauty, leaving her momentarily awestruck.

Yet, what surprised her even more was the scene at the center of the room. A table setting, elegantly arranged, caught her eye. The table was adorned with flickering candles, casting a soft glow on the carefully arranged dishes and the gleam of polished silverware.

She stood in awe. "Spencer, this is... incredible." Her eyes swept over to him. "You did all this?"

"Well, technically the staff prepared this." He guided her further into the room. "But I pulled some strings."

"Some strings? I think you pulled all the strings." She threw him a grateful smile as he pulled her chair, urging her to sit down. "This must cost a fortune."

"Don't worry about that," he assured her, settling in the seat opposite her. "I just want you to enjoy the night."

As she took her seat, the soft glow of candlelight accentuated the contours of his face. She felt a flutter in her chest, realizing she was falling even harder for him. It wasn't just the fancy setup; it was the thought behind it that got to her.

Fate truly had a peculiar way of guiding her to this present, bringing Spencer into her life. It was a bit surreal knowing that the worst things she'd been through somehow brought her to a moment like this.

Maybe, she pondered, there's a silver lining, a reminder that good things can sneak up when you least expect them. And now it was worth focusing on those good things.

So she savored his company, the easy flow of their conversation, the delicious meal he had prepared, and the soft music playing through the stereo. She also enjoyed being close to him moments later when they finished their dinner. The warmth of his presence felt comforting as they lounged in the viewing seats, gazing up at the scene above.

"Do you see the seven bright stars forming a distinct pattern?" he asked, gesturing toward a shimmering formation.

She followed his guidance and nodded. "They look like a tiny ladle or a dipper."

He smiled, appreciating her observation. "That's the Ursa Minor, also known as the Little Dipper. And the North Star, Polaris, is at the end of its handle."

"The North Star?" She repeated.

"It's a crucial navigational star. Sailors and travelers have used it for centuries to find their way. It remains relatively fixed in the northern sky, making it a reliable reference point."

"Hmm," she hummed. She then pointed to another set of stars. "What about that one?"

He followed her gaze and smiled.

"That's the Orion constellation," he said. "It's one of the most recognizable and has a lot of myths around it. In some cultures, it's a hunter chasing various prey across the sky."

"And what's the story behind that?"

He leaned in closer to her. "Well, in Greek mythology, Orion was a mighty hunter who fell in love with the Pleiades. However, fate had different plans, and he ended up among the stars, forever pursuing them."

Her gaze remained fixed on the celestial display, captivated by the tales woven into the stars. "So, he's like a romantic?"

Spencer chuckled. "In a way, yes. Myths often carry themes of love, tragedy, and destiny."

"Like human nature."

He nodded in agreement. "Like human nature."

There was a moment of silence before she turned to him. "How do you even know all of this?"

"We often travel outside the city and the skies are pretty clear in remote areas. Sometimes you can see a few constellations."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you're a secret astronomy enthusiast while solving crimes?"

A bashful smile played on his lips. "When I have the time," he admitted. "There's something fascinating about the stars. They offer a sense of perspective."

She smiled. "It's nice to know even a man of logic and facts finds magic in the sky."

His gaze softened. "Magic has its place in the world, even for a man of logic." He suddenly reached out to the back of her ear and retrieved a dollar bill out of thin air. "See? Magic."

She couldn't help but laugh as she took the bill from him and examined it, tracing the edges. "I remember you doing this trick the first time we met."

He leaned back, a contemplative look in his eyes. "It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

"Considering everything that happened since then, yes," she replied. "You know, I never asked why you were at that bar in the first place."

A subtle blush painted on his cheeks. "I was... enjoying a drink." When she gave him a deadpanned look, he raised his eyebrows. "What? Do I not seem like the type to be hanging out alone at a bar?"

"You stood out like a sore thumb." She gave him back the dollar bill. "I remember you barely touching your beer."

Spencer sighed, taking the money and placing it back in his pocket. "I was supposed to hang out with the team, but they ditched me."

She arched an eyebrow. "They ditched you? Why?"

He shrugged. "Apparently something important came up."

"So they left you hanging at a bar?" When he nodded, she tilted her head in mock sympathy. "Well, it certainly worked in my favor."

He watched her, the flickering memory of that night flashing before him. The first time he kissed her, the taste of her lips, the sensation of holding her naked in his arms. Then his eyes raked down her collarbone, pausing slightly at the swell of her breasts before looking back up to meet her gaze.

"It worked in my favor too."

She noticed his gaze lingering, a subtle heat spreading across her cheeks. The air suddenly shifted as he leaned closer, creating an intimate space between them. There was a magnetic pull, and she felt her breath catch in anticipation. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lightly grazing her skin.

"Tell me what you remember that night," he said, a low timbre in his voice.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her ear and she met his gaze with a flush coloring her cheeks. "I remember seeing you sitting alone at the bar."

His reply, a mere whisper, reverberated dangerously low. "What else?"

"You came up to me and did that magic trick." A faint smile played on her lips as she reminisced. "I was amused, and we sat together."

His eyes lingered on her mouth. A subtle tension lingered in the air, each exchange building upon the last. "And then what happened?"

"We talked," she breathed, the word lingering in the air like a shared secret as he leaned closer. "We laughed." She felt his breath brushing against her lips.

"Then you kissed me," she confessed, and in the heartbeat that followed, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers gently. She let herself sink into his touch as he held her face, keeping her in place while he continued to taste her all over again.

His lips fit perfectly and she kissed him back as eager, letting his tongue glide into her mouth so effortlessly. She held onto him, slightly pulling him closer as if he wasn’t close enough even when he was practically pressing his body against hers.

When he slowly pulled away, she suppressed a moan. "Like this?" He asked.

"Like that," she murmured, the taste of him lingering on her lips as they shared the space between breaths.

The warmth of his lips traveled down her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that brushed over her skin. "What else do you remember?"

His lips trailed further down, and she shivered. "We..." Her voice wavered, breath hitching, as his hand slid down her arm before his fingertips began to faintly stroke her skin, grazing over the hem of her skirt. "W-We went back to your place."

"Go on," he urged the words hanging in the air. She felt his fingers glide over her inner thigh, stopping abruptly as he reached the middle.

"You..." She let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up, stopping just before the rough pads of his fingers brushed over her panties softly. "...you touched me."

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing her teasingly through her damp panties before, without warning, they were pushed aside, the hot pads of his fingers finally making direct contact with her clit.

"Was it like this?"

Her hand wrapped around his forearm, trying to stop herself from moaning aloud, her eyes fluttering closed as he began to play with her clit, his fingers skillful as he rubbed in small circular motions, his eyes fixed on her. She looked over at him, her mouth going slack as she felt the sensation in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't seem like herself, and although she didn't mind public displays of affection, she wouldn't let it go beyond a kiss. She wasn't the kind of person to be intimate in public, but here she was, letting him touch her when any of the staff could walk in. Heck, she wasn't sure he was the type of person who would do something like this.

His fingers moved from her clit, dragging down her slit and collecting her arousal, briefly plunging them inside and curling upward, pressing firmly against her walls. She looked down to see his fingers gently pumping in and out of her cunt. Her legs were so wide from him that her knee was practically resting against his thigh.

"Tell me," he whispered, "Did I touch you like this?"

Her chest began to heave, her hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over her casually. "Yes," she breathed out.

Soft whimpers escaped her as she bit her bottom lip, trying desperately to be as quiet as she could manage. The fire in her stomach burned hotter with each expert glide of his slick fingers. Her legs opened wider and wider for him which seemed to please him judging by how fast his fingers began to pump into her cunt.

A strained whimper filled his ears the moment he circled her clit with his thumb, the added stimulation did nothing to help her sanity, and moans began to spill from her lips, mouth parting in pure bliss.

"Spence," she whined, voice so unsteady and breathless, she couldn't control her volume anymore, desperate moans mixing with the sounds of her wetness dripping between her thighs.

"That's it," he encouraged, speeding up his fingers. "Let go for me."

The pressure of his fingers was making her impending orgasm loom dangerously close as her back arched from her seat, hand gripping around his wrist. Her eyes flew over to him as she reached her peak, body shivering and writhing as she pushed her hips down against his fingers, feeling them slide from her pussy before circling her clit in rapid motions.

With a final gasp, she lost all control, her mind growing numb, feeling him wildly as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her entire body. She cried out silently, calling his name over and over until she grew too weak while she desperately clung to him.

When he finally pulled away, she felt her arousal dripping down her legs. She stared at him wide-eyed as he fixed her panties back in place before brushing her dress over her legs. When she kept looking at him in a daze, he softly laughed and leaned down, brushing his lips over her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"I..." she was gasping for air, a hand-tossed over her chest. "Did that actually happen?"

He chuckled, his warm breath tickling her ear. His fingers gently traced the outline of her jaw as her face flushed—lips delicately swollen, eyes glazed with a mixture of desire and surprise. The aftermath of her climax painted her cheeks in a captivating shade.

"Come on," he said, extending a hand and gently pulling her up.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice still carrying the traces of her orgasm. His gaze met hers with an intensity that spoke volumes, revealing an unspoken hunger that mirrored her own desires. His intention was clear.

"We're going home."

>> NEXT PART

a/n: it did not occur to me the possibility of CCTV cameras in a planetarium lmao please excuse me. Also, the plan is to write one last part and an epilogue to wrap it all up.

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[the-moon-devi]

CARAMELS SOLAR RETURN PREDICTIONS: 2024

Asteroids: Ascelpius (4581), Ambrosia (193), Reiki (5239), Vibilia (144), Odysseus (1143), Ulysses (5254)

𝑇𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦'𝑠 𝑀𝑦 𝑆𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛! 😊 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦'𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒! 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝐿𝑚𝑘, 𝑖𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑒, 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 6 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡ℎ𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠! 𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦! 😘🩷

|| 𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐒𝐂 @ 𝟐𝟔° ||

Since I'm a cancer ascendant; Taurus falls into my 10th/11th house, so more than likely, my life purpose/career will be brought to me. I'll be able to see this area of life. Taurus is also my natal NN. So I just get a sense that there's a theme of life purpose and Venusian things, like comfort and material security since this is at a wealth degree of Taurus. My progressed sun is in Taurus, so it definitely will be big for me, in my opinion. Reaching goals as well! I see myself doing a lot of self-care and focusing on my physical appearance as well. Taurus is a sign that is about stability & financial security, I think this year will be a much more stable year, and I'll be headed towards growth & financial abundance.

|| 𝐀𝐒𝐂 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐫: 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝟗° 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞||

Keywords: luck, spontaneity, knowledge, learning

This is kinda crazy because I said earlier that I see my 10th/11th house being activated. Natally, my MC is aries which sits at 8° so this would be conjunct my natal Mc. So, there's a lot of venusian and creative influence within my public image. I'll probably be putting towards my career and online. I see that I could even have online relationships or traveling since venus is at 9°. I may have possible luck and fortune in this area of life( I natally have this too, so I think I'll feel pretty comfortable in this area)

|| 𝐀𝐒𝐂 ☌ 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫/ 𝐔𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 ||

I definitely may be traveling (espically since I have a 12th house stellium with these) jupiter is a planet of long distance travel, and foreign travel. I don't wanna touch on this too much yet but that's what I'm getting so far. I see I'll have a big focus on attaining knowledge and increasing my smarts on a spiritual level next year. I see luck, and unexpected events. I think I'll be having more fun, and possibly more optimistic! (I heard inheritances, or like huge gains too.....)

The 1h is also your appearance for the year, so I forsee with uranus an unexpected physical change & with jupiter here, it could be weight gain or growth in certain body parts. 😉

Overal Themesl: Love, Travel, Creative Endeavors getting Noticed, Career/Life purpose being highlighted, Money gains, reaching goals, ambition

|| 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝟏𝟐𝐇 ||

Keywords: Dreams Coming True;

This is an obvious indication of isolation, lol. I may benefit from alone time this year and may be paying more attention to my subconscious/mental health. I may need more rest or learn how to wind down. Sun lights up our houses and puts a focus on that area. So spirituality will also be something that's being pushed to the forefront and spiritual growth. 12h is also a house that represents foreign settlement and traveling abroad. I wouldn't be surprised if that's something that happens next year because we have Uranus in 12th conjunct Asc, so I could just randomly decide to leave my homeland and travel. I'll be touching on this more as I see some indicators of moving/travel. (This is something I've been manifesting for a minute, and it's crazy because the 11th house represents our manifestations/desires & hopes). On the downside, hidden mental sickness could come up, and I may be prone to isolating myself and dealing with it alone.

|| Sun ☌ Mercury, ☌ Venus ||

Key words: Learning, mental stimulation, Creativity, Love, beauty, travel, daily commute, busy

|| Sun ☌ Chiron ||

Healing the ego, healing in private, holistic healing, healing next to water (12h energy), turning pain to art.

|| 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟒° 𝟏𝐇 ||

This is veryyyyy interesting.... as moon energy is something that is very familiar to me already, and again with the taurus degree. I forsee spiritual and hidden energies here. Natally, Gemini sits in my 11th/12th house. My venus & and Mars are both in gemini. So Moon is conjunct Venus, Mars, & Lilith. It's very interesting to break this down, lol. I see passion and love. This also sits at a venusian degree, so that's even more potent. I'll definitely be in tune with that feminine side of myself even tho I feel like I always am lol. Lilith represents rebellious energy, so that could definitely play out. I see myself being pampered and probably more expressive with my emotions. I don't think it'll be too bad as Gemini isn't a highly emotional sign. But they do change a lot. So this could reflect in my emotions. This is also my Natal Asc ruler, so I'll probably be putting a lot into myself this year and online because this would fall into my 11h. I'll be very emotional when it comes to my goals. Just read some descriptions of Moon 1H in Sr. Most of them said fluctuations in appearance (wouldn't be surprised, lol), pregnancy (ik universe wouldn't do that to me lol), and heavy emotions. There's so much water & earth energy I'm seeing so far. Moon also rules 4h, so something with the mother, my mom is also a gemini, so maybe something with her. We shall see for 2023 I had Moon and pluto conjunct my Ascendant so interesting to see how this will turn out. This placement also conjuncts my Ascendant at a wide orb.

Keywords: femininity, solitude, travel, and knowledge.

|| 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝟐𝟐° 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟐𝐇 ||

The first thing that came to mind was that I'm going to want to keep a lot of thoughts & spiritual downloads to myself. Journaling will benefit me this year as well. In general, I sense that I won't be talking to many people. My mind will mostly be concerned with spiritual topics, and subconscious thoughts will come to the front. I'll be doing a lot of reflection & meditation. This Is also conjunct Chiron so like I said earlier I'll be doing a lot of healing, as 12h also deals with healing energy. I'm being called to look at the asteroids Ambrosia (193) & Asclepius (4581) & Reiki (5239). Ok so very interesting.... none of them aspect mercury... BUT! Asclepius is conjunct Moon in 1h. Healing and playing the role of the healer. I heard "Medicine woman". Ambrosia sits at 28° Aquarius 10h. I could be publicly seen as healing & cleansing. Reiki conjuncts Varuna; Varuna represents where we may receive success & recognition. I also see it as where we attain a noticeable amount of abundance/ fortune. So this speaks for itself. Healing is a major theme. idk know what lol (333) as I type this. But I see spiritual enlightenment and learning as well.

Keywords: Working on projects that require Solitude. Constant channeling/ downloads. Dreamsssss! Spiritual Research.

|| Mercury ☌ Venus || (wide orb)

Beautiful words are spoken to the heart & soul. Finding beauty in the unseen. Enjoying learning.

|| 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝟗° 𝟏𝟏𝐇 ||

Passionate & fun experiences. Showing my creativity online. I also see myself trying new things out. New opportunities, reaching goals, more friendly interactions with women. Joining a group of women. This might be the year I find my tribe lol considering I also have Venus 11h natally. Lol, that would be very nice if that did happen. This placement is sextile my natal venus so there's a chance. Partners randomly confessing their madly in love with me 😌😏. Social media allat will most likely be prominent & beneficial for me this year. intellect, media, speech, blogs, etc.

|| Venus conjunct Neptune, Chiron ||

Healing & Spiritual connections within love, I even see myself learning more self love. Neptune is the hugher octave of venus, so this a ultimate indicator of unconditional love. I see healing my relationship with beauty, spirituality, and even relationships.

|| Venus Conjunct North Node ||

Love, beauty, creativity, finances are all things that are bound to happen this year.

|| 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝟏𝟔° 𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟏𝐇 ||

Pushing myself towards my dreams, being a freedom seeker. Being rebellious in some way. Planning for the future. Weirdly this gives me 2 of wands vibes. 2 of wands in tarot represents planning for the future, thinking about long term goals & aspirations. Setting out plans for what I need to do. Moving forwards & collaboration are also themes that will be present. This is all about starting a new journey. Since this is pisces I feel like I wil reach peace within this area of life. This could have to do with the home, and traveling. I believe mars would be conjunct my natal Uranus so unexpected plans/ trips. Mars would also sit in my 9h of my natal Sr. So another indication of learning/ travel.

|| Mars ☌ Saturn ||

I'll be focused of accomplishing my goals, most likely will be working very hard & putting in a lot of work.

|| Mars ☌ Neptune || (wide orb)

Working for a hidden force, and spiritual power. Probably alot of dream work as well

|| 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗° 𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝟏𝟐𝐇 ||

Again I see long-distance travel but also a theme of hiding something. Being in Solitude. I could see this manifest as my decision to study something in private. This will heavily impact my year as it conjuncts my Ascendant. Jupiter represents luck, spiritual wisdom, higher intellect, plenty, optimism,l long-distance travels, foreign settlement, gurus, and success and the 12th house is dreams, secrets, emotions, self-undoing loss, hidden things, subconscious, spiritual awakenings, Solitude, and psychics. So all the themes of the 12th house will be expanded upon. It could be my spirituality or dreams that I have.

|| 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝟏𝟒° 𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 ||

Lol this is why I said it may not be friends I'm attracting this year ORRR they could just be older or more mature than me. I think this is also another sign of my desires coming into physical form. This is another indication of isolation & inner working. Since Mars is conjunct this. I may have to make new goals or even come up with a more efficient plan to reach my goals. Friend groups may restrict or provide me with grounding energy to pursue my dreams. I also see saturn providing me with a lot of time to figure things out. Natally saturn transits my 9th house so I may not be as open to certain beliefs or higher education. I may be more strict on myself in this area of life as well. Definitely reassessing my beliefs when it comes to my pov of the world & it's structures. Even deciding not to fit in to a certain group. This seems like a year of a lone wolf. This is where saturn will be forcing me to grow up and learn lessons so very few will be close to me. This may be due to new knowledge I'll be accumulating. Saturn is the oldest/wisest.

|| 𝐔𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝟐𝟏° 𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡 ||

Many unexpected events will happen this year. I didn't pay much attention but with all these 12th house placements this could be hospitalizations. I've heard a few leople say that happened to them lol. But Idk because sun, mercury, jupiter, and Uranus all kind of deal with knowledge and attaining understanding so I'm not completely sure. But I don't see myself getting into that kind of trouble lol. I see myself being alone alot. I'll probably be having random epiphanies from the divine. I'll be having heavy dreams & downloads. This is the year that my higher chakras will be activated.

|| 𝐔𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 ☌ 𝐉𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 ||

This is something that will be happening worldwide. This conjunction represents a spiritual awakening throughout humanity, of course depending on the house placement This will vary for everyone, and the area which This awakenings occurs. However, the general themes remain the same. I feel like there will be advances in the financial system since this is in the sign of taurus. I know people have been saying this for years but, I really see it coming. I see huge unexpected changes within that area, humanity will be reevaluating what is to be valued and what is not. On a spiritual level I see a certain group of people recieving upgrades to their mental! Which is so important. The higher mind will be activated for those who didn't get the cue in 2020 now is your chance to fully innerstand the state of the world. I also envision problems with air travel possibly, or either advancement within that area as Uranus deals with tech, and jupiter is travel and expansion. Overall expansion in learning, tech, laws, politics, money, and travel. There will be a wanting to explore whether that be mentally, spiritually, or physically. Now for me, on a personal level since mine sits in the 12th house I'll probably be one of the first out of the collective to pick up on this new surge of energy. 12th house is prophecies and so much more. I feel like 2024 will be more enlightenening and prosperous for some people. I see myself really recieving all these spiritual upgrades, and this may be why I isolate myself from the world. It could be a heavy energy for me. I also could be traveling like I have said for the millionth time. But genuinely I see that, even if it's not physical (which I doubt) definitely see astral travel. Traveling & learning ancient wisdom.

|| 𝐍𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟐𝟖° 𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟏𝐇 ||

Bringing spiritual information to friendships, humanity, and online. This can also show having hard time making friends or seeing their true colors. Another area which I may be deceived. Buttttt I could see myself attracting spiritual teachers as well since saturn also occupies this house. Looking into the future, and manifesting my dreams & desires. Talking about spirituality online, read somewhere on Tumblr this can indicate losing friends. 😭😭😭😭😭

|| Neptune ⚹ Ascendant ||

Head in the clouds.....

|| 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝟐° 𝐀𝐪𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝟗𝐇 ||

Pluto in aqaurius 9th house, I see that I'll be having life changing experiences. Mostly in the area of relationships because in my SR natal chart pluto falls in the 7th. But also this will just be in general. I still see isolation overall. Since 9th house deals with travel & higher education. I probably will decide to not go to school, this is something I've been struggling with for the last couple months on whether on not if it's a good idea. Based off other things I see I don't think college will be favorable for me, it's just not something I see myself being able to focus on. I also mentioned before that I have neptune in 9th house I've had this for a while, and I noticed that during this time it's been so hard to focus on mundane school tasks. I really have to force myself, because it's just become so disinteresting to me. Instead of regular school things that they shuff down our throats. I realized I took more off a interest in spiritual things, I wanted to learn more & more about it. Neptune helped me learn more about my dreams, and my dreams Started teaching me things. Neptune was my teacher, and I think this period of time occurred for a very big purpose in my life. With Saturn transitioning into the 9th next year around April or may. I don't think this will really let up or maybe it will but with the help of pluto I know something within that area will be transformed. And as of now at my souls core I don't envision myself enjoying or even wanting to be in school unless it's for spiritual lessons. Saturn restricts/slows things down so this will probably result in that especially since it's in pisces my mind will be submerged in spirituality. This is a year of life experience & knowledge.

|| 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨 ☌ 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 / 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐀𝐒𝐂 ||

Change in social status, and how people view me. It doesn't have to be necessarily literally physical, but it may be. Right now, in 2023, I have Moon & pluto ☌ my Asc, and Saturn's house. I don't see the Saturn in a physical sense. It's just bringing maturity to me. But Moon & pluto have brought fluctuations in weight so far. I have about 6 more months until my 2024 Sr, so we'll see how this plays out, lol. I know this can indicate something significant happening to you that affects your reputation. I have so many ideas of what this could mean, but I'll just let it play out, lol. Maybe even reintroducing myself, there's a lot, idk. 😂

Edit: (I actually have my north node in the 12th house!)

|| 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐍𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝟏𝟓° 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝟏𝟏𝐇 ||

I'm realizing throughout this chart, that the 11th house stellium has a lot to do with my desires and what I want. There's an increase and laser focus on my goals. So I'll be eager to go towards those next year. The north node will shift my focus here, and since this natally is conjunct with my MC, and falls into my 10th house a lot of this has to do with my career, and setting goals for myself within that year. 11th house shows that I'll possibly be reaping a lot of benefits from what I've put in previous years. Financial gain too, since the 11th house is also material gain. Venus/mars/Neptune/ and Saturn sit here so big on getting back what I mine. A lot of dreams and wishes will be granted. And since these all sit in the 9th house most likely through learning & travel.

||NN Aries 15° 12H||

North Node in the 12h, shows a year of spiritual growth, and isolation. I have a 12th house stellium, so I know I'll likely be alone a lot. My spirituality & career are areas that are going to change, since this conjuncts my natal MC. I also feel like since Aries is here I'll be very passionate about my spiritual pursuits. I'll need to take care of my mental health this year as well. I think something will push me into isolation because Uranus is here too. Uranus is all about unexpected changes. I see a lot of healing & self-care since Chiron is conjunct to my north node as well. I'm also in a 9h profection year, so this is why I see travel or even moving but idk. The 12h rules foreign settlement, so this may be something that I am growing towards or thinking a lot about.

|| North Node ☌ Chiron ||

Healing, becoming a healer & teacher to those who follow my path. North node is fate/destiny, so these are areas that are bound to happen.

Asteroids

So excited for this part! I have all the asteroids listed above!

So I wanted to see some asteroids that have to deal with travel so I chose; Vibilia, Odysseus & Ulysses.

Copy & Paste: 144, 1143, 5254, 4820

Vibilia is the Roman goddess of travel. She is related to all types of travel, and journeys. In astrology terms this meaning is the same.

|| Vibilia 18° Gemini 1H ||

Well this pretty self explanatory lol, the goddess of travel occupies my 1h house. So this will be where a lot of my focus will be. Also it crazy to me that this is heavily influenced by mercury. Mercury also rules travel, so that's a plus! This placement would also be aspecting my natal venus so I will definitely be enjoying myself lol.

|| Vibilia ☌ Moon, sextile North Node ||

Emotional comfort from travel, destined to travel

Odysseus & Ulysses represent long distance travel, and far away from home. Where adventures come towards you. Where you tend to wander

|| Odysseus 3° & Ulysses 9° Cancer 2H ||

Since this is in the 2nd house, I'll likely be spending money in these areas.

VALENTINE (447) 1H/ CONJUNCT ASC: I explained this placement further in my solar return notes post. But I recently also noticed that this coukd also mean loving yourself this year. The 1h is also the house of you.

SUN CONJUNCT AMOR (1221)

I have a lot more asteroids, but I dont want to bore ya'll with those!😁Anyways hope ya'll enjoyed, Happy Venus day!

-𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼💋🤎

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐞'𝐋𝐮𝐱𝐞

𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

[tfp-is-my-lifeblood-lol]

Reasons Why I Think TFP Jack is Underrated:

Welcome to my organized bullet list of why I think Jack is cool. I used to think he was boring too, but now I think he's the goat and here's why:

-He has Main Character Energy, but he's more snarky than most cliche main characters

In fact, he is a petty king:

-He doesn't wanna be on Team Prime at first, but eventually accepts it...

...He then proceeds to BURN Airachnid's ship to the GROUND with a stupid survival kit for babies

-HE DEFEATED THE ALIEN SPIDER QUEEN WITH NOTHING BUT A LIGHTER AND A POCKET KNIFE, BRO

-HE WAS DONE WITH HER BULLSHIT LOL

-Plus he tricked Silas by pretending to beg for mercy, when really, he was stealing his walkie talkie.

-Jack is boring, BUT the fact that Jack has nothing special about him IS his superpower; Miko has the Apex Armor and her brave personality, Raf has genius level computer smarts, and Jack has PURE SPITE. It's beautiful.

-He has zero skills, but he'll figure out how to defeat his enemies anyway, SOLEY because he's tired and doesn't get paid enough for this shit.

-For example, in one of the Titan Magazine comics, Jack literally kicks Silus in the balls

Evidence:

Iconic✨

Apex armor? Cybertronian technology?

Screw that. How about I KICK you in the balls?l

-A true legend

-He's also a mess though, and I relate so hard

-He's so petty he talked two aliens into helping him cheat at street racing to piss off his classmate

-His romantic subplot is treated like a complete joke, and I love that. Normally, the Main Character✨ is awkward, but gets the girl in the end. Not Jack, though. Nope. He just constantly looks stupid in front of Sierra, nothing ever happens between them, and Arcee is just watching with popcorn as his life falls apart. It's hilarious.

Also, if I'm correct, isn't the last time we see Sierra when she sees Arcee's homoform, and thinks Jack has a girlfriend, and then Jack is like "She's my mom😅." And Sierra's all like: "Your mom looks good in leather😐...on your bike😐😐😐😐..." Maybe I'm wrong, but if that's the case, it's funny. Jack is a simp and it gets him nowhere.

-His sarcasm works perfectly with Arcee's sarcastic attitude.

-Also Tailgate is voiced by Josh Keaton (Jack's voice actor) in the flashbacks, so I headcanon that Jack reminds Arcee of Tailgate, and that's why she has such a soft spot for him.

Tailgate and Arcee's dialogue had the same vibe as her and Jack's

Also, it gives more context to why she was so scared to lose him when Airachnid showed up. It would've literally been like losing Tailgate all over again.

-Jack is Team Prime's designated Good Ideas Guy

It was Jack's idea to hijack the spacebridge to send him to Cybertron

It was also his idea to drain the dark energon out of The Nemesis when it came alive and froze everyone

-I'm probably just projecting, he has generalized anxiety disorder vibes

-I feel like he prefers a comfortable, predictable life because he gets nervous easily

-He's always the first to freak out, and overthink, and Arcee always has to calm him down

-And she's so patient with him it's so sweet😱

-I agree the writing behind his existence is meh, and a lot of the cool stuff about him is probably unintentional, but I don't care, so take that!

Anyway, the moral of the story is:

Jack is just an angry little harmonica boy. Leave him alone. He's trying his best😭

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[two-white-butterflies]

who could ever leave me, darling? | c55

Description: A rough patch happens in the middle of your rising career. Will he stay, or leave like all the boys before?

Pairing: carlos sainz/singer!reader

It was always common knowledge that a starlet falls from grace the moment she releases her fourth studio-album, you assumed that you were exempted from that curse - but turns out, you were wrong.

The moment that you dropped your first single of the album - it was crickets. Nothing but silence.

"I mean, personally - it's nothing to worry about. We haven't done any significant promos yet, and this is just the first song." your agent comforted you, quickly filling the small cup with your favorite beverage. "We should've done the promo before the album," your eyebrows merged into each other, feeling the atmosphere thicken.

It was a mistake signing a record-deal with a new studio.

"Yes - the chairman extends his apologies, but we'll fix it. You'll be in the top one hundreds in no time!" she comforted with a certain smile. "Okay, okay - thank you Andrea." you embraced her, praying to Jesus that she was right.

your_name_55: 'Love You - CS' is now out. I had so much fun writing this song - it's probably my fav!

2938 comments 891,283 likes

y/nworldbrazil: LOVE FROM BRAZIL 🇧🇷

carlossainz55: te amo tanto ❤️ - your_name_55: love you too cs 💗

bandanawrites: a lyrical masterpiece 🤤

A frustrated groan escapes your mouth - half relieved that the car was beginning to drive away from the paparazzi.

"Don't listen to them, they're just paps." Andrea comforted, seeing that you were bothered with what one of the photographers said. "Well, he's somehow right." you cross your arms, feeling anxiety gnaw on your bones. It was fun being known as a celebrity - but being called irrelevant to your face? You'd never get used to it.

"We've spent so much fucking money on promo and features and merch, but the point stands - I'm not even in the top 150." you shrug, feeling the tears attempt to fall from your eyes. "Our staff predicts that the song will take flight on the second or third week, please don't lose hope." she pleaded, holding your hand.

"Fuck all," you groan - staring back at the window.

Carlos Sainz: Hello, Andrea? Everything okay, no?

Andrea Gomes: I'm really sorry for calling you here [personal phone], but (Your Name) just hasn't been herself lately. I'm worried about her.

Carlos Sainz: She hasn't said anything about this to me. Is this because of her new song? I love it!

Andrea Gomes: (sigh)

Andrea Gomes: She didn't want to hurt your performance in the GP. Wasn't even supposed to call you but she hasn't come out of her room. It might be smart to take a breather.

Carlos Sainz: Thank you for telling me. Honestly, couldn't sleep last night. I'll be there in a few hours. Bye bye!

Andrea Gomes: Bye, Carlos!

carlossainz55: A much needed break 🥂 Let's do this again!!

tagged: your_name_55

918 comments 301,394 likes

your_name_55: thank you so much carlito 💗 - carlossainz55: ❤️

your_name_55: Congratulations on P1, my beautiful boy. 💗

293 comments 822,123 likes

carlandocontent: Great job Carlos!! So proud of you.

pokpokracing16: Vamos Carlos! More to come tomorrow.

carlossainz55: ❤️

your_name_55: Carlos to the premiere of 'ROSES' MV (held in our humble madrid home.)

182 comments 1,283,129 likes

y/nworld: why is this the only promo for roses 😭

Charles_Leclerc: Magnificent! - your_name_55: mr. eats-popcorn

LandoNorris: My favorite part was when the roses died - your_name_55: dark 😭

your_name_55: Thank you so much to the academy! also to @carlossainz55 and the entire f1 grid (the first people to listen to 'roses'.) I never could've done this without your support. #AlbumOfTheYear #RosesforY/N

0 comments 2,391,298 likes

comments have been restricted.

[vividachromatic]

Meant To Stay The Worst - Pt. 3

Desc. : Reader meets Alastor’s mother for the first time!

Alastor x reader

Tags: ongoing, marriage, confessions / proposals, manipulation and toxic relationships, canon typical violence and language

((<- Pt. 2 - Pt. 4 ->))

*

To say you were nervous about meeting his mother would be an understatement. If she didn't like you, that would probably be THE dealbreaker, considering the way Alastor talks about her - like she is the most important person in his life.

Alastor found your uneasiness funny and just told you to relax. He told you his mother wasn't a scary person. And she has been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time; ever since Alastor mentioned he was seeing a girl he really liked she's been beyond excited and repeatedly asked him if he'd invite her over.

"That's not what I'm concerned about - I'm concerned about me! I know how to make a bad impression, not how to make a good one..." Not that you cared about the impression you made on other people most of the time. Most of the people you knew where snobs who just pretended to like you anyway.

"Darling. Don't worry about making a perfect impression, my mother is a kind person. She can even see inside people's souls~" He chuckled, "literally..."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure if that makes me feel so much better..."

Plus, the way Alastor seemed to enjoy your anxiousness didn't help either.

Anyway, there was no postponing this you suppose, so you got ready to walk to his mother's house. She seems to live nearby.

Alastor was satisfied with the whole situation right now. After he first decided he was going to confess his feelings to you he was scared of how everything would play out. He likes to be in control of any situation - and even though he tried his best to do that, he still couldn't predict the actual feelings part.

But your reaction to him killing someone was the most confusing thing for him.

You were clearly shocked and probably even traumatized by the event. But not even once did you seem scared of him.

It's more the opposite. Just like him, you were more of a classy person - never really seeking out other's people's touch too much. But after the incident this changed. Not only did you immideatly lean into him when when he tried to comfort you when you were crying, you also seeked out and accepted his touch warmly every single time after the incident.

This odd reaction to seeing someone murder someone else in cold-blood lead him to a specific conclusion: You didn't regard the situation that way. You actually saw it as him protecting you. And ever since that day, you've seen him as your protector. Which would mean that him trying to manipulate you into thinking exactly that actually worked.

But there is one problem with that: he thinks you are way too smart to just fall for his simple manipulation tactic like that. Which is why he at first considered the possibility that you were only pretending to be okay with it and would try to tell someone else as soon as he let you go. But you never did that. Which must mean that you are being willfully immoral.

So, you knew he was manipulating you and played along?

He thought - maybe you wanted to be protected? Wanted to be guided?

Maybe it was because you had a bad father figure in your life or maybe your mind was just a little more twisted than he originally thought?

In any case, this would work for him. You wanting to be guided - him wanting to guide you.

If he played this well - he could very quickly turn this into making you marry him, which could, if you ever changed your mind about him, trap you into the relationship anyway. Even if you would find out about his more sinister hobbies...

It would disappoint him to have that kind of relationship with you, yes, but it could also end with both of you having the ideal relationship - supporting even your most twisted desires while also having a loving husband and wife - later maybe even family.

The two of you approached the house of Alastor's mother now.

His two favorite people were about to meet, and if the meeting went well he was sure he would ask your father for your hand at his meeting with him.

Alastor quietly knocked on the door, while you were standing more behind him than next to him.

Then the door opened, revealing a petite, middle-aged woman with beautiful curly hair. Her face immideatly turned soft when she spotted her son. "Alastor, my dear..." she pulled him towards her into a warm embrace and he, too, had a genuine smile on his face as he leaned down to hug her.

You smiled watching the two of them. A genuine warm embrace between family members isn't something you got to see very often.

When Alastor pulled away from the hug, he pulled you to his side by your waist, so that you were now facing his mother.

...Wait, how should you greet her? Should you shake hands? Bow? ...

In the end you just awkwardly waved at her. The woman looked confused for a second, before she just pulled you into a hug as well. You were surprised, so you forgot reciprocating before she already stepped away from you.

Great, now you made an awkward fool of yourself.

She still held on to your arms, as she looked you up an down. "I, uh- I'm... Y/N?"

The woman let out a small laugh and petted you on the head. "Oh, I know that sweetie, what I didn't know is that you were such a timid one! Come on in, you two. Dinner is almost ready!"

You carefully stepped into the house looking back at Alastor, who just smiled at you and took off your coat to hang it on the wardrobe.

"I'm going to go to get something for a minute, if that's okay, darling? I'll be right back!" He declared and pushed you into the room his mother was in. Before you could protest, he was already gone.

Great. For someone who claims to like you, he seems to really enjoy putting you in uncomfortable situations.

His mother was currently finishing off some rice with different sorts of vegetables and seasonings... "Oh honey, could you please help and cut the rest of these onions for me? Only if it's okay!" She asked you with a warm smile.

Oh oh. Now your horrendous cooking skills would come to show. You were a downright horrible cook - everytime you touched a stove something or someone, would burn. And you never had to cook before... you were rich. Others just did that for you...

But... you were able to cut some onions at least right? Haha...

"Of course, ma'am..!" You smiled nervously. Hoping she wouldn't notice your concern as you picked up one of the knives...

"Oh no, dear! You can't take that knife to cut an onion!" She chuckled, taking the knife from you and handing you a different one.

Nice. Not embarrassing at all.

Now, while you were trying to complete the extremely challenging task of cutting this onion - his mother turned to the other side of the kitchen to finish preparing the rice again.

"You know, I was pretty excited when Al told me that he finally met a girl he liked. My little boy never brought home any girls in his life, so I thought he must either be lying or you're someone real special!" She explained while preparing the food.

You didn't know how to respond, but you were touched by her words. And she confirmed that Alastor really has never dated anyone before - not that you thought that he was lying. You were glad, since you were the same, though you wouldn't have minded either way.

"Look, girl..." The woman who was only a little shorter than you stepped next to you again and took the cutting board from you with a sigh, cutting the onion properly. "I think you're a really pretty girl and I am glad my Al has found someone he likes for once; but I just wanna make sure that you're the right one for my boy, you know? That you're serious about him."

You let out a shaky breath. You were embarrassed at your need of help for such a simple task. Now she probably hates you and-

...

But you were serious about Alastor at least. But how could you properly convey this to her?

"I- I'm sorry, I am really not good at this. But, I really like Alastor. I like him... more than I've liked anyone before-"

You weren't sure how else to put it and stopped yourself - trying to word it differently, but the woman interrupted you with a sudden and short hug.

"That's all I wanted to hear, honey." She smiled warmly at you as she pulled away again.

She took the cutting board with her to put the freshly cut onions inside the rice. "This is Al's favorite meal by the way! If you want to, I can teach you the recipe some day?"

Your eyes lit up in relief. Her wanting to teach you, probably meant she didn't want to never let you see her or her son again. You nodded enthusiastically and she laughed.

Later during the meal the three of you had a nice talk. The house was... warm. It looked smaller than you were used to and the furniture looked very different. But this home was warm, while yours seemed cold. You only had a single dinner with the two of them together, but it felt better than any you had with your own family, no matter how expensive the food may have been.

After leaving his mother's home for that day Alastor asked you if you wanted to stay at his house for the night. You agreed.

When you arrived at his house again you let out a quiet yawn and started taking off your coat. Again, Alastor took it from you to hang it on the wardrobe. Then he gestured for you to sit on a nearby chair.

Confused you wordlessly obliged at which he grinned. He then kneeled in front of you to take off your shoes for you.

You rolled your eyes at him with a chuckle, "Really? You don't have to do that now."

He gave you a wryly amused smile, "I know. I just want to spoil the woman I adore so much."

You let out an embarrassed huff as your face started reddening.

Alastor, perceptive as he is, noticed this of course and made it worse by taking your hand and planting a small kiss on its back.

When he got up again he extended his hand towards you to take and led you to sit on the couch with him.

"See? I told you my mother would like you. She has a knack for seeing who people really are..." Alastor grinned.

"Really?" You asked him.

You liked both of them. But if that was true wouldn't she see that her son is a killer? And that you liked it?

"My mother always said 'what you do for the people you love is more important than what the world wants you to do'." He quoted with a smirk like he read your mind.

Well, if you twisted these words a little the way he saw things could make sense.

You wondered; was the man he killed for you the first person he's killed? You weren't so sure. His movements seemed way too natural. Too calculated.

His behavior afterwards way too uncaring.

...The evil serial killer of Louisiana. His profile fitted Alastor's way too perfectly.

So far he has had four victims. You researched them for a bit. All of them were filthy, power-hungry and abusive men and one woman. The police suspected a vigilante.

Of course you weren't completely sure it was him. But Alastor's certainty that the killer would not go after you was still ringing in your head.

So what would someone who can actually see inside your soul actually think of you?

You didn't think of yourself as a normal person before this, but not as a bad one either. But now...

It wasn't the fact that you didn't care if he was a serial-killer or not that made you bad, it was more than that. It was that some fucked-up part inside of you liked it.

You wanted the man who was sitting next to you right now in every way possible.

You definitely were at least just as bad. It was probably just more in a passive and masochistic way, than his direct and sadistic one.

So, did you really want to settle for this?

...yes definitely.

You didn't care about that man dying that night.

And now you weren't even sure anymore if that's what you've always thought in the first place, or if this is just what you forced yourself to think, so you could get over it.

Regardless, you just felt cold towards that man. He was better of dead, just like all the other people Alastor probably killed.

Distancing yourself from other people's humanity was wrong and narcissistic. You knew that but still decided to go that path.

Decided to be with Alastor. And enjoy it.

"So? You're going to meet with my father tomorrow, right? Are you at least a little nervous?" You asked him after a small comfortable silence between the two of you.

"Hmm... I think nervous is the wrong word. But it would be bothersome, if your father dislikes me." Alastor answered.

"Even if my father doesn't approve of you, I'll still stick with you. You know that, right?" You asked him.

He raised his brow, giving you a half-grin, surprised by your earnesty. "You're such a sweetheart, you know that?" He asked, locking your head between his hands and lowering his face to yours until you were separated only by a few inches.

Your confidence immediately falters and you became putty in his hands again.

He chuckled against your face, seemingly enjoying the effect he had on you. "Y/N, can I ask you something?"

"...Of course."

"How much do you like me?" He whispered against your lips. Not only because he was sure he wanted to take this a step further with you now, but also because he wanted to be able to predict how exactly you'd answer if he'd ask you to be his forever.

Your breath hitched. You weren't sure how to answer.

If you were honest you would have to admit, that you were completely and utterly obsessed with him.

...You already met his mother today; he said he adores you...

It's okay to admit, that you like him, right?

God, how was he the one in control always? And why did you love it?

"I like you, Alastor. A lot." You whispered back. He smiled at that and finally kissed you.

You leaned back into the couch, just letting him kiss you. The kiss was nice. Every kiss with him was. And for the first time he deepened the kiss as it became more sensual.

You gasped into the kiss and he grinned, his tongue sliding over your own and you shuddered as he pulled you towards him to sit on his lap.

Just to catch air the two of you parted for a second, looking into each other's eyes. Both of you could see the desire for the other in them.

Alastor tenderly stroked your hair with one of his hands and cupped your cheek with the other.

You calmly closed your eyes, eventhough your heart was beating like crazy.

"I love you."

Your eyes opened and widened in surprise at his words. He, too, looked a little surprised by his own words when he looked up at you.

He wasn't surprised because he said it. He was surprised because he meant it.

Your gaze softened and you gave him a smile. The most loving smile you ever gave someone in your life probably.

"I love you too, Alastor."

He let out a small sigh in relief. Something he didn't do often.

So you really loved him? Did you mean that?

"I will kill for you, you know?"

He wasn't sure if he would make things bad between you two, if he outright said that, but he had the feeling he wouldn't. You were too perfect for him.

You paused for a second. Then you gave him a weird smile. "I know. And I would do the same."

-----------

Thank youuu for reading!

@cryptidghostgirl @adeadreader

[dinogoofymutated]

Okay so like,,,,I usually never make requests (I’m a lurker fr fr) but your writing Is god tier, so I gotta ask:

Could you do a fic for Hank/Beast? He’s my personal fave but I never see any content for him ever, like the fic scene for this man is a ghost town. he’s underrated as hell. My man is ripped, highly intelligent and respectful of the arts! Yet he doesn’t get any attention.

I would love to see some general headcanons (SFW & NSFW) if you’re up to it. no problem if you don’t write for him or something, I just thought i would ask.

Thanks!

SFW!Beast/GN!Reader

To be honest, I actually wasn't really sure about writing for Hank at first because I've never really had a connection to the character, but he grew on me!! Plus, I'm here to serve lolol we've been starved of fics as a Fandom for basically forever and it would be a disservice not to fill the Hank void out there! Hope it's okay that I only wrote Sfw headcannons, I have a separate req for NSFW for him so I decided to split it into two to save my sanity lol. Finals are gonna be hell for me.

-ps- Should I be writing right now? no. Am I doing it anyway? Yurp. Also, I'm basing his history off of the fandom wiki, so I'm sorry if anything is off.

Tws: none that I can think of atm. As always, reader written while picturing fem but no pronouns mentioned.

Hank, despite what some would think, was most definitely a heartthrob, particularly in his college days!! I mean, a man who's confident, smart, respectful, and also an athlete? Who wouldn't swoon? He was 110% the guy that everyone wanted to take home to their parents.

And He's such a sweet, attentive lover too!! Acts of service almost definitely is a love language for him. He cooks for you, fixes the broken things that you didn't even realize were broken, even organizes your notes before a difficult exam.

He loves to surprise you with flowers, even if it isn't any special occasion, and if you ask, he'll help you preserve them as well!

He loves to kiss your forehead, temples, and hands. On top of that, he's very touchy. The two of you were most definitely seen as the parents of any friend group.

Things changed a little after he took the serum that mutated him further. His confidence had taken a blow, and he just didn't quite know how to approach you anymore.

It took a hot minute to reassure him that you didn't really care if he was blue, or furry, or beastly, he was still Hank Mccoy, wasn't he? He was the man you were in love with, and you certainly weren't going to stop now. Besides, you still thought he was handsome. With the kinds of books he's seen you read, you're a bit surprised that he didn't think you would find him attractive.

Things gradually got back to normal, but for a while, he didn't kiss you as often as he used to. Well, he didn't kiss you period. Even though he knew the incredible extent to which you loved him, the shape of his mouth had changed. Hell, he had fangs that he would rather die than mark you with.

You practically had to tie him down into a contract to get him to kiss you again. He was always one to experiment, why not treat this the same? If you kiss, and it goes well, you do it again. If it goes well a second time and a third, you have a pretty reliable test. Validity shouldn't matter when he knew that you loved him to bits already.

He felt like he was falling in love with you all over again, and yet he still hesitated. It wasn't until you had grabbed him by the collar to drag him into a kiss that he actually relaxed, and what do you know, it was a pretty reliable test after all. A predictive one too, with how often you continued to kiss him afterwards.

Domestic was the best way to describe your relationship with Hank.

    You yawned as you made your way down to the lab, still in your pajamas and slippers. Just a few hours previously, after a shower and self-care routine, you had settled into bed with an eyebrow-raising book as you waited for your husband to come to bed. This was a normal routine for the two of you, you immersing yourself into a book to stay awake until Hank entered, kissed your temple sweetly, and began his own nightly routine. It was a set of events you were used to. 

    Today, however, you felt like you had done a lot more reading than usual. When you finally pulled yourself out of your book and checked the time, the clock by your bed read 11 pm. A rather late time for Hank to be out, but you already knew where he would be. The lower levels of the mansion were extra cold at night, and you find yourself rubbing some warmth into your arms as you approach the lab. 

    The doors open with a swish, the light of the lab having all been darkened exempt for the lamp on Hank’s desk. He’s so immersed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t even realize when you come in. You walk up behind his chair, running your hands through his hair softly when you reach him.

    Hank isn’t surprised, sighing at the pleasant sensation as he tips his head back to encourage you. You giggle a little, leaning down to press a kiss to his head as you begin to massage his scalp.

    “It’s late.” You say gently. Hank hums in response, eyes closed as he appreciates your touch. 

    “I’m sorry, my love. Seems I was a little entranced.” He says. You huff at him playfully.

    “You say entranced, I say you’re overworking yourself. You’ve been working on this project all week. Don’t let it cut into your rest time.” Your scolding always sounded too nice, but he knows you mean it. Hank sighs again, this time sounding a little more tired, but he doesn't argue. He rolls around to face you, pulling you into a tired hug from his chair. 

     “Perhaps it is time I go to bed. What time is it, my dear?” 

    “Eleven.” Hank lets out a quiet chuckle at your quick reply, finally standing up. He doesn’t let go of you however, choosing to rest his head on your shoulder as he sways the two of you back and forth.

    “You’re most certainly right, it is late. Much too late for a man to leave his lovely spouse waiting. Oh, whatever shall I do to make it up to you?.” His words come out as a purr, and you let out a curt laugh at him. You pull away a little, taking his large hands in your own as you lead him to the door. He smiles widely when you stop for a moment, remembering his glasses and placing them on his face before starting to drag him to bed. 

    “I’ll let you decide that, Love. As long as you make it to bed, that’s apology enough for me.”

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I've been thinking a lot about the one-dimensional kinda fandom interpretations of Dazai and Chuuya in particular - the overemphasis on Dazai's weird brand of mischief/manipulation and Chuuya's anger and tendency to lash out and how it's not like these traits are... wrong, per se - these are their surface level/immediately notable characteristics - it's just that it misses the nuance as to why these traits likely exist.

What these interpretations don't fully capture is their very similar cores deep down - two people plagued by feelings of alienation, human inadequacy and repeated loss. Despite starting from these very similar places, they both dealt with the issue in near opposite ways. Dazai numbed himself to pain (remember: he hates pain! I cannot emphasize this enough!) and rarely gets close to anyone for fear he will lose them - his loss led to apathy, a withdrawal from humanity, a fear that he will always be empty inside - his ability: No Longer Human. Chuuya, on the other hand, refuses to numb himself and instead feels every single emotion in full and values his bonds with others over anything. He wants to belong and makes efforts to be perceived as a part of his group. Underlying this, however, is a kind of tired grief paired with resilience - remember that his ability is Upon the Tainted Sorrow. Not anger, or rage.

Sorrow is what results from this kind of heavy identity crisis and loss - for both of them. Think of Odasaku's read on Dazai as someone who looked close to tears when "acting" in front of the sniper poised to shoot him, describing him to Gide as a too-smart child left in the dark, or the way Stormbringer constantly reminds us that Chuuya is 16 and the desperation he feels in the scene where he holds his own dying clone, unable to help him.

Both characters carry a melancholy, resulting from their respective issues with their own humanity - I know I'm not the first one to comment on how their abilities could just as easily be referring to each other as well as themselves. This reads as very intentional to me - much like Atsushi's story begins as a clear parallel to the short story Rashoumon and Akutagawa sometimes being referred to in more beast-like terms than man, it makes sense that Dazai and Chuuya would reference each other in a similar vein.

And if that was the end of it, then we would expect that deep sorrow to shine through in both characters, but it rarely does except in pivotal moments. That's because the both of them have had to constantly deal with external threats - they believe they cannot afford to show vulnerability.

So, what you get instead is Dazai taking a kind of twisted ownership over his inhumanity and using it to make people afraid of him and to control everything so that he is never blindsided and hurt again, in the process, further alienating himself and making his issues worse. He inflicts fear so he doesn't have to be afraid. He can relax and be as silly as he wants - so long as everything around him is completely according to his predictions. There's a bonus to his foolish demeanour as well: hardly anyone can read him well enough to get close.

Then you get Chuuya, who feels so strongly and so much that it has no choice but to boil over, and due to never being able to or feeling comfortable with being anything but "the strongest", he hides moments when he is touched, or worried, or grieving, with anger and violence and defensiveness. As such, he is always seen as more weapon than person, a cut above the rest, forever standing out to others no matter how much he tries to integrate. The closest he came to true belonging was wrenched away from him before he could have a chance to know what that would actually feel like with the death of the Flags.

These surface traits are defense mechanisms. And the amusing thing to me is that likely means these two would love if that's all most people ever saw of them. (Of course, they clearly do want to be seen and accepted, but defense mechanisms become automatic over time because they often feel much safer. Likely another reason they clash so much - they see each other, and it is deeply uncomfortable for them both.)

So, you have Dazai defending himself with his two-faced nature, making jokes and/or manipulating everyone in the vicinity, and Chuuya defending himself with intimidation and anger, never letting any vulnerability show through because anger is easier but at the core of all of this is that loss and that grief and the sorrow and fear that pervades from it.

[morallyinept]

STRUNG UP - A Dave York Christmas One Shot

Summary: You and your husband Dave are decorating the tree for a surprise in the morning for your girls. However, you get testy with him, and Dave finds an inventive way to keep you in check.

Pairing: Dave York x Wife!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader has hair long enough to pull.)

Word Count: 3.5K

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/consensual restraint/husband & wife dynamics/very mild Daddy kink/Dave comes with his own warning.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Love me some angry Dave. Oof. 🥵

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

“Are you really going to moan all the way through this, baby?” 

His tone is clipped as he stares at you through a mask of stony lines on his smoothly shaved face.

The knot of Christmas lights inside his hands are wriggly; bulging like a serpent trying to coil itself around his arm, and if that isn’t enough to test his patience working through this mess, he now has to endure your sniping and muttering away under your breath at him too.

Like you have been, all day.

It’s the Holly Jolly time of year when all he wants to do is utterly stab someone in the neck. Dave’s fingers twitch at the mere thought of it. 

The most wonderful time of the year where predicted arguments always flare up over what gifts to get the girls, how many gifts to buy the girls.

Fisticuffs ensue about the gift wrap not being cut in a neat, straight line and the bow doesn’t match.

‘Shall we get a turkey or a salmon this year, Dave?’

‘I don’t like salmon.’

'Since when?'

'For the last 43 years of my life.'

'Oh. Then we’ll get a turkey.’

'Baby. The turkey is too big for the oven.'

‘Then we’ll get a small one.’

'But you always cook it until it’s dry...’ 

The time of year when all Dave really wants to do is get absolutely shitfaced to avoid making small talk with your father, and only have to stress over whether or not he’s going to make it to the bathroom to puke after one to many chasers, or whether it will just land over his dress shoes instead in a brown, lumpy puddle.

But no. He has to endure your temper tantrums and sulks, and watch as you shit over everything festive, and in return his Christmas mood is certainly darkening.

You’ve both planned to completely transform the lounge into a Christmas wonderland for the girls whilst they're asleep upstairs, and it isn’t exactly going according to plan.

First, Dave smacked the back of his head going up into the attic for the tree this afternoon and it still smarts now.

And you’ve done nothing but whinge all day about Amazon sending Molly’s stocking with her name spelt wrong on the stitching.

‘Dolly? We have a Dolly York now? Sounds like what you'd name a dog. Dolly.'

‘Baby, we have plenty of time to order another one.’

'That’s not the point, Dave. You expect some certain care when ordering a personalised gift. I’ve a good mind to call them and complain.’

'You already are…’

You throw a glare at him that leaves a black eye, and go back to pulling tinsel out of the box you’ve made him lug down from the attic, slighlty concussed.

The tree isn’t even fully put together yet he acknowledges; it’s still in pieces around the floor from where you had dragged it out of the box, and that grates on him also.

“You haven’t put it up yet, so why are you bothering with the decorations already?” Dave remarks sourly.

You glance briefly at the tree pieces as if they’ve offended you and carry on rummaging around inside the box.

“The star is missing.” You moan absentmindedly.

“No, it isn’t.”

“It’s not in the box here.”

“It has to be. It’s where I threw all that shit last year.” Dave sighs; his thumbs loop through the sting of lights as he pulls some out of the twisted chunk of wire and bulbs.

“Oh yeah? Then where is it, smartass?” You put to him with a scowl.

Dave rolls his eyes and stands, throwing the puzzle of lights to the floor and stomps over to the box.

“You know, if I find this star, I’m going to shove it up your ass!” He warns you with a frowny snarl. You sense he means it as well.

“I’m going shove it up your ass...” You mock, impersonating his voice.

He mutters obscenely to himself, grinding his teeth and swooping his large hands inside the box.

He tosses tinsel and baubles around like the choppy seas, and begins to panic inwardly when he can’t see any trace of it. It isn’t in there.

Shit.

“Told you,” you say, proudly.

Dave looks about the room, which resembles a band of elves that have thrown up glitter and stardust all around it, whilst you’re still throwing shade up in his face.

“Well, you look mighty fucking stupid now, baby. It’s there, in the fucking tinsel pile.” Dave says, reaching for it.

He then shoves it into your hand and snarls at you darkly.

He goes back to detangling the lights and you’re silent for a little while as you finally put the tree together.

You step back to look at it when it’s finally standing.

“It’s a little on the slant.” Dave remarks.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes. It is.”

“You need glasses.” You say, with a pout.

“I’m telling you, it’s wonky. If you want a wonky tree, then fine.” He huffs out, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ah fuck!” You step backwards - to examine the tree’s vertical straightness for yourself - and crush a wayward, escaped bauble with your foot.

“Careful, you’ll cut yourself!” Dave mutters as you kick away the broken pieces.

He’s managed to get a string of the lights spread out in front of him that are tangle-free at long last.

“Too late,” you huff, and plonk yourself down on the floor, pulling off your sock and examining the underside of your sole.

He comes up to you and has a look for himself, stroking the curve of your foot with his thick fingers when he informs you it’s just a light graze.

He tickles your arch gently and you throw another glare at him.

“Don’t.” You warn, knocking his hand away.

“You’re so fucking pissy today,” Dave says to you pouting; that bottom lip of his inflated and shiny as he mocks you with an unsympathetic growl.

You snatch your foot away from him and stand up with a deep set frown.

“Is it your time of the month or something?” Dave questions, with knitted eyebrows.

“Fuck you, asshole.” You snip back to him.

Dave sighs out and shakes his head. A petulant argument is not what he wants to endure anymore. He’s had enough of your crap. To Hell with you and your fucking wonky-ass tree.

“Fuck this shit; you can decorate the tree your damn self.” He decides that he isn’t going to entertain your drama anymore. Your moaning and grumbling all day has grated away on his last nerve.

“Yeah, well I don’t need your help anyway!” You yell after him.

“Keep it down, you’ll wake the girls up.” He seethes. He disappears out of the lounge like a hurricane. 

You sigh out in a massive huff and pick up the string of Christmas lights and plug them into the wall to test the bulbs aren’t blown.

How the hell do Christmas lights get tangled when they’ve been sitting in a box all year, answer me that? I mean, you roll them up carefully and neatly and then what, do they just move on their own volition or something the minute your damned back is turned? Quick, she’s not looking - tangle-tangle... Fuck!

You begin unwinding and weaving them whilst grinding on your teeth as you try in vain to separate them, but seemingly knotting them up the further you go, and undoing all of Dave’s work with them so far.

Meanwhile, Dave can hear you cursing away to yourself in the kitchen as he makes himself a strong coffee, feeling it best to stay out of your way or he’ll hang you with some tinsel if you carry on like this.

He reaches into the cupboard for a mug, sighing.

He can feel how wrangled and wrought his shoulders are, craning his neck from side to side as it cracks, realising that your shitty mood has now spread and infected him, and that shit isn’t going to fly. 

“Oh, Dave, you’ve tangled them up even worse than they were!”

He hears you berating him from the lounge, and he slams down his coffee mug on the counter top so hard, the bottom of it chips.

He forgets about the coffee maker, grinding his teeth when you huff out - a little louder and with added dramatics - from inside the lounge.

He marches straight in there, his mouth a hard, thin line and makes a beeline right for the lights. He tears them from your hands so fast they whip around his legs with the intense speed.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” You hiss at him, all snarls and scrunched up face.

He wraps the twinkling light string around his palm a few times as he stares down at you with hard, dark eyes.

"Get up." He growls.

"No."

Dave then yanks you up onto your feet as you yelp. “Turn around.” He instructs with a no-nonsense attitude. 

You shake your head and fold your arms in defiance.

“I said, turn a-fucking-round!” He hisses at you and pushes you against the sofa, shunting you forward so you’re bent over the arm of it.

Your arms go to your face to stop your fall, but he wrenches one back and you get a face full of cushion anyway.

“Dave, what the-”

You feel him wrap the light string around your wrist before he reaches for your other, quickly and skillfully, as you try to resist.

He snatches it back, his fingers tight around you. You feel him crush you against the couch with his pelvis, holding you in place, and can equally feel how hard he is against your behind. 

Dave pulls back your other arm and wraps the lights around, lashing your wrists together with them tightly.

“Untie me!” You muffle at him. “I’m fucking serious, Dave!”

You feel his hand slide over your mouth, squeezing your cheeks as you twist.

“I am sick to death of your fucking whining and moaning today, baby.” Dave says ignoring you, and you can tell he’s pissed off - majorly pissed off.

His usual jaunty, laid back mood was shit all over by your petulant ranting and sulking over something or other that he has no idea about, and frankly doesn’t care how or why it's bloomed in the first place.

Perhaps you’d just woken up that way, perhaps you’re PMSing like a bitch - hell, maybe he's even done something to fuck you off - it doesn’t matter.

It just needs to stop and it needs to stop now.

And he knows a way to get it out of your system.

He unbuckles his belt, you can hear the metallic chink of it, and he pulls down your leggings and panties revealing your ass and pussy sticking up at him.

Despite your protests, he can see how slick and shiny you are as it seeps from your lips. He zones in on your weeping cunt, like looking through the periscope of his MK14, and locks onto his target.

“Dave,” you whine.

"Dave," he impersonates. He spreads your cheeks to get a better look. Your pussy clenches, your slick glistens at him.

You feel him run the tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself in you.

"Dave, I... mmm, please..."

“Shut the fuck up.” He snaps to you and then shoves his cock deep inside you without any warning whatsoever.

“OH!” You cry out as he shunts, jolting your whole body forward further over the couch as he thrusts inside.

He fills you wholly; your cunt sucking him him as he grunts when he breaks through and bottoms out instantly. Your gasp is ragged, stolen from your throat.

You’re so wet, dripping; he knew you would be despite the angry front you'd presented to him - the moment he'd asserted his dominance over you, you were utterly frothing - you always were when Daddy ran the show.

“Oh fuck!” You groan out, as he snaps his hips into you in a brutal pace.

He holds onto the lights wrapped around your wrists, feeling the warmth ebb from them inside his palm. They make little, glowy silhouettes on your butt cheeks in brightly different colours as he ploughs into your sopping pussy.

“Ah yes!” You mewl as he fucks you hard.

"There we go," Dave grunts.

Your slick is more frothy around his cock each time he pulls out, seeing it shiny and bubbling around his shaft. Squelching over him, and it's a pleasant sensation that he can watch and enjoy all day.

He growls out in satisfaction at it.

An aggressive ballet ensues of him pulling you about as he drives himself deeper into you; your hands tied behind your back with those colourful lights glittering in blues, reds and oranges as he fucks you hard in the lounge amongst the clutter of Christmas baubles and streams of tinsel.

An explosion of festive carnage around you both as he goes to town on that pussy, fucking the bad mood, that has lingered over your head like a storm cloud all day, right out of you.

You can only stand there, bent over, and take it from your husband.

“Oh shit, Dave! Shit!” You pant out as your body shudders; hair sticking to your face, and you can feel it tangling inside your mouth as you whine out.

Your face is pushed further into the sofa cushions as he grunts and growls behind you moving at warp speed, muscular thighs slapping agaisnt your ass cheeks like someone in the room is clapping.

“What, nothing to say now, hmm?” Dave hisses in your ear, bending over you as his cock drives deeper inside your wet, fleshy lips.

"You've been running your mouth all day and now you're suddenly speechless, baby?"

He sweeps the hair out of your face, his mouth running the length of your jaw and he tugs at your ear lobe with his teeth. His breath is bouncing in the back of his throat as he puffs like he’s going for his morning run with each thrust he hammers into you.

You gasp out; breath and voice literally taken away by him ploughing so deeply into your pussy.

God, you’re always so tight around his cock, and the feeling of it blows his mind each time he enters you. It always feels so new and exciting, no matter how many times you’ve fucked since you’d got together all those years ago.

Even pushing out two of his kids hadn’t loosened you up that much, clearly you do your kegels. But taking you like this - punishing you with his cock - is the way to go about it today. No time for Mr Nice Guy.

“Love this tight pussy squeezing around my cock, baby,” he sighs out, standing back upright.

He grips a hold of your arms in the Christmas lights and pulls against them as he shunts into you.

He keeps you bent over and unable to move or repel against him; you’re just simply stuck there being fucked by him, exactly how he wants.

It’s a rough, hard fucking and all you can do is take it as you’re trussed up with the lights, face smooshed into the couch cushions whilst he does it and trying not to suffocate.

Teeth biting into your tongue to mute your whines and moans, but they still flow out of you anyway.

Dave wrenches you backwards so you’re standing upright a little, and steps with you so he can bend you over in the middle of the lounge without anything to support you now, just the lights keeping you anchored in his grip.

His hand slides up your front and grips around your throat, pushing your head up to him as he fucks you from behind.

"That's it, baby. Take my fucking cock."

Your eyes try to find him, darting into the back of your head as his fingers squeeze tightly around your jaw.

“Aaaahhh...” You cry out as he tunnels in deeper, pulling you back onto his dick and the hard, hammering sound of him inside you echoes around the room.

When he’s had enough of you like that, he lets you go, stretching out your back whilst he pulls his slacks off fully.

You clock him tugging off his sweater with a massive, angry and swollen boner protruding out of his pelvis.

Holy shit…

“Lay down on the floor. Put your arms above your head.” Dave instructs in an agitated growl and you comply, albeit with a brewing grin.

“Good, keep them there like that.” He warns and he slides your leggings off your legs completely.

“Shall I call you Daddy as well?” You tease, smirking at him whilst he glares at you.

Oh, he’s so hot when he’s mad...

“Don’t fucking push it,” Dave simply says as he slams back into you without warning again and you gasp; a loud, guttural moan emanating from the pits of your stomach. 

“But then, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh fuck!” You wail out, your eyes rolling straight into the back of your head, whites on show like you’ve been possessed as he works those hips back and forth like a machine gun.

“Yeah, who’s your fucking Daddy now, hmm?” Dave simply remarks with a slick grin as he jolts into you hard. “You want Daddy to fuck you some more?” He says in a condescending voice.

“Mmm, Dave! God yes...” You groan.

“Maybe this will shut you up now, hmm? All you needed was a good fucking, baby.”

“Yes... yes!”

“Maybe I should just leave you like this all Christmas... Hang you up on the tree!” He roars as he fucks you faster and like he’s trying to climb inside your body.

“Oh God!” You wail around him as your pussy starts leaking all over his cock again.

“Look at me when I make you come!” He demands, pulling your jaw towards him with his fingers and thumb clamping around it and forcing you to face him.

He feels you contract and jerk, your thighs shake and your neck cranes as your whole body tenses up before eventually letting go, and you soon flop under him like jelly, panting.

“Dave!” You rumble, your body shaking and all the tension that had surmounted all morning explodes out of you as the wrangled tension uncoils itself and you let it all go fully. “Fuuuccckkk!”

"That's it, baby. Like that. Come all over Daddy's cock..."

He fucks you exactly how it should be done; hard, and without any relenting or mercy. This man, your husband, can make your pussy sing, make it trib and hold the high notes without taking a beat.

“Oh, oh...”

“This is what happens when you're a moany bitch, baby.” He pants into your face, sweat forming in the line of his hair on his forehead.

“By that logic, I shall never stop moaning...” You chime out, hair splayed all over the floor and tangled in tinsel as you tense and shake.

Chuckling evilly, he rides you through your orgasm, only pulling out of your twitching pussy when he’s ready to shoot his load.

And he knows exactly where that’s going to go.

“Open your fucking whiny-ass mouth.” Dave instructs as he begins pumping himself, shuffling up your body on his knees either side of you on the carpet until he’s almost sat on your chest.

His cock is above your face as he pumps hard and fast. The slick sound of your wetness making it slap inside his palm.

You open up, tongue hanging out, and waiting for him to fill it.

He pumps out and grips a hold on his thigh, angling his cock towards your mouth as he comes, and it splashes across your lips and tongue where you swallow down what flows into your mouth.

“Fuck!” Dave grits as he watches you take it all, all of that glossy, thick cream and then lick the reddened tip of his cock, sucking on the end of it gently to get to the last of it.

He feels the tip of your tongue furrow into the slit of him and it makes him shudder.

“Mmm...” You groan, licking your lips and smirking up at him; your hands still trussed up in the lights above your head on the floor, and some of his come splashed across your cheeks.

Dave stands up, fully naked as the day he was made, except for his reindeer Christmas socks, as you still lay there on the floor, somewhat paralysed and utterly blissed out.

“Can you untie me before I get third degree burns from these lights?” You ask, sitting upright slowly.

Your hair looks like you've already been electrocuted - it's all over the place.

Dave pulls his sweater over his head and glances down at you somewhat indifferently. “Depends, are you going quit your whining now?” He asks you as he reaches for his slacks.

You nod and smile thinly at him. “I’ll try.”

He pads over and kneels down, running his thumb across your cheek, scooping his load onto it and holding it out for you. You suck it clean and you're convinced you can hear a tiny groan at the back of his throat.

Weaving the light string from around your wrists, he’s dismayed to find it tangled again in knots.

“For fuck’s sake...” He mutters as he plonks his butt on the floor and begins the arduous task of detangling them again.

You stand up once the feeling returns to your legs, and dress. You then retreat into the kitchen.

You come back in a few minutes later with a steaming hot coffee for him, and place it beside him on the floor. 

“Peace offering.” You say, stepping over his long legs.

“Thank you, darling.” Dave mutters.

“See, I’m not a complete bitch after all,” you smirk.

“We’ll see how the next hour or so goes, shall we?” Dave remarks looking up at you with the bundle of glowy lights in his palms.

“Maybe I’ll do it on purpose, you know so Daddy can tie me up and punish me again...” you peep, grinning.

You hear Dave snicker through a snort, and look down at him to see his piercing, dark eyes stare you out over the rim of his coffee cup. 

You reach up and put the star on top of the slightly askew Christmas tree proudly. “Perfect.”

“It’s still wonky.” He replies.

"Don't start." You scold, reaching for the tinsel.

Dave doesn’t say anything else about it when you pick up a bauble and simply toss it at his head.

He notes that bold move down mentally. Daddy will make you pay for that later.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

[cemeterything]

youre so smart. i read some of your analyses of tma and the terror and i feel inadequate bc i like inspecting themes in media too but i cant do it in the same capacity and depth. every thought ive ever had feels so shallow in comparison. how have you come to be this way if you dont mind me asking

i've always been an avid Analyzer of my surroundings both irl and in fiction due to my struggle to understand basic human behavior compelling my fascination with human psychology, morality and social structures, and the themes and categories those tend to follow in fiction are extremely attractive to me as someone who likes predictable structures and patterns (and deviations from them), so i guess it's just years of practice and an inclination for the subject? honestly i often feel like my analyses are inadequate because i lack a lot of formal literary analysis training despite my passion for it; i haven't read as widely or as comprehensively as i'd like on the subject. so i'm really glad it's still effective and impressive ^_^

[hephaestuscrew]

"With a goddamn harpoon": The significance of Minkowski's weapon of choice within the narrative and characterisation of Wolf 359

TL;DR: Despite its initial comic role, the harpoon becomes a important symbol of Minkowski as a character; it is particularly associated with her desperate need for control, her desire to keep her crew safe, her stubborn determination, and her occasional unpredictability. These associations add to the narrative significance when Minkowski kills Cutter with the harpoon. 

[Tagging people who said they wanted to be tagged: @browncoatparadox @captain-lovelace @goblincaveofvibes ]

~~~

Ep21 Minkowski Commanding

First appearance 

We first encounter the harpoon in Minkowski Commanding, which is a significant episode for Minkowski's characterisation because it's the first big departure from Eiffel's point-of-view into Minkowski's. It's arguably the most Minkowski-centred episode in the whole show, so it stands out when we think about her as a character.

EIFFEL (over comm) Um, Minkowski? Why is the armory wide open, and also, apparently, robbed? Where's the tactical knives kit? MINKOWSKI Don't worry. I've got that. EIFFEL Oh. And the M4 carbine? The, like, really-dangerous-in-space, select-fire M4 carbine? MINKOWSKI Yeah, I've got that too. EIFFEL And this empty rack I'm looking at right now with a label that says "harpoon" suggests that... MINKOWSKI Yes. I have it, Eiffel.

The harpoon is introduced as part of a list of over-the-top weapons that Minkowski takes on her plant-monster-hunting mission. It's initially just a funny moment to emphasise how seriously she's taking this mission. The weapons arguably increase in unlikeliness as Eiffel lists them, and it's a comic image to think of Eiffel deducing the situation from the empty rack labeled 'harpoon'. It could have been an entirely throw-away joke that was never brought up again. The M4 carbine never comes up again. The tactical knives kit is mentioned in Knock, Knock, but not in a plot-significant or symbolic way. 

'Goddamn harpoon' speech

So why does the harpoon become such an iconic part of Minkowski's brand (and I'm pretty certain it was seen as significant by fans long before the finale)? It's got to be because of the next time it's mentioned, when Minkowski talks to the plant monster in the same episode:

MINKOWSKI (getting psyched up) You wanna play with me, huh? You wanna run rings around me? The joyless, boring, predictable old Minkowski? She can't stop you, right? Not someone as smart and powerful as you. You've got her pegged. Good. Get complacent. Get smug. That's right when you'll find me waiting for you. With a goddamn harpoon.

There's so much to say about this speech and what it reveals her character. For one thing, it's all projection - we have no real indication of what (if anything) the plant monster thinks of Minkowski. We don't even really know how much understanding it has when listening to her talk. She imagines that this silent adversary would call her "joyless, boring, predictable". I suspect that these are all things that she's been called a fair bit in the past. (To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if they are all things that Eiffel called her at one point.)

But the harpoon is proof against - if not the accusation of joylessness - the idea that Minkowski is boring and predictable. Boring and predictable people don't opt for a harpoon for fighting on a spaceship when plenty of more conventional weapons available. A harpoon is unexpected, and there's a kind of power in that.

Another interesting thing about that speech is that the whole thing would make at least as much sense - if not more - if it was directed at Cutter. In Sarah Shachat's episode commentary on Minkowski Commanding (part of the bonus material available to buy here), she says that Minkowski "is really speaking to Cutter in this moment". It's made clear that Minkowski's behaviour in Minkowski Commanding is not just about the plant monster itself. She tells Eiffel, "I have to take it seriously! If I can eliminate one threat, just one, then we are that much closer to going home!" 

The specifics of the plant monster's location, abilities, and origin are mysterious, but - unlike many of the other forces threatening the safety of Minkowski's crew - it is at least tangible and harpoon-able and not light years away. Hunting the plant monster is a way for Minkowski to assert control when so much is outside of her control. It's an attempt to demonstrate that she is - as she puts it - "in charge of this disaster". Minkowski treats the plant monster as a physical symbol of all the threats her crew are facing, and so the harpoon becomes a physical symbol of her fierce (if sometimes misguided) determination to take control of the situation and fight back against those threats to protect her crew.

The line "you'll find me waiting for you. With a goddamn harpoon" is one that sticks in the mind, especially since - with one notable exception - 'goddamn' is about as potent as swearwords get on this show. And it's the harpoon that she uses to give specificity to the threat. 

Absurdity

A harpoon is powerful and threatening, which is exactly what Minkowski is trying to convey to the plant monster, but in this context - not only on dry land but on a spaceship - it's also kind of absurd. From the way we hear it fire in the finale, we can tell that it's more like a speargun than a hand-thrown harpoon spear, but it's still an out-of-place weapon for space-based combat. Minkowski's already been shown to have a penchant for archaic weaponry, after her drunken enthusiasm over the cannon during the talent show incident, which is largely played for laughs. Similarly, in the episode commentary for Minkowski Commanding, Sarah Shachat says that the harpoon was introduced mostly just because it was funny; "[including a harpoon] was me sort of embracing the Moby Dick of it all. And I had no idea at the time how much importance that silly harpoon would take on." 

Eiffel makes a Moby Dick reference himself ("10 days of Captain Ahab's Space Walkabout"). I haven't read Moby Dick so I can't properly analyse the significance of this reference, but the initial prominence of the harpoon (traditionally a whaling tool) enables that connection. It feels like a good example of the classic Wolf 359 thing where something comedic has the potential to take on a deeper significance. It conjures an image of Minkowski as a Captain with the potential to be consumed by a single-minded mission to destroy... A potential that she resists in the conclusion to Minkowski Commanding when she chooses to leave the plant monster alone. The harpoon also fits with the sprinkling of nautical imagery and language in Wolf 359 (e.g. the repeated use of the word 'boat'), as well as the retro-futuristic feel of the Hephaestus.

We never learn why there's a harpoon on the Hephaestus. It seems like yet another of those bizarre unexplained quirks of the station, like the items in the storage room where Eiffel finds Box 953. Even when the weird mysterious features of the Hephaestus are depicted in a comedic way, these features are still a demonstration of the fact that the characters are in an environment that they don't understand and that their surroundings have been shaped according to the whims of Command.

I think we can assume none of the members of the Hephaestus crew brought a harpoon up with them. For whatever reason, someone at Goddard Futuristics must have decided to put a harpoon in that armory. Like most things in the crew's lives, the harpoon is owned by Goddard Futuristics. So the way Minkowski uses the harpoon could be seen as an instance of reclaiming something from Goddard and their control over her surroundings (in a similar way to how her crew are able to utilise the maze-like structure of the Hephaestus to their advantage when hiding first from the SI-5 and later from Cutter and the crew of the Sol).

Other mentions of the harpoon

The harpoon doesn't actually make another physical appearance until the finale, when it truly comes into its own. But there are a couple of little hints before then that it has become a part of Minkowski's brand amongst the other characters as well as to the listeners. These mentions remind the listener about the harpoon, so we don't forget about it before its big comeback in the finale.

Ep27 Knock, Knock

EIFFEL [to Minkowski] Like getting rid of all the weapons, for a start. We should gather up all the guns, the tactical knives, your harpoon. Put it all in the arms locker, seal that sucker up, and put the key in one of Hera's service canisters.

In this quote, Eiffel refers to it as "your harpoon" - the only weapon he ascribes ownership to here. He sees it as something she's laid claim to. He also thinks the harpoon is worth mentioning specifically, which suggests that he thinks that Minkowski would reach for it first if she was feeling particularly violent. This reinforces the idea that the harpoon has become a symbol of Minkowski's character. This connection is also strengthened by the fact that the harpoon is also never mentioned in relation to anyone other than Minkowski using it.

Ep45 Desperate Measures

LOVELACE [to Kepler] Yeah, right. Nobody knows this station like Alexander Hilbert. He knows every nook, cranny, hidden room - everything. And as back up he's got the only woman's who's ever turned outer space monster hunting into a recreational sport. You'll never see them coming... until all of a sudden there's a harpoon in your face, and you end up on the operating table of the finest medical sadist that Goddard Futuristics ever produced.

Lovelace mentions the harpoon and specifically refers to Minkowski's plant-hunting exploits, even though she didn't witness them. So we know that someone has told her that story. And what she's taken away from hearing the story is an emphasis on Minkowski's harpoon and an admiration for her determination. I don't think Minkowski was the one to tell Lovelace about her plant-monster-hunting mission, because I don't think she's necessarily proud of it. I suspect it was Eiffel who told her - he's the most natural storyteller of the group. In Mutually Assured Destruction, soon after meeting Lovelace for the first time, he says "Nobody's told you about the Plant Monster yet? So, funny story..." And I believe  Eiffel would have told the story of Minkowski's plant monster hunt in a way that conveyed both the ridiculousness of her behaviour but also a kind of awe at her boldness and persistence.

The tone of "all of a sudden there's a harpoon in your face" is pretty similar to "That's right when you'll find me waiting for you. With a goddamn harpoon". Once again, the harpoon is portrayed as something that the Hephaestus crew's adversary won't expect, something that will play a key role in that adversary's defeat. You might almost think something was being foreshadowed here…

Characterisation through Weaponry

When we think of the harpoon as a symbol of Minkowski as a character, it seems worth drawing a comparison with the only other Wolf 359 character who I think has a form of weaponry as a big part of their brand: Jacobi and his explosives. While a harpoon certainly has a lot of potential for violence (a potential which Minkowski utilises), it is targeted and intentional in a way that bombs don't tend to be. It's harder to have collateral damage with a harpoon, and I think that reflects a difference between Minkowski and Jacobi's approach to conflict.

A harpoon isn't really designed for combat - it's for hunting whales and other marine animals. It feels significant that Minkowski's key weapon of choice - the one she threatens the plant monster with and kills Cutter with - isn't the weapon of a soldier. She took an assault rifle with her to hunt the plant monster, but that wasn't the weapon she held onto. She's not a natural soldier, even if she'd sometimes like to think she is. 

Maxwell's Death

When Minkowski kills Maxwell, it's with a gun, not a harpoon. She's trying to be a soldier there. She's trying to do what she has to. I don't know much about how a harpoon is fired, but I've a feeling that there's less uncertainty about whether a harpoon was fired deliberately than a gun; the ambiguity around Minkowski's agency in Maxwell's death is a key part of the story that wouldn't work with a harpoon. But perhaps more importantly, I don't think there's meant to be a sense of victory or relief in Maxwell's death, unlike Cutter's. The harpoon - as a weapon that has become strongly identified with Minkowski as a character - is saved for moments when Minkowski is asserting her power in an active way that she isn't conflicted about. 

Ep61 Brave New World

About a third of the way into the finale, there's another indirect mention of the harpoon:

RACHEL Y-yes, sir… Umm, we also picked up some chatter on their weaponry supplies… Firearms, explosives, something about a harpoon…

This is a nice little reference which reminds the listener of the harpoon in anticipation of its big moment later on in this episode, while once again playing with its incongruity in a list of more typical combat weapons. Given that Minkowski and co. have guessed that they are being listened in on here, their choice to talk about the harpoon might be seen as their way of having a bit of fun, or it might be seen as their way to imply the same threat that Minkowski made to the plant monster. Cutter had warning, but he didn't heed it.

Which brings us, of course, to the harpoon's most significant moment:

Cutter frowns. Then he hears it: CLA-CLUNK! His eyes widen.  MINKOWSKI Let's see you catch this.  FWUUUMP! An ENORMOUS THING IS SHOT. A moment later, Cutter COLLIDES AGAINST THE WALL, IMPALED.  MR. CUTTER ... a... harpoon? That's not... how this is... supposed... to... He struggles for a few more moments...and then he stops.

This scene is a classic instance of Wolf 359 utilizing the audio medium to leave a significant element of the situation unknown to the listener until the right moment. We don't know that Minkowski is carrying the harpoon. We don't know that she's readying it as Lovelace talks. When we hear something fire, there's a moment where a listener might or might not have realised exactly what just fired. It's Cutter who delivers the glorious revelation. It gives the moment an additional burst of triumph that Cutter's final words are an expression of shock, not just that he has been defeated but at the weapon with which the killing blow was struck.

Human unpredictability 

It's not just that Minkowski kills Cutter with a harpoon; it's also that she wouldn't have been able to kill him without it. He can catch bullets after all, so Minkowski and Lovelace's guns are basically useless. Cutter thinks he's therefore invincible, but he hasn't accounted for the possibility that Minkowski might have a less conventional weapon on hand, one which fires larger projectiles that he can't catch so easily. The fact that she's carrying an unexpected weapon - a weapon that might have seemed ridiculous - is what allows her to defeat Cutter and therefore to survive. 

It's a repeated theme in Wolf 359 that the protagonists' strength is not that they are the most powerful or they behave in the most logical ways, but that they are complicated and human and unpredictable and very much themselves - all of the things that Cutter and Pryce don't want in their 'ideal humanity'. When Minkowski kills Cutter with the harpoon, it's a victory for human unpredictability and individual idiosyncrasies.

Making good on her promise

Thinking back to Minkowski Commanding, we can see that the threat Minkowski made to the plant monster absolutely came true with Cutter. He got complacent. He got smug. (I'd argue that smugness has always been one of his key attributes.) And he found her waiting for him, with a goddamn harpoon. The return of the harpoon for this moment suggests the defeat of Cutter is a culmination of some of the motivations and traits that Minkowski showed when hunting the plant monster, now channeled in a more suitable direction. She continued trying to get them "that much closer to going home". Her - sometimes absurd - determination provides a throughline from an episode that was mostly comedic (Minkowski Commanding) to a dramatic emotionally powerful finale. As Sarah Shachat put it in her audio commentary, Minkowski "makes good on her promise [that she makes in her harpoon speech in Minkowski Commanding]. That's why she's a hero."

It's significant that Cutter dies from an unlikely weapon that is so strongly identified with Minkowski. It makes that moment feel like truly hers (although she is of course right that she couldn't have done it without Lovelace - that's called being part of a crew). 

As the Commander, it feels apt that Minkowski is the one to kill the long-standing 'big bad'. Pryce is arguably the same level of antagonist as Cutter, but he's the one that we've been aware of since we became aware of larger sinister forces at work in this narrative. 

And if Minkowski has a personal nemesis, it's Cutter. He's the one who recruited her into the hellscape that is the Hephaestus. He played on her ambitions to get her where he wanted her. She trusted him the way she trusted the official chain of authority at the start of the mission. And that trust was extremely misplaced.

The significance of Minkowski being the one to kill Cutter is highlighted by the fact that she kills him with a weapon that only she uses, a weapon that links us back to her behaviour 40 episodes earlier. The sense of control that she was desperately seeking in Minkowski Commanding might not be completely within her grasp by the end of the finale, but she's reclaimed a piece of it by defeating the man who has been exerting control over her life for so long. And she did it with that goddamn harpoon.

[uyuartik]

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

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

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: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight. 

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say. 

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.  

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan. 

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered.  You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

 A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

 ===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention. 

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence. 

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.” 

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing?  “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn��t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”  

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

 “I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

 === 

 “I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning. 

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.”