#i have been working on it lately. its kind of a mess bc i was emailing it back and forth to myself

[elftwink]

also i have promised myself that i will finish that stupid widofjord fake married fic before i graduate which i realize for other people who see me post about this once a semester and otherwise never hear hide nor hair of this fucking document are like 'sure jan' but this post is not for you it's for ME to be publicly accountable. my convocation is in june so sometime between then and now you will be seeing my masquerade heist fic mark my fucking words

[aechlys]

I like touching the words and feeling them up with my grubby little hands for all they're worth.

[cillianhead]

Strawberry Syrup || Cillian Murphy

summary: A hot day by the pool with your desperate boyfriend <3

Warnings: SMUT!! Dubcon Themes, Unprotected P in V, oral (f receiving), fingering, sex in the pool, public sex, Daddy kink, Food Play (LISTEN.... DON'T ACTUALLY DO THIS STUFF BC ITS UNSANITARY!! (it could give you a UTI or a yeast infection or anything like that D: ), sorta switch!Cillian, squirting, Adult content!! (some sorta self insert bits that are a bit toooooo personal but it's just like a mention of reader having tattoos and stuff hehe) (Age Gap mentions, Cillian is older, Reader is in her mid 20s and he's in his mid 30s) (Cillian is a horndog in this basically)

Short fic since I haven't uploaded anything in a while.

((also stuff in italics... is sort of like memories or something (so stuff in italics isn't necessarily related to the plot... but it's gonna be mixed throughout the whole fic so just a reminder the stuff that is ITALICISED is all stuff that's either "thoughts" or "memories of the past"))

(also currency is talked about and I used the words "dollars" and "cents" because that's just what I'm used to saying? But I know there's like pounds and all the other currencies there are KDSKDSKD)

18+ MINORS DNI

Cillian had been incredibly needy lately, following you everywhere you went like a lost puppy. He just wanted your attention even though he got plenty of it. Well... maybe not this past week. Cillian and you went at it like rabbits, like at least three times a day everyday kind of thing. But you wondered how long it would take for him to get on his knees and beg after getting denied over and over and over again for you to give him (and specifically his raging boner) any sort of attention. You were surprised you had made it even to the seven-day mark. But here you were.

Cillian had turned into a total cranky mess. And you were loving it. Of course, he could get himself off... that's what made it so good, every morning you'd pretend you're asleep while you listened to the sound of him whimpering and whining like a bitch in heat and fisting his cock as he got off to the sight of you 'sleeping'.

And fuck the sweltering summer air didn't help. The aircon was broken and you'd gone through a dozen fans, trying to blow away the hot air. But the heat was making Cillian feel stir-crazy. He had to have you. No matter how hot it was, no matter how sweaty or dehydrated, he had to have you right fucking now.

He had done about a thousand fucking laps of his substantially large swimming pool, trying to work his pent-up frustration and energy out but it only did so well. He had swam until his legs were cramped up, and his eyes stung from the chlorine, leading them to be bloodshot and somehow miraculously making his eyes even bluer (bluer than the aquamarine pool). And there you lie. In that bikini you know is too tight. And he thinks to himself 'Why do you even bother to be in your bikini when it's just the two of us and I can fucking see your entire pussy through that thing anyway?'. You're reading some romance novel, and you're wet but not from the pool. Cillian is rock hard in his soaking and tight swimming shorts, the head of his cock is barely concealed from peaking out. He's dripping wet and he's angry.

"Why de fuck have you been denying me of sex for the past.... 7 days and 15 hours or however de fuck long it's been, girl?" He huffed, sitting down and carelessly grabbing your book (which was fucking printed and published in the 70s... IT CAN'T HANDLE THE WATER) and tossing it to the side, onto the wet ground. You gasp and reach out to grab your book that's been smashed in like a yam and wet and torn apart but Cillian grabs you by your forearms, brushing your new fresh tattoo (the reason you weren't swimming) and making you hiss.

"Ow... why would you do that, Cillian?" You scolded, wriggling in his hold. But you knew what was happening... he was finally taking charge. The thing you loved most about Cillian was how he was so giving and so desperate to please you at all times, like an obedient dog. He was madly in love with you and submissive to your demands, anything you wanted, you'd get. And you'd boss him around in the bedroom but that was fine because Cillian was in love with your pussy too, and whatever it took to get it, he'd do it... even if he had to dress up as a clown to do so. But he was also controlling when he got it most of the time. Though he was nearing 35, he was still like a teenager when it came to you. Dick was hard at just the sight of you and he immediately would need your hand or your mouth (if he was lucky) or even your tight pussy that always wrapped around him so perfectly. It didn't matter where you were... if he was driving, he'd get it... if you were in a public park on a Sunday night, he'd get it... if you were in a grocery store on a Black Friday sale (he'd get it), waiting in line as he ground himself into your ass until he came in his pants... It looked like he was just hugging you from behind. But you had to stand there in horror as he did so because you couldn't make a scene.

"Answer me question... babe..." He whispered as he pressed you down into the softly cushioned sunbathing chair. You were both being cooked in the sun but you were both lathered in sunscreen so it was fine. Oh, the horror on Cillian's face as he watched slather the white creamy liquid over your tits and rubbed the lotion in so incredibly sexually. You didn't even let him touch your tits for this whole week, he was suffering. But Cillian didn't care that his back was already beginning to sunburn, he fucking needed you now and honestly he was so pussy-hungry that he didn't care what it takes to get his dick inside of you. In his eyes you were the lamb and he was the depraved wolf, drooling at the sight of your trembling body beneath him. Ready to be covered in your blood.

"I just..." You shook your head and smiled to yourself, laughing out air as you bit your lip. "I just thought maybe I was letting you have it too much... you were becoming too spoiled..."

"What does that even mean?" He huffed and leaned in, resting his full body weight on top of you so you couldn't move and his hips were aligned with yours so his hard cock could press upright against your nice and warm core. Though still through his swimmers and your thin little bikini thong.

"F-Fuck..." You whimpered, honestly, you had been suffering too... even your vibrator couldn't do it for you, and just the mere pressure of his thick cock up against you... you felt like you could cum. You arched your back involuntarily. "I just... fuck... thought maybe we needed a tolerance break?"

"A fuckin' tolerance break... I'm not a drug darlin' and neither are you, baby you're just depriving yourself of what you need..." He growled right into the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your neck. "Let me in..." He was a bit drunk and horribly depraved and his voice was like gravel.

"Beg for it," You whispered out and Cillian groaned, this time fully collapsing in on you and laying his head in the crook of your neck, rocking his hips back and forth on yours. He humped you lazily and you allowed it, enjoying the whines he was making and the pleasure that was pulsing within you.

"Please... fucking hell... please..." He moaned with a cry. "I need you so bad... my hand won't do... it just won't do... please Y/N... please baby... let me fuck you... please... let me at least get a taste of ya once again..."

"Show me how good you can go down on me baby and I'll see if you're good enough to put your dick in me..." You hummed and he sighed as he began kissing you sloppily. "You can leave one mark... Cillian... ONE..."

"Thank you... thank you, sweet girl..." Cillian whined, hands beginning to cup your body cautiously. He was so afraid he was going to do something wrong and suddenly you'd deny him even the pleasure of having your clit in his mouth. But as he kissed down your chest his fingers trembled hesitantly over your bikini top, tits begging to be released. "Can I? Please?"

"Go ahead, Cill..." You hummed with a smug smile on your face. His hands instantly moved at your words of approval, tugging the fabric from off of your nipples and popping it into his mouth with a moan. Cillian's eyes closed as he sighed from his nose, finally satisfied for now. His thumb twiddled with your other nipple, causing you to let out breathy whimpers. "F-Fuck... Cillian..."

"Mmmm..." He groans, slobber dripping from his lips as he continues to rut himself into your hips. Cillian's hair was all messy from when he'd been in the pool, ends curling and falling over his face. He looked so pretty with your tit in his mouth.

"You're all mine..." You whispered, running your thumb along his razor-sharp cheekbone, skin softer than silk. "You're my property aren't you, Cillian?" You grabbed him by the nape of his neck, tugging on the roots of the longer hair that grew there. You pulled his head off of your nipple, his mouth agape and he whines like a brat.

"I'm yours, Y/N..." He huffs, leaning back down to keep sucking but you pulled harder on his neck as if he were a misbehaving kitten. "F-Fuck... I'm your property... darling... all yours... please... I just... I just want to please you..." "I know, honey..." You cooed with a smirk as you reached over to the table beside you and picked a strawberry from the batch and popped it in your mouth, sucking on it suggestively. "That's why you're gonna eat me out like your life depends on it..." You're amused as you watch him scramble to lie flat on his stomach between your legs and he watches as you take off your bikini bottoms and spread your legs open wide. His pupils dilated immediately at the sight.

"I've missed this so much," He whines, his voice breaking as he leans in and kisses your pussy. His eyes flutter close at the little taste of you, his mouth hovering ever so slightly above your cunt, not quite touching. His lips touch you again and as he licks up your pussy he moans and fully presses himself in there, snout buried into your clit as his tongue flickered in and out of your gushing hole.

"O-Oh... that's it..." You arch your back as you push his head further into your warmth. He was completely breathing you in now as your thighs squeezed your head but eventually, you felt two hands grab ahold of your shaky thighs and pin them down side by side until you were spread out. It was concerning how easily he was able to bend and shape you into different positions, molding you like clay. It helped that he was impossibly strong as he manhandled you down into this position, eating you out for his own pleasure, not yours.

You were a writhing mess and you felt embarrassed to admit that you were about to cum. "Fuck you need to slow down... need to slow down a bit for me... Cill..." You whimpered, moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear but you didn't care. But he only sped up, devouring you completely.

He was truly eating your pussy like his life depended on it because it did. Nothing else mattered to him but drinking down the sweet juice that your fruit of a pussy gave him. You may not be a drug but he was addicted to your cunt like it was one. Cillian had an obsession with you and he had an obsession with your perfect so-called 'heavenly' pussy. He wrote songs about you, he wrote poems about the euphoria of having your tight walls wrapped around him at all times, even during. Wet ink on wet skin, black ink smeared across your stomach as he wrote words that were coming into his mind, words you had inked on your skin with a tattoo machine later on.

"Cillian..." You whined loudly, your moan was pornographic, and with the way he could feel your heartbeat pounding against his tongue as he swirled it around your clit. His mouth was masterful and precise as you came on his face. He knew how to make you cum in a way no other did. You truly were soulmates. At least that's what he said. The sound of your whiny voice and how incredibly wet your pussy was, he just knew. So he slipped a finger into you and you seized up and cried as your body spasmed with pleasure. Only one finger made it feel like you were being stretched right open, you were always so tight and wet, and yet you could take so much. You knew he knew he had earned it... he had that look in those steel blue eyes, that cheeky look, full of mischief and lust that he knew it was okay for him to slip a finger in without asking because he was preparing you for what was to come.

"Fuck... Fuck... oh my god..." You had such a dirty mouth but you couldn't help the pathetic and inappropriate words or sounds you were making right now. Your consciousness and being were elsewhere as Cillian pushed you over the edge once more into an impending and mind-shattering orgasm. He slipped in a second finger and you mewled as you felt your cunt uncontrollably spasm as it squirted out onto Cillian's face and soaking his face oncemore. It was as if he had dived right into that 2 meters of water, soaking his entire face and chest, some of it even getting in his hair.

"Give it to me, baby girl... that's it..." He mumbled into your quivering pussy, your clit growing numb. One of his hands moved from its other position on keeping your hips in place to your nipples. He knew you so well and he knew all the buttons to push to make it that much better. It was overwhelming.

"O-Okay... Okay... that's enough... please... Cillian... please..." You cry tapping the top of his head impatiently and hesitantly he slipped his fingers from your sticky cunt and sat back up, pulling your legs over his so his crotch was perfectly aligned with your overstimulated pelvis. "Cillian... baby... I just need a moment..."

"Yeah? That's alright, my love," He whispered and he leaned in and kissed you, smearing your lips and face with your own cum. But at this point you were too drunk on your own pleasure to care, his lips to pretty... too irresistable to deny a kiss. That's one thing you hadn't denied him of... your lips. To kiss of course... nothing else. You made out like horny teenagers but you never did anything... barely touching him over his clothes. Just to get him really hot and bothered.

"I love you..." You whispered into his mouth that's dripping with drool and squirt.

"I love you more," He huffed and laid on you, lying his head on one of your tits and sighing happily. He looked over at all the fruit lying on the table that looked almost as delicious as you. "God that looks like good fruit..."

"Yeah..." You ran your fingers along his freckled back, muscles sculpted perfectly over his pointy shoulder blades. "Got them at the store yesterday... erm... they were on sale for like... two dollars and ninety cents or something..." You shrugged heavily as you began running your fingers through his hair.

"Wow... is that all? That's amazing..." He chirped and he raised his head up to look at your pretty face. "Well... did I prove myself to you, my darling girl?" "Y-Yeah... fuck... you really wanna do it right now?" You mumbled as you looked up into his eyes with a gaze full of love. You were still so sensitive from what had just happened, you hadn't cum like that for A WHOLE WEEK. You felt like you just took a dose of ecstasy. "Can we just cuddle for a bit?"

"Hmm...." He sighed, sitting up on the chair now and gazing down at how sticky your pussy looked and then at the strawberries that looked just as ripe and appetizing. He nodded. "Alright... baby... I'll give ya a little break..." He reached over and grabbed a strawberry from the bunch. It was red like the bruise he left on your neck. And as he bit into the juicy strawberry, he thought of you.

"Is it good?" You asked as you sat up a bit on the chair more and reaching out for one yourself.

"So good," He moaned with a mouthful of strawberry syrup and pulp. "Tastes like you."

"What?" You laughed and blushed as you ate your own strawberry. "You're so stupid..." You snickered as you ate.

"It's just the truth," He shrugged, the tops of his shoulders were flushed from the hot sun but the both of you were enjoying the warmth. "I love you... I am so in love with you... I am the luckiest man alive..."

"God shut up..." You rolled your eyes and smiled bashfully at his praising. But he loved it when you played it coy with him, he thought you were so cute. And he thought you could never look more beautiful, sunkissed and warm in the sun with him. Your hair is a mess and your tits are out and still wet from his spit. The straps of your bikini still help to accentuate your features and make you look like a treat he needs to unwrap.

"God I can't wait to put my cock in you..." He whispered as he pressed the tip of a strawberry to your sternum. The cold perked you up a bit as you watched him drag the strawberry down your stomach and onto your recovering pussy. He pressed the ruby red fruit onto your sticky clit and ran it down even further.

"Cillian... what are you doing... don't-" But you were interrupted by the feeling of an intrusion. He pressed the tip of the rather large and bulbous strawberry into your cunt, soaking it in your ambrosia-like cum. "Oh... Oh my god..." He pressed it in slightly deeper until he was only clutching at the stem and then he pulled it out intact and popped the tip of it into his mouth.

"Mmmm...." He bit into it and pulled it away, the strawberry juice dripping from his lips as he spoke. "Perfect.... so... fucking.... divine..."

You laid back and huffed out. "I can't believe you just did that... oh my god..."

"Did it feel like a cock?" Cillian asked bluntly and with a stupid-cocky grin on his face. "Tell me, Y/N... when you let me put a strawberry in that little cunt of yers... did it feel as good as when I have my dick in ya?" He leaned in and whispered right into your ear as he pressed the open strawberry to your clit and you let out a gasp.

"N-No..." You shook your head and closed your eyes shut. "It didn't... you shouldn't have done that..."

"Tell me how badly you want me inside you..." Cillian was using that voice he knew got to you. That deep and raspy bedroom voice... if he spoke like that to you always... you would commit heinous crimes for him if he told you so. "C'mon... like you said earlier... beg for it... like yer life depends on it..."

You were flustered at the switch in control. You found yourself suddenly helpless to the pleasure that was accumulating within you, a strawberry rubbing your sticky clit in the most perfect rhythm. Cillian was a dirty-minded man when it came to you... and he smirked as he watched you give in to it... you let him get you off with a literal strawberry.

The strawberry juice leaked down your already sopping pussy, making it the perfect treat for Cillian to lean down and make out with your sex and suck up the juice left behind from the fruit. He still feverishly rubbed the half-bitten fruit against your throbbing clit while he licked circles around your hole... where you really needed him.

"Pl-Please... Cillian..." You moaned pathetically, you hated when he made you beg. You let out a bratty huff and rolled your eyes. "Please... I need you..."

"Need me to what?" He smirked as he bit into the strawberry now, one finger inside of you, fingering your g-spot. He was finished with the fruit, mind now fully focused on you as he made you cum all over his fingers, readying you for the stretch of his cock.

"Cillian..." You whined.

"Be a good girl now..."

"Fuck... please... I need you to fuck me... need you to cum in me..." You added that last part with a smirk. You didn't let Cillian cum inside of you always, just to mix it up a little because you knew there was no other feeling out there for him that was like cumming inside of you, it was euphoric for him. You liked playing hard to get. "Please... daddy... put your babies in me?" You reached your hand up and tugged on the chain you had got him for his birthday. And you looked up at him with doe-like eyes that you knew would get him to give in to you and your pleading.

He kissed you instantly and undid his shorts to pull his suffering cock out. It was sensitive and painfully hard and he couldn't wait to bust a load into you. Especially if you were calling him daddy.

"Such a good girl..." He praised as he lined the thick head of his cock up with your pussy. He smeared you with the leaking precum and as he pressed into you, he sighed with pleasure. "I missed being inside you... so much..." Cillian whispered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Please... oh my god..." You arched your back as he stretched you open with his veiny cock. "Daddy...." You cried. "Please... kiss me..."

"Aw... how sweet..." He cooed condescendingly to you as he leaned in and connected your lips but as you opened your mouth he spat right onto your tongue and grabbed ahold of your jaw. "Swallow..." He growled and you did just that and swallowed his spit obediently. "That's right... baby... you belong to me..."

His hips moved and you were deemed speechless as he began fucking you. Your fence only went so high, if someone next door went on their top balcony or even opened their curtains they would see Cillian fucking you like you were in some sort of porno film. You were seeing stars as he rocked his hips in and out of you. It was graceful in the way he moved, like a ballet dancer, every move perfectly choreographed and precise. The tip of his cock was abusing your g-spot repeatedly, to the point you were barely coherent enough to speak. Body limp and mind blank as you were used for all you were good for.

His hands gripped at your hips tightly, rocking you back and forth as he moaned like the slut he was. Cillian was loving every second of this as he thrusted his hips back and forth perfectly spearing you on his cock. You clutched the chair with your left hand and the other left scratch makrs down his poor sunburnt back. But the pain was worth it, the feeling of your warm sticky walls wrapped around him... well... it felt like home. And his eyes rolled into the back of his head as you squeezed around him, he fucked you like an animal, gripping one of your tits in his palm, squeezing it and groaning once more as you clenched around him.

"Daddy.... I'm gonna..." You whined in a high pitch voice, eyebrows knitted together and your tongue hanging heavy on your jaw. "I'm gonna cum... oh my god..." "Cum for me baby, make a mess all over me... please...." He groaned with a sigh as he leaned down and attached his mouth to your other tit, the one he hadn't before. He flexed his hips every time he pressed his cock into you, pressing it deeper in you as he leaked out cum. "I'm gonna cum too..." He huffed, face flushed and sweaty, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Please cum inside me..." You moaned as you threw your head back, your orgasm engulfing you. He did just that, biting your neck as he fucked you full of his seed, balls sticky with a mixture of your arousal and his. "Ooh... feels so good..." "Yeah, baby..." He whimpered and pressed his hot lips to the side of your face, leaving sloppy traces of spit along your cheeks until your lips tangled with his. He made out with you as you rode out your high, your entire body was overflowing with love and the white-hot blinding pleasure. You still felt so full and stretched out on him but then he slowly eased his movements and pulled out, biting his lip. "God..." Cillian gasped, sitting up and looking down at your pussy that now seeped out his cum. "So pretty..."

"Please... hold me..." You pouted, reaching out your heavy arms to have him lie on top of you again. "Need to feel you... daddy..."

Cillian obliged happily, scooping you up in his arms and shifting so you were lying in his lap with your head on his shoulder. He held you and kissed your head. "I love you so much, you know that right?" He whispered into your scalp that he smelled with a smile on his lips.

"I love you more..." You grinned bashfully, running your nose along his collarbone and neck. You just loved the way he smelled. It wasn't his cologne or anything... it was just the way he smelled. You were addicted to it. "That was so good... can't believe we went a whole week without it..."

Cillian snickered and nodded. "Yeah... if you give me a couple of minutes ill be able to go at it again..." He smirked, cheeks rosy as he looked at you fondly.

"God shut up... you sillyhead..." You ruffled his wet hair and kissed the tip of his nose as you two laid there. Eventually you would go inside and he'd sneak himself into your shower where you'd fuck him against the wall while still covered in your strawberry-syrup body wash.

-----

It's summer here and I am dying from the heat and the idea of physically touching anyone right now is so ugh... EW... but Cillian is the only exception of course.

Hope you enjoyed this little fic... I know it's short but I wanted to give you guys something... the third part to Red Eyes and A Pair of New Glasses will be out soon I promise :)...

[seongminiz]

do u wanna talk about prof jiwoong more?👉🏻👈🏻 i was thinking about thigh riding with him… if he sits u on his lap while he’s doing work or smth in his office and makes u get off on his thigh😖😖😖 calling u all kinds of nasty names and mocking u for how u struggle to climax, making such a mess all over his beige trousers.. the wet spot so obvious🤭🤭

- 🧁 anon

yesss omg jiwoong making u ride his thigh ☆_☆

you've been acting a little too bratty for his liking lately , being wayyy too touchy with matthew right in front of him to make him jealous (tbh , it just turns jiwoong on more bc it reminds him that even if matt is ur boyfriend , you'll always end up going back to him 💔) , so when u step into his office expecting one of ur normal hook ups he just .. looks at u with such a disappointed look u genuinely feel ur heart drop . like yea whatever sex with jiwoong is great but u cant deny theres a part of u that seeks out validation from him . u r about to ask him whats wrong , but he simply pats his thigh n u immediately know where this is going . before straddling his thigh u reach for ur underwear to take it off , but jiwoong stops u bc its so much more humiliating for u to cum fully clothed n he knows it :')

the rest of ur time is spent desperately trying to get off on jiwoong's thigh while he works , acting like u r not even there even when u get to a point where you're crying n begging him to help u cum . the only moment jiwoong actually pays attention to u is when u slow down or stop , slapping ur thigh to prompt u to start moving again :3

when u do eventually cum , its such an unsatisfying orgasm u genuinely just want to go home n deal with it on ur own (maybe ask matthew to finish the job ? eheh) , but when u go to stand up jiwoong grips ur waist n holds u in place , making u sit uncomfortably in ur own cum for a while 💔

when he does finish working he'll make it up to u tho , sitting u on his desk n eating u out until u cum properly („• ᴗ •„) but maybe ur still pissed at him , maybe u have learned nothing n this need for revenge has only fueled ur brattiness , n maybe that brings u to matthews place instead of urs , in his bed as hes fucking u so good its really just an accident when u somehow end up calling jiwoong n letting him hear exactly what hes missing out on :3

(kinda went crazy at the end oops)

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

June 20th

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1. Hi! I would really appreciate some help yo find two fics!

A) The first was a fic in which LZ is a concertist (maybe violin or cello?) And was going home after a concert when it starts to rain and he goes into a book store, where Wen Qing works, and behind the book store there is a coffee shop, LZ sits near the bar and interacts a little w a-yuan, then WY plays a song and LZ finds his passion for music again or something like that. I don't quite remember the rest

B) the second one was one in which, during seclusion(? LZ finds a book his mom wrote that had gardening tips inside, so he starts tending to the garden however he can without being able to leave his house. Eventually he discovers that the book isn't just about gardening but instead about a different kind of cultivation involving plants, and that with it he might be able to bring back WY. He works hard on it and is eventually able to do it. I don't quite remember the other details @katt-patt

1A)

FOUND! for you, andante by xuanxuanwo (ostentatiouslyrealistic) (T, 35k, WangXian, Modern AU, Music, Musicians, Pianist LWJ, Guitarist WWX, Kid Fic, Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Existential Crisis, Unrelated JGY & QS, Friendship, Romance, Light Angst, Happy Ending)

1B)

FOUND! From my heart's ground. by orange_crushed (E, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Corporal Punishment, Canon-Typical ViolenceVomiting, Injury Recovery, Trauma, Blood Magic, Elemental Magic, Gardens & Gardening, Resurrection, Dissociation, First Time, Oral Sex, Language of Flowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cultivation......... Literally, Arson, Self-Harm, Self-Harm for Blood Magic Reasons, Suicidal Thoughts, Spiritual Coma, Brief Reference to Temporary Incontinence as a Result of Said Coma, Self-Esteem Issues)

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2. Ok I’ve been avoiding doing this bc it feels rude to ask for pwp (not rude at all! We take all types of asks ^^ - Mod C) so you can ignore this if you want, but I’ve been looking for this one fic that was dragon lwj and Fox wwx, in like a magical forest, and I specifically remember a scene where wwx is in heat and everyone knows but he’s just playing with children and messing around near a water source until lwj comes out and finds him and if you can find it for me I will love you forever thank you

FOUND? #2 it's "Budding Chrysanthemum" by Anonymous. Looks like its deleted from ao3 but i have a copy ~imstillthinkingaboutithmm

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3. Hello! I'm looking for this fic where modern!wwx gets sent to the world of mdzs and spends a year there before going back to the modern world. I remember that he was roommates with modern!wq and that during the year he was gone modern!wq and modern!jc put up missing posters for him

FOUND? Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, it’s more reality travel but there’s modern wwx and cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences)

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4. hi!! I love your blog, it has helped me massively in finding fics to read ❤️ This is my first time asking for a fic so I don't know if I'm doing something wrong okay? I'd like to request help in finding a fic...

It was like a time traveler fic with Wangxian where they were saying goodbye to each other as Wei Wuxian left the cloud recesses lectures. It was in Lan Xichen pov.

They were declaring their intent to court each other, LWJ said that he will come with a dizi as his first courting gift. WWX said that he would become a famous cultivator and court LWJ by 22 yrs but then LWJ said 22 yrs is too late and WWX should court him at 19.

Lan Xichen also remarked that WWX gave the Compass of Evil & some other inventions to the lan sect and they would be very fine courtship gifts with the proper presentation

Could you all help me in finding this fic? It was part of a series too

FOUND? Wait, What? by MarbleGlove (G, 1k, WangXian, Time Travel, POV Outsider)

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5. I'm trying to find a fanfic of alternative/time travel ghost Wei Wuxian taking care of Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, the story takes place after the siege and he somehow ended up in a time just after madam lan's death and finds Lan Wangji in the snow, only Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen can see him, later on he gets Qingheng-Jun out of seclusion (he can see him too it just isn't revealed until later. @samriajack

FOUND! Waiting by Morgana_avalon (G, 46k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Short Story, LWJ is five year old, LXC is eight year old, LWJ as a boy kneeling in the snow at the jingshi waiting for his mama to return, brothers looking out for each other, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, canon divergent but also canon compliant, Mystery, Mysticism, Chenqing, Bichen, happy endings, The Qilin, Based on the TV-series and not the novel)

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6. Hi I need your help again oh great master of finding fic so I don't remember the name obviously but I know it's a podfic so here's what I remember Madame Lan is alive she was released by uncle Lan and she travel to yiling

And meant little wei ying where he told her his parents' names and then she went and tried to find their bodies and she did find her bodies and then she took their swords for their son and then she traveled with wei ying and this is a serious but it's not complete yet and I'm kind of want to read it but if the podficer is going to pops it all I want to hear it so please help me find it

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7. Hii, okay so this one is kind of harder :(, I am looking for this fic where idek what is going on but what I really do remember is them sleeping together during the indocrination (sounds wrong lol) but what I mean is that everyone is all of a sudden closer and instead of sleeping in the beds the wens gave them and also not do anything, they separated the girls and put up privacy walls using their robes? to give them privacy. I can't remember anything else sorry. @thatperson0-0

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8. Also, for the next FF, I kind of remember reading a fic where WWX was desperate to get somewhere fast and I think they managed to get Li'l Apple to ride a sword? (Probably 2 or 3 swords tandem, a single sword would have to be an FF7 buster sword to fit a donkey.) maybe they carried her? @mreisse

FOUND? Menace by MnemonicMadness (T, 7k, LQR & WWX WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt WWX, BAMF WWX, Downplaying an Injury, awkward comforter LQR, reluctant matchmaker LQR, Humor, Pining WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Self-Sacrificing WWX, POV LQR, LQR is stressed, And also secretly a softie, Post-Canon)

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9. Hi! This is for fic finder. It's modern au where WWX was a chef i think? He worked in restaurant with wen chao. That restaurant was owned by wen ruohan i think. But wen chao did something that makes WWX gets fired. Then near the end of the story i think, LWJ invited WWX to his music performance (not sure about this part. Its either he invited WWX or WWX wants to tell LWJ something). But when WWX arrived, he noticed that the kitchen is a mess. He found out that LWJ hire Jin Zixun as chef because Jin Zixun bothered him too much. And then WWX takes over the kitchen. Thats all i think. Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

#9 is right! I can't open the link so i search for another website and i found it in SquidgeWorldArchive for registered user only

FOUND! i swim in hollow lakes carved from memories by spookykingdomstarlight (T, 154k, WangXian, XiYao, Modern AU, Coffee Shops & Cafés, Music, Baking, Social Media, Misunderstandings, Consequences of Fake Dating Schemes, Flashbacks, Vlogger WWX, Professional Musician LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mistakes, Pining, Matchmaking, Romance, Illnesses, Slow Burn, Background SangNing, POV Multiple, Second Chances) I think it was wc not jzx who was hired, otherwise matches

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10. hello!!! I'm looking for a fic where WWX falls into a underground cave and encounters a dragon in his disciple era and takes a sword that transform him into a dragon. I really can't remember what happens next, only that he goes on his rogue cultivator arc and later on find LWJ but believes that's his descendants and not LWJ himself. I'm going to keep looking but maybe you are luckier than me and find it first.

FOUND? Our Immortal Blood by Saori (M, 81k, WangXian, Alternate Universe, Temporary Character Death, Minor Character Death, Platonic Relationships, Family Feels, Blood and Injury, Night Hunts, Monsters, Immortality, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Marriage Proposal, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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11. For fic finder: It was a WangXian arranged marriage au. What I remember is that the two did not have sex on their wedding night and this caused a rift. For Wuxian who grew up in Yunmeng culture it was a huge offense that Wangji wouldn’t sleep with him, but Wangji didn’t know this because it was standard practice in the Lan clan not to sleep together (I think the Lans had a designated month or something where they had sex). Basically cultural differences in expectation caused the boys to be uncertain around each other. I think Yanli eventually pulls Xichen aside and scolds him for how the Lan have “slighted” Wuxian this way. 

FOUND? In Love and War by Cataclysmic_Calamity (E, 68k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Canon Divergence, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Arranged Marriage, Kind of a slow burn, enemies to lovers ish, rampant sexual tension, Miscommunication, past emotional abuse, Dubious Consent, Consensual Non-Consent, Semi-Public Sex, Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, Anal Sex)

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12. Hiya! Looking for fic, I can’t remember much of it but I remember that the Jiang’s leave Wwx at the cloud recesses during the study arc because of there abuse being revealed(?) or something about mistreatment. @candyyii

FOUND? 💖 Hoards and treasuresby  apathyinreverie (T, 21k, WangXian, Siblings, Family, not particularly Jiang friendly, YZY Bashing, slightly darker Gusu Lans, LXC being the best brother, Some manipulation, But with the best of intentions, and   not between wangxian, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Smitten LWJ, Fluff, perfect   happiness, adorable WWX, Romance, Some worldbuilding, courting)

FOUND? 💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Jiāng Family Friendly, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

FOUND? 🔒 in the shadow of moonlit flowers by Reverie (cl410) (T, 56k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, cloud recesses, NHS & LWJ friendship, developing relationship, LWJ pov, minor injuries, autistic LWJ, implied/referenced child abuse, aka YZY warning, genius WWX, light angst, hurt/comfort, WWX protection squad)

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13. I’ve been looking for this one fic that I just can’t remember much about

I don’t remember how it happens but WWX and LWJ have an arranged marriage (I think or something along this premise) WWX doesn’t want to get married and fights it the entire time but LWJ is steadfast in getting married to WWX. Like WWX tries to come up with so many excuses and LWJ is in love with WWX. I know JC, JFM, JYL, and YZY are all in it.

I remember JFM asking WWX if he really thinks LWJ will mistreat him. WWX says no but still doesn’t want to get married.

It ends with them getting married but WWX still saying he doesn’t want to get married.

It’s a one shot but I think I remember being in a series and having a second part to it. I remember there being art at the end showing them getting married but WWX whining about it.

Im making this sounds kinda angst/non consensual but it’s a comedy pretty sure the whole is just WWX being in denial of his feelings @trashyjen

FOUND?🔒Another Kind of Marriage by Titans_R_Us (T, 1k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, supportive families, Fluff and Crack)

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14. Hi, thank you so much for your great work . For the next fic finder, can you please find me a fic. I don't remember much, just that Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying and the wens and hides them in a secret hidden village. That village is where Lan Wangji's mother's home . Lan Zhan has a maternal grandpa and a cousin, I think Lan Xichen finds out about the place eventually 🤔.

FOUND? pale shadows of forgotten names by Chrononautical (T, 56k, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Good Sibling LXC, Badass LXC, He gets there in the end it just takes a while, Not particularly JGY friendly, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the universal fear of growing up to become one of your parents, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives AU, Except WN but he’s very polite, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Imprisonment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, not between wangxian, Drunk LWJ, to lighten the mood, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Traumatized WWX, though he will not admit it, Taking time to heal, canon-typical communication skills)

FOUND? Arbitrary by devinokaze (T, 137k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, but live somewhere else, hidden society, Not Everyone Dies, POV Multiple)

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15. Hey first of all thank u for doing a great job. You found a lot of the fics I wanted. I'm searching for another fic. It's post canon and wei ying was traveling alone. He meets the juniors on a night hunt and saved them from a beast I think . He gets badly hurt on the stomach and lan Zhan gets there immediately to bring him back to cloud ressesive. Lan zhan nurses him back to health but uncle wants him to leave after he recovers. I hope i can find the fic and thanks in advance @smarti1997

FOUND? A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps by hansbekhart (E, 22k, WangXian, Semi-Public Sex, Public Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Anal Sex, Sex in the cold springs, Mutual Pining, Grief/Mourning, Injury Recovery, Ethical Dilemmas, Ethical Edging, and Boners for Justice, It takes a long time for them to bone but they get there, Risk Aware Consensual Patience, Edgeplay sort of, 20K words of sad horniness, Happy Ending, Just the tip but not the way you're thinking) This probably isn't the right one for 15 but A Lot of Edges Called Perhaps is nearly identical to the description but with the roles reversed (Lan Wangji is injured in the stomach and Wei Wuxian takes care of him during his recovery).

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16. hello! I’m looking for a fic that was a modern setting AU and it follows wei ying as a poor teacher I believe( I’m not 100% sure on that, but it’s essential to the plot that he has little money but continues to pay for lan zhan’s services) and one day he stumbles across a website or something and lan zhan is a dom and Wei Yang pays for his service. I’m a big fuzzy on the details but I’m pretty sure there was a spicy scene with the two of them in front of a mirror. And then they continue their sessions and one day they run into each other in a grocery store by wei ying house. Thank you so much for your hard work!!! @bittersweet-loveliness

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17. for the next ficfinder can you help me find this fic? im pretty sure it's called Brothers in Law, where Jiang Chen and Lan Zhan go back in the past, don´t remember much but i think Wen Xu was kinda obssessed with Wei Ying, didn't find it in ao3 but hopefully it wasn't deleted, thxx @omgnuttytale

FOUND! Brother-In-Law’s by Loveable_Psychopath (M, 332k, JYL/JZX, wangxian, JC/WQ, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, Memories, Butterfly Effect, Sexual assualt, Self Harm, Self Doubt, BAMF JC, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rape Recovery, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Everyone Lives au, PTSD, good parent YZY, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Warning: JGS, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Second Chances, WIP)

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18. Help me find a fic pls! Wei wuxian is an omega in this one and when lan zhan (alpha) smells him he gets a strong reaction and gets into rut. Wei wuxian is basically outcastes by the lan sect and later on I think he becomes a spy?? lol pls help idk tbh 🙏🙏

FOUND?🔒Pendulum by ShippersList (M, 69k, WangXian, XiYao, Canon Divergence, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Misunderstandings, Canon-Typical Violence, Spies & Secret Agents, Fake Character Death, Slow Burn, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, BAMF WWX, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canonical Character Death, Mutual Pining, Good MY, Introspection, Self-Sacrificing WWX, Love Confessions, Protective LWJ, past child sexual abuse) from the series omegaverse murder gremlins

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19. Bby gurls I need help with a fic where the juniors saw lan zhan with a person in a dress and thought he was cheating when they were getting donuts at a sleep over (they were not allowed to be out that late). The juniors planned to steal his phone during a cookout, only to find searches of him planning a trip of bora bora. Apperantly he want cheating and it was just Wei wuxian dressing up (thx bby gurls I love u)

FOUND? Junior.exe has stopped working by Luminos07 (T, 4k, WangXian, Crack Treated Seriously, Attempt at Humor, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Junior Trio Shenanigans, Crack, Humor, Comedy, What’s the tag for the juniors going through LWJ's phone?, Protective JC, Modern, no actual infidelity, Established Relationship, LWJ's sugar daddy tendencies, WWX Protection Squad)

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20. hi! i'm looking for a particular fic in which there was a recurring anecdote/motif of a wife(?) who would touch the teapot to check the temperature for her husband so often in the same spot that she developed a burn scar on her hand from it. at some point in the fic wangxian had a conversation about whether or not that was romantic, and at another point the pov character (i think it was wwx?) realized that he or lwj had been doing the same thing (in a figurative way) through his actions. i think the fic was a canon era au but it could have been anything, and unfortunately i can't remember enough of the plot to find it. thank you! @ineskew

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[uyuartik]

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

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

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

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

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

part one | part two | part three | ao3

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, apology accepted.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

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

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

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

"I'll be there." 

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

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

It is still completely the same.

=== 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think that is safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

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

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Say farewell to your pride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

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

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

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

Your shaky inhale echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

“But at the lake - You were-” 

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

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

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

Then, it is settled. 

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

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

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

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

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

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

What is with him and that special request?

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

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

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

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Auntie!”

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

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obi Wan- please…”

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

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

“As you wish, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing he-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would that be all, Madame?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

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

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

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

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

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

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

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

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

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

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

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

And he's still going over it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Didn't he even take care of himself?

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

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

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

“By all means.” 

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

There he is.

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

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

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

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

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

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

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

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

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

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

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

Like you had any intention to do that.

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

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

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

“Please- darling-“

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

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

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

So cute and so filthy.

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

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

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

Of course not.

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

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

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

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

===

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

Not today, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

So, he has come to yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my God, it is. 

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

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

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

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

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

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

“I think you know it already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Had?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there?” 

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

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

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

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

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

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

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

A very different time. 

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

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

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

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though he has no rush to join you. 

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

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

He'd like to see that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

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

Could he ever refuse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the morning is anything like the night.

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

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

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

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

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

“Darling?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

A trial that you fail.

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

[httpiastri]

im the BIGGEST mclaren fan and oscar fan in the world ever and i dont even have the energy to celebrate oscar's first win (yes bc of the fucked up way mclaren did it but wtv not getting into that) bc of how devastated i am about paul. i just want to give him the biggest hug in the world and tell him its ok and that we all still love him. i hope he knows how much support he has and that making mistakes is ok, its only his rookie season no one expects him to be schumacher or senna or whoever, we just want you to be a happy paul aron :(

seeing him banging his head and looking out into the distance after the crash omfg i will jump off a cliff i swear. hes so hard on himself and i was legit sobbing thinking about how much harder he is on himself (probably) this year after what happened w merc and prema. he deserves so much more omg. the fact that kimi ended up winning the race just made me think of the lacy edits too and omfg i cannot. i love kimi dont get me wrong but what are the chances that paul's win became kimi's instead? i js cant.

and dont get me started on that fucking penalty. he already dnf'd i don't understand the point of them punishing him any further did u not see how mad he was at himself?? fuck you fia fuck. you. cz WHY WHAT WAS THE REASON??? i feel like ive never seen them do that to a driver, usually they cause a collision and dnf they just get time penalties but a TEN PLACE GRID PENALTY?? FOR THE NEXT RACE?? THIS LATE IN THE SEASON?? it just seems SO unfair and so harsh. not agreeing w the grid penalties at all esp when the driver alr suffered from their mistakes but the crash w maloney fine i can kind of understand, but ollie's? sorry but i didnt even see them crash that hard? (or was i half asleep? idk i js literally do not remember seeing it) seriously tho wtf.

i hope his friends, family and team gave him the biggest hug ever. he'll come back stronger ik it! we'll get thru this u guys:(

paul nation family group hug 🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

-🧸

this is very valid :(( it wouldve been easier to celebrate if it had been better with the team and whatever, but now it was so easily overshadowed by everything that happened in f2 and i just 😶

to me, most of my pain is based on (just like u said) the fact that i think he's hard on himself, and wants to prove so much after everything that has happened. i just hope he sees the reality; that he's doing super well, in his rookie season nonetheless, and we're all so proud of him. mistakes is okay, shit happens, even max verstappen made a bunch of mistakes yesterday!!

i didnt wanna look at the clips of him in the car nor hear his radio (ive seen the screenshot of him admitting that it was his fault tho) and i saw the clip of him after getting out of the car and i just...... nope. and esp w kimi winning aaaa it made me so happy but-

god i dont understand the penalties like. yes he made a mistake but zane was also going very very slow (on the slower tyres also) so it was hard for him to tell what zane was going to do. like these things happen within even a fraction of a second and you need to trust your instinct and sometimes it doesn't work out? like obvs i cant compare it to any personal experiences in racing but in my own sport i know the feeling of getting a bad pass etc, and something tiny can mess up the entire timing and feeling and everything? so zane just going slower makes a lot of difference :// it's not common that they do this but ive seen it sometimes but this is just so.... gAH!! esp with the thing with ollie because they didn't even show it, so it can't have been THAT important, right?? so stupid

pls everyone gather around for a group hug! with paul in the middle bcs he deserves all of the love!!!!!!! <3<3<3

(oh and just so you know. "we just want you to be a happy paul aron :("........... you actually broke me with that one, i hope you're happy that im crying bcs of you 😭)

[courtrecord]

On twitter sometime ago you described your writing habits as something similar to my own (slow, tedious, perfectionist, compulsive, agonizing over getting the words perfect instead of editing later, etc) And you also wrote a lot of dope things like Galactic 2E and Venture that are I hope you dont mind me saying, deeply inspirational. So coming from someone who hasnt Gotten There yet I have to ask, how do you get yourself to get up and just write the damn thing already?

omg thank u so much, that means more than i can possibly say. i wish i had a better set of advice but honestly so much of my creative work is vibes and hyperfixation based, and every time i finish something i look back on it like “how the fuck did i do that”, but here are the things that work for me. they are very much based on my own particular adhd and writing hangups so ur mileage will definitely vary.

start small: i didn’t start writing ttrpgs with big projects like venture & g2e. i started with a 200 word game, then some one-pagers, then kept growing from there. @jdragsky has talked a lot about the importance of building the skill of finishing things, and small projects are a really good way of doing that. hell, even g2e only exists bc i started with the smaller project of galactic, then went back to it a year later to build on it again.

share as u go: when i started working on bigger games, and this year as i’ve been working on longer fics, friends to share screenshots of my wip have been invaluable. that way i can get the immediate validation of someone reading my thing and giving feedback without feeling like i need to Publish it yet. biggest shoutout in the world to my friends who tolerate my writing nonsense.

write in chunks: this is kind of the combination of those first two points. bob games are big piles of little lists. i tend to write fic in short, impactful scenes. i have a wip that’s an sbr game, which is a big pile of little advances. that way, i am constantly getting that feeling of accomplishment when i write something. i can agonize over word choice and vibes and editing but then i actually get to a stopping point, where i like that little bit enough to move on to the next one. it seems crazy looking back that i wrote 36 places & 36 traits for g2e, but i didn’t just sit down and knock them all out. i wrote a few, sent them to some friends, then i wrote a few more. u know?

don’t force it: sometimes, the vibe just isn’t there. sometimes, u spend a year doing barely any writing or game design bc there’s a pandemic and ur brain doesn’t work anymore. etc. i’ve thought a lot the past few years about the difference btwn the feeling of wanting to write bc i want to write the thing, and the feeling of wanting to write bc i like the idea of being the person who wrote the thing. when i realize i’m in that second mindset, i go and think about something else. bc no good writing comes from that (at least ime)

find what u like: this is kinda related to the one above, but it’s another thing i’ve been thinking about lately. i spent a lot of time when i was younger assuming that bc i like writing, i had to write a novel, bc that’s what writers do. i would try to follow writing advice made for people who simply aren’t me. “writers must learn to use description sparingly” lol way ahead of u. that kinda thing. realizing that i love writing fanfiction for its transformativity, and i love writing dialogue bc it’s what i’m good at, was a huge revelation. i can just do that. i don’t have to follow the regular writer mold when i can just write really fucking good dialogue-heavy fanfiction. and in that realization, i’ve been able to grow as a writer by gaining the ability to write things down that i’m happy with, and grow from there.

prescription adderall: i told u this list was a mess. this one has kinda been crucial for me. i realized i had adhd in my first year of college in 2017 and started taking adderall for my second year of college in mid-2018. i started churning out creative projects in 2019. coincidence? absolutely not oh my god are u kidding

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

After death | Lost Gods

He looks at the skyline ahead of him, its famous shapes that tourists gape at like they’re observing a gorilla in an enclosure. It’s all grey to him, not just because of the looming storm but because the grids of buildings and lights have become boring in a way that seems fatal—this city is a dead thing on earth, he doesn’t care what anyone says. It’s all post-mortem—the blinking traffic lights, shafts of sunlight interrupted by high-rises, yellow taxis honking, honking, honking, like they’re shouting a prayer. He feels sort of like that too, caught in kitschy after death.

A little Harrison art <3 !! And an excerpt from the opening of Lost Gods!

4 years ago today I finished writing his very first solo novel, Moth Work, & I’m kind of in awe of how far we’ve come in that short time… 4 novels & 2 novellas narrated by this man who’s a little embarrassing and a whole lot profound (but you didn’t hear that from me!). A few more thoughts under the cut, but here’s a little note I made myself in 2020, the only note I’ve ever made after finishing a book (possibly because finishing this one changed my life a little).

TW for mentions of: mental illness, trauma in the mental health system, internalized homophobia

Technically I finished Moth Work at 2:34AM because I lived on the west coast at the time lol.

I don’t usually celebrate or remember the anniversaries of finishing books. But I wanted to celebrate this one because a) it’s Leap Day & I haven’t been able to commemorate what I was doing during the last one for 4 years, & b) because finishing MW was such a significant accomplishment!

I started MW in January of 2019 because I was struggling emotionally. At the time, I was racing to figure out “what was wrong with me” before flying across the country for uni in the summer (SPOILER I WAS JUST AUTISTIC LMAO), which led to a lot of stressful and traumatizing appointments with doctors. I desperately needed a book to cheer me up but a different one from my WIP at the time, especially because in 2018, I’d both discovered my voice and become really afraid of messing it up!

I also was taking a religion class at the time that was emotionally difficult for me because I felt reallyyyy alone and especially isolated in my queerness that I’d been hiding for a couple years at that point (& that I literally would not talk about at all, not even to people I trusted). When it became very clear I needed an outlet to explore my feelings (of being “unhelpable,” internalized homophobia, a general sense of aloneness/isolation) the decision of what I was going to write became pretty clear.

I’d written 3 stories in Harrison’s POV that predated MW starting in late 2018 (they were also my first explorations in third person present tense, which fun fact, I only tried in his POV because I’ve always written my notes ideas in that POV/tense combo, even when I only wrote first person!). I hadn’t written in a different POV character’s head beside’s Reeve’s since 2016, so it felt natural that the second character I felt closest to (Harrison!!!) could be a narrator. Funnily at this time Lonan was my favourite so I’m actually surprised I did not choose him but can we imagine how different things would be if I had???

I started Moth Work in my notes app (ICONIC) on January 16th 2019 at 11:37pm! The first chapter came pretty quickly, is actually quite non-linear for a bit, and was overall a lot of fun to write. I’d planned for the project to maybe be a short story or at the most a novella (does this sound familiar), nothing very long and definitely not a novel. I believe the goal word count was 5k which is so funny bc that’s exactly how Changing States & Lost Gods started!!!

And then the project stagnated, it wasn’t something I’d planned to write seriously, and I didn’t pick it back up until August of that year when my therapist at the time suggested I try to complete a “reach goal” as I was reaching Crisis and I guess I was so done with everything going on in my life that I was like okay fine!!!! I will write Moth Work as a novel!!!!

This book literally flew with me across the country… I wrote a lot of it late at night in my dorm with all the lights off after a long day on campus. I wrote a lot of it in my intro to sociology lecture LMAO. I wrote a lot of it on my phone. It was the first project (no literally) where I intentionally explored queerness, especially my own feelings as a (sort of?) catholic at the time. I explored atheism a lot! Something I needed to process my own feelings about faith & God. I explored what it’s like to be this completely unhelpable person because you’ve decided there’s no possible way to help yourself anymore (hiiii Lonan). I also explored (a bit like a premonition), what it’s like to care deeply for someone you can’t help (but that you very badly want to help).

And I almost didn’t finish the book! The imposter syndrome and insecurity went crazyyy when writing Moth Work. I didn’t feel like I was writing the First Person Retrospective Flowery Literary Fiction I’d deemed as the only possible “good writing.” (Still LOVE but I really was struggling seeing a very minor style shift, which is funnily much closer to my writing now than when I was writing the “best” way.) I deleted so much from this book. I couldn’t look at it. I was so embarrassed by it!! I made ultimatums with it!! I edited it so much but still couldn’t stand it! It was literally the safest space I had and I could barely be there a lot of the time!!!

SOOOO this is why I’m very proud of me for finishing it lol & while I would typically have celebrated the anniversary idk, in 2021, bc it didn’t exist until this year it felt apt to sit with those feelings now. I’m really proud of 17-year-old Rachel who was undiagnosed autistic & convinced I was a lost cause, who was sooo afraid of being queer I could only think of that through Lonan (& sometimes still do thx king 🫡) who literallyyyyy wrote a masterpiece in my collection that contains some of my best work (even if I only realized that 4 years later) & that’s been the start of EVERYTHING!

This is so much more than a book or an anniversary!! Somehow I made it through all the things I didn’t think were possible and now have written 2 books & 3 (writing the fourth) novellas allllll in this world. AND 2 additional novels in his POV!! Also thank you baby Rachel for Jeremiah. Like hello!!!! This is the only place I felt safe to be myself when I couldn’t be with anyone else! And there’s something priceless about that…

And it’s all bc of Harrison!!! Whoever I saw in that man in 2019… girl thank you!! Can’t explain what it’s like to grow with that character (who is sooo much more than that to me). Never would I have predicted where I am now. And IMO, that’s all thanks to him so ily fictional man in my head, this is soooo his day LOL.

& if you were here since the first MW update & made it this far… I MUST KNOW!!!!

[aerisleis-fics]

For the WIP asks: you know I love a good soulmate AU :D I'm curious about Sefikura because that one's not usual for you!

<3 so! the sefikura soul mates au has been talked about (briefly) but I'm happy to chatter about it again bc its weirdly. Stuck in my brain even tho it ISNT my usual. idk how long it's going to take to materialize bc I dont know Exactly how I want to bring it to life.

The basis is very generically "love doesn't solve everything, actually" in the general vein of, it doesn't take back the fact that the two may hurt each other, and it doesn't heal the wounds. Love is work, etc.

(the original notes passage was

Love doesn’t conquer all, actually. like. as a concept. but my brain will not hand me wtf it wants to Do with that but like just. I love you more than I love myself etcetc but this doesn’t fix us, it doesn’t get us out of the mess we’re in and like to clarify not even entirely in the. in the. “must be a bad ending” kind of way but in the, it takes more than loving someone to make it work. and I could go on about like. loving someone being a Choice not a feeling. a choice made every day to keep trying to keep working, etc.)

On less broad-philosophical view it's a combo of pain-sharing and first words soulmates, where the first words said Directly to a person by their soul mate is written on them and also they share pain. I imagine it's not uncommon for people - especially SOLDIER and/or Turks - to hide their soulmark, and in fact their uniforms are perfect for it if you go for a standard on the arm or really in most places on the body!

Yes, this does mean Cloud's young life was a nightmare thank you for asking (joking). Cloud wanted to become a soldier to become a hero, but also to travel and meet people... he didn't put a lot of stock in his soulmate, though he gets relatively unique words on him ("have you ever tried ginger for it?") so he's sure he'll Know when the time comes.

Sephiroth, on the other hand, barely noticed his soulmates pains, so assumes His must be a civvie tucked away somewhere, and due to the incredibly generic statement figures he'll never find out who they are ("no sir"). This changes, sort of, when Cloud and Zack are in the helicopter crash, but he kind of assumes it's zack. (he can't remember the first thing Zack said to him, but it wouldn't have shocked him if it was a no sir of some kind, honestly.) He doesn't say anything. They're good friends, their lives are on the line every day, there's no reason for him to ask for more.

Cloud finds out on the transport to nibelheim that it's sephiroth. Cloud, entrenched in his inferiority complex and the fact that they're literally on a mission keeps it to himself.

The moment Sephiroth realizes he was wrong about who his soulmate is the moment he impales Cloud on masamune during the massacre.

Canon ensues anyway, it's too late for the trajectory to change, after all.

But post canon, after AC, after DoC, Sephiroth returns, again. The future is unwritten for them - but what can they possibly cultivate in fields that have been flooded with blood over and over?

Oh. And this snippet you can have it too

Tifa, very upset and frustrated along the lines of “you can’t possibly forgive him- you can’t possibly expect us to forgive him! He killed so many people! He killed my soul mate right in front of you!” And Cloud is just. so tired. Before that there was a line - I wish I’d made notes but I was literally in bed asldx;kfj anyway a line about “I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m just saying. I’m tired. And he isn’t doing anything wrong.” But anyway he just kind of sighs and “And I did nothing to stop it. I know, I was there.” “This isn’t about that-” “Of course it is!” “....I mean maybe I’m a little worried he’s influencing you again-”

[straight-into-the-animus]

i needed to take a break from pokemon on my switch so i made pokemon teams on my computer for each mainstream ac protag up to syndicate

Altaïr

Ezio

Connor

Edward

Shay

Arno

Evie

Jacob

some random ideas i had while making these below the cut:

-Altaïr's Crobat doesn't evolve until he has been forgiven and forgiven himself for his events in Solomon's Temple and bc he learned kindness and friendship which makes a Crobat evolve. Also Talonflame feathers are almost a calling card, but by the time you see them its too late.

-Ezio only had his Ponyta after he began traveling around and it never evolves but his children have fun playing with it. Grovyle also kind of just fell into his lap as a Treecko but it's so quick that he loves exercising with it.

-Yes Connor has a Cubone. It was actually his first Pokemon and he's very very fond of it, and cares for it deeply. His Mudsdale will buck anyone off, including him, if they try to ride it, and you Just Have To Accept That. Staraptor was not long after that as a Starly, and when he was a teen he tried to see if it could carry him but he fell pretty hard. Now that it's fully evolved but he's six foot something he doesn't want to try again.

-Raticate snuck aboard his ship and Edward was like "Lol bet". Trumbeak eventually evolves but for the most part he likes having a smaller bird to fly around and it's not his battling Pokemon, so it takes a while. His ace is Banette and Banette is great to scare weaker-willed people away from treasure, provided it gets a share, but as he matures into the Creed he mainly starts to use Banette for Assassin/Templar use.

-Almost all of Shay's Pokemon, except for Gumshooes and Mimikyu, tend to just sail in the water next to them and he doesn't really do Pokeballs unless they're in a naval battle, he's going really far inland, or the weather is extreme, and even then he has Ice Pokemon that are pretty okay. Gumshooes makes himself useful by keeping things in tip-top shape and watching over the sailors.

-Arno got his Piplup from his father. Aurorus was a gift from de la Serre once Templars found out how to bring fossilized Pokemon back. The other Pokemon he ended up just finding around the Cafe and they decided to go with him or at least fly with him. The Lopunny was Elise's, and most of her Pokemon live and help the Assassins, but Lopunny was her first as a Buneary and they were pretty close.

-Evie and Jacob both got Rookidees when they were old enough, and Jacob loves both of them (that's why they're the Rooks, bc he knew it was smth he shared with Evie and it was supposed to bring them together more). Jacob is sure his Wheezing helps mask them with its smog (though they always end up coughing and it doesn't work anyway) and Evie's Arbok is able to get in for good support, but it evolved rather quickly and she can't always control it, even though it is loyal and in a real mess can and will defend her.

[valleynix]

Heyy besti I have a request for HCs on the Dimitrescu's bc they live in my head rent free. So what if y/n told each one, 'I want a tattoo, and I want you to put it on me.' As well as let them decide what that tattoo is? How would the ladies feel about it? If any of them agree what might they choose for y/n?

been answering so many asks lately skdfh but i'll get this one before i start writing the next chapter >:D

Alcina Dimitrescu

this woman would pout if you told her you wanted a tattoo

you already look stunning in her eyes; why are you trying to change yourself?

she would be so dramatic for a few days, lamenting how you're just going to ruin your skin-

"you can choose what i get."

now that makes her reconsider

she decides on a rose, similar to the one she has over her heart, right over your left shoulder blade

when you tell her you want her to give it to you, she melts

you rest in her lap while she works, gently tracing patterns on her thigh and humming at her focused grumbling

she learns to love it, in time, just as she's learned to love you

it certainly has its uses :^)

Bela Dimitrescu

when you approach her about the idea, she's a little skeptical at first

she's not too sure about the topic of tattoos, seeing how the castle didn't have much on them, and she worries about how safe it is for you (which is funny, considering she also has a tattoo, though hers is more cult-like)

can it poison you somehow? is it really permanent? what tools are involved? does she need to call someone-

you ease her worries about your human health and assure her you'll be fine

if it would make her feel better, she could choose the design and give it to you :)

i feel like Bela would worry too much about messing up and disappointing you, so she just hires someone and sits with you, holding your hand tightly as something like a music note is tattooed onto your skin

when you're done, she finds it's a lovely place for her to place her mouth after it's healed ;)

Cassandra Dimitrescu

she's all for it

she's not really the kind of person to dictate what you do to your own body, though she will offer her input if she thinks it's needed

with a tattoo, she's actually the one that asks if she can do it

after some very careful deciding and designing of tattoos (her sketches range from animals to weapons), she settles on the design of her favorite sickle, carefully ensuring she has each and every nick in its blade drawn out

it takes some time for her to be satisfied, and you wait patiently while she sketches, grinning when you catch her with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth

she's cute when she's focused like this

it's a small tattoo, one she decides to place on your inner forearm, near the crease of your elbow

when she's finished and satisfied with the product, she leans back and hums at her work, then kisses you softly and thanks you for allowing her to do her own artwork on you

it fulfills some tiny little, itty bitty possessive part of her that likes seeing her marks on you

Daniela Dimitrescu

bold of you to assume she would ever be against something like that

you wanted a potentially too enthusiastic and supportive girlfriend? well, you've got one in Daniela

the moment you bring it up, she's all for it, already listing off several ideas she thinks could fit you and where to place them

you listen to her ramble, smiling at her hand movements and the look of awe in her eyes

when you ask her if she would like to give you the tattoo, she freezes

you... would trust her with that? really???

y'all know that one meme of the two girls, where one is sitting on the other's lap and is super focused on putting makeup on her?

that's you and Daniela, and you've never seen her so focused

you settle on a flower design similar to the one between her brows, something she decides to tattoo along the length of your forearm

she bites her lip while she tattoos you, eyes hard and fully focused as she slowly goes about it

when she's done, you thank her and kiss her, only for her to decide she has other plans for you

[eggsnatcheskneecaps]

i have a question ab transformers and im too scared to google it bc of what i think ill find but is there anything in canon that tells you if transformers reproduce??? and like how? do they have some sort of build-a-baby or smth??? sorry i know its late and this is absurd but its been plaguing mind for 4h now and i had to ask

Fjgng you're right to be afraid of what you'll find. There... Is a sea of fics out there.

The fandom has an extremely well curated Wikipedia, so if you're up for something more in depth, read through this article or browse through other ones.

Anyway, this is an excuse to ramble about Transformers >:) but I'll give you info on just the medias I've consumed, or know enough of.

The answer more broadly, there are cannon forms of reproduction, not sexual, per say, but the Transformers writers have a. Well. Long and weird relationship with Cybertronians having sex and especially pregnancies (yeah, you heard me right-)

To start off:

1. In one of the really old TF comics, we have a couple formed of a human woman (Cover Girl) and Brawn. They are married and also, they have a child. ...the child is not adopted. I don't if it's stated how they got there, but y'know.

2. In Beast Wars, we get protoforms.

In multiple continuities, they are basically the first stage in a robot's life. Kind of like infants. All they need is a spark (soul) and alt mode code (what they transform into) in order to develope into a fully grown Cybertronian.

The weird thing with this tho, is that you'll have characters such as Cheetor, who have been here from the start, and they'll be treated like the teenager of the group (although he IS the child appeal character), but then you'll see the ones who come along later, such as Silverbolt, who are immediately treated as an adult with full agency. Sigh.

But that's not all on reproduction in this show.

You have Rattrap at some point talk about... Bars on their home planet where waitresses walk around tits out, basically.

There are also some sex jokes, if I remember correctly. The femme fatale character takes a rod to cut it, her boyfriend cringes, and another one calls her emasculating.

For less cannon stuff that still sprung out of here; the official artists who worked on the show made a 3D render of Dinobot (main character) with... Dinobot Jr. Out on full display.

Also, at some point during the show production, someone decided to play a prank on someone else in the studio by submitting a pornographic parody of the episode script they should have originally given. Why does the fandom know this? It was leaked way back in the day before the episode aired.

Anyway, can you imagine being some poor fool thinking you're getting some exciting leaks to read and instead you get smacked with porn of the character who's literally inspired after Hannibal Lecter- also he transformers into a crab.

3. In Transformers Animated, protoforms make another return.

They basically work about the same way as they do in Beast Wars, except this time, we get Sari.

She's a protoform that somehow landed on earth, and her father, a human, touched it, which caused her to imprint on his DNA and become a hybrid.

In this show we also get several instances of objects being hit by the power of a Cybertronian relic, and making them come to life. Now, I don't know if they count as Cybertronians, since they are random ass earth objects, but they have a consciousness. Also, the same relic has been shown to be able to bring back Transformers from the dead. So.

...........

Ok. So. I received this ask forever ago, I'm so sorry for not getting to it. I've gotten busy and I can unfortunately feel my cognitive dysfunction kicking in, so I'll try to just get this done, but it'll be less detailed from now on and kinda disjointed.

Plus I was a while into writing this part and I lost the progress-

So. IDW1. The comics. They are a mess and weird.

Also, I read these years ago and I don't really remember the details.

You have hot spots on the home planet or moon. That create sparks (from the ground). Sparks can also pop out from Cybertronian relics, such as The Matrix.

Titans (HUUUUUUGE Cybertronians. They turn into cities or battle ships) may also carry hotspots that make robo babies.

Sparks harvested from this sort of thing either become cold constructs or forged. I'm not going to go into technicalities, but basically cold constructs are sparks who were taken and placed in a premade body and forged were allowed to develope naturally. If they are having trouble, a blacksmith may help them along by shaping their body. Or so I recall, at least.

I think I remember a mention in the comics about "A turbofox in heat". Turbofoxes are Transformers animals.

IDW1 also... Sports a lot of allusions to pregnancies. And. Pregnancies in general.

A lot of metaphors for pregnancies. Character is in a coma for 9 months. Another one gets a body upgrade and the entire thing is reminiscent of birth- an actual Cybertronian being mpreg with an organic alien------

^btw there was no narrative significance for this last one to happen

And. One of the main writers had... two? fanfics before he started writing cannon works. Telefunken and Eugenesis. Robots giving birth- to be fair, from their chests, from what I've heard. But the entire thing. It's. It's yeah.

Now!

IDW2.

Kiddies pop out of the ground. They are given one or two mentors. Mentors help them along to find what they want to transform into and their future jobs.

Earthspark, the Nickelodeon show, has come out pretty recently and I haven't watched it, but I think it has 3 robot kids as main characters! From what I know, they also popped out of the ground, except this time on Earth.

^also this one is canonically non binary sob

Transformers: Prime

I thiiiiiink they say Cybertronians pop out of The Well Of All Sparks? Which is a hole in their planet. Don't remember it being explored much. In the movie, a bunch of sparks fly out of it by the end, but I think it was a sort of- everybody gets revived! Yay!

The live action movies. Are also. Trippy

The ones directed by Micheal Bay are shit, but I gotta talk about them. You've got robots being sexual and creepy. But you also have sparklings. They pop out of goo eggs- I don't remember if in these movies energon or other relics posses and bring to life - I think they do tho.

However, that's an occurrence in the Bumblebee movie.

PS: I thought I posted this before I was done and I had a heart attack

[vialacteas]

recently I quit my Big Girl Job...

it wasnt rlly a choice. i got burnout and it came to a point id cry all day from stress. i didnt recognize myself anymore and i still dont, its gonna take some time for me to recover from all...

but all the last conversations i had with coworkers and my managers replaced my anger with sadness instead. working for a multinational kind of messes with ur brain especially if u have a background like mine - someone who never had much chance to land on this type of position. my resume wasnt that impressive compared to the other interns who were all from brazilian ´ivy leagues´ and had the money to pretend they changed the world with voluntary work overseas... but despite it i got hired and promoted and had the opportunity to be transferred to different areas, while most of my intern peers didnt even get to be hired in the first place.

everyone i talked to this last week was shocked and sad that i was leaving and they were all super gracious abt it. it kind of frustrates me because for these last 3 years ive worked my ass off and rarely had any sort of recognition besides the times i got hired and promoted. and not to say that i need to be babied or whatever, but i barely had serious feedbacks about what was working and what wasnt. i just did what i had to do and sometimes that meant staying late, working for 3 different teams, going beyond my job description etc etc etc. it came to a point that all i ever did was to solve crisis after crisis.

no one was ever truly mean to me but also ive always felt incredibly isolated and alienated. no process to follow, no person to small talk, no time to even analyse my own work - despite absorbing things easily i still needed guidance sometimes and felt terrible every time i had to ask for help or admit that i didnt know how to do it. and i recognize part of why i got so far was because ive always been engaged and self taught, but it can get incredibly tiresome and time consuming to have to figure out everything by yourself.

i dont know if this is part of a natural process, to feel like youre growing ~unevenly~, and it wasnt the only reason why i quit. most of it was the stress and the amount of workload i had, which was kind of insane... but after talking to my managers they all said the same thing along the lines of being sorry for not realizing + understanding why its hard to say 'no'.

which is whats been kind of saddening me... my brain keeps telling me: what if i did things differently, what if i was more vocal about it. im not sure if me saying 'no' would ever work as the tasks needed to be done, but what if i at least tried harder... but then, i also didn't really know how i was being perceived. i have this horrible habit of thinking my coworkers and managers would barely stand me for doing the bare minimum. ive never felt like a good professional in the end. they have a different perception though, and i got told that it would be ok for me to negotiate my own conditions because i was valuable.

they said its something that i should take for my next job: understand that im also a person who has needs and as long as im doing my job, i should at least try to be heard. obviously thats a very capitalistic conversation bc ideally id want to run to the forests to live a self sustained life etc etc.

but anyway i will try to take it as a new start instead of an inevitable ending. bc it would never be sustaining for me to stay there for more years, its not the job i wanted tbh. ill just have to trust myself this time to follow my own path. and try to be happy with it.

[the-currian]

Wooo long time no A3! post! Saw this in my drafts while listening to a sappy playlist and decided to finish it. Based on the prompt: “I have been in love with you for years.”

This is just tooth rotting fluff and I’m actually super happy with how it came out asdfghjlajalkl I had to take a break while writing bc I could feel myself fangirling.

Anyway, here’s a short Izumi x Sakyo scenario!

- - -

It’s a late night for Izumi and Sakyo as they sit at the dining table, working hard at balancing the logistics of the troupe.

Without warning, Izumi all but flumps her upper body on top of the table.

“Oi!” Sakyo yelps, indignant. “Don’t mess up the files with your nonsense.”

Izumi languidly adjusts her position to shift a deadpan stare at her (business) partner.

“Tired.” she grouses.

Sakyo merely sighs and leaves Izumi to wallow in her own world, resuming his work.

Minutes tick by, and just like clockwork, Izumi’s soft snores start filling in the silence of the night. Simultaneously, Sakyo starts losing his focus, eyes unconsciously drifting over to the object of his affections.

Perhaps its just him being lulled in by the quiet comfort of the early morning hours, but Sakyo feels himself more drawn to his childhood friend than usual, and slowly reaches his hand out to brush Izumi’s hair out of her face.

‘Soft…’ Sakyo’s mind so helpfully supplies him, as he carefully threads his fingers through her brown locks.

As if responding to Sakyo’s gentle actions, Izumi leans further into his touch as well as she can while still fast asleep on the table.

Sakyo suddenly feels his heart seize with a great affection and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. He inwardly allows himself a moment of weakness - a moment of vulnerability - and lets the warmth spread throughout his body.

He is all too familiar with this feeling - this mind-blowing endearment that takes over him every so often whenever he finds himself a little too introspective.

Sakyo is snapped out of his musings when Izumi suddenly opens her eyes, her gaze fixed on his, still with some traces of sleepiness present but alert nonetheless. Sakyo is helplessly pinned by her gaze as he continues to carefully comb through her hair with his fingers.

A sleepy smile takes over Izumi’s face. “That feels nice.”

Sakyo makes a noncommittal hum in response, but doesn’t stop.

Izumi’s eyes scan his face, and Sakyo can’t find it in himself to look away. They continue like this for awhile in the silence, both of them carried away by the ambience they’ve found themselves in.

“You know, Sakyo,” Izumi elects to break the quiet, using a low voice as if being careful not to scare him off. “Treat a girl like this, and she might start to get the wrong idea.”

Sakyo’s hand stills, but he doesn’t pull away. “…What kinds of ideas?”

Izumi lightly places her hand over his hand that is still entangled in her hair. “Things that aren’t always said out loud, but things you can hear in the silence,” she bites her lip before whispering, “Ideas about… love.”

Sakyo’s heart skips a beat and he feels his face warm, probably mirroring Izumi’s own reddening face. Carefully - almost reverently - he takes her hand and entwines it in his. Sakyo slowly brings Izumi’s hand to his lips, and presses a soft kiss against it.

“And what if I told you,” Sakyo mumbles, his lips still pressed to Izumi’s hand, “That I have been in love with you for years.”

Izumi’s eyes widen, then crinkle as she beams at him, pure unadulterated affection reflected in her eyes that Sakyo has no doubt is reflecting back at her just the same in his.

[demadogs]

Hey! Can you rec your favourite snowbaz fics? I keep seeing some posts in between that mention them and i am curious of the names. (Also I know a lot of people in fandom who refused to read the other two books but pls give them a shot. Awtwb is my fav, even more than CO!!)

PS. Shoutout to you and @kidovna for being the only active snowbaz and byler fans i know of! I feel represented!

HELL YEAH I CAN!!!!!!! ive had people ask me for byler fic recs and i couldnt even give them an answer bc literally the only fanfiction i ever read is snowbaz. ive read maybe 4 byler fics total but i read snowbaz fics multiple times a week which is honestly crazy considering i first read the book like 7 years ago and im still wanting more content every day.

most of these arent that long bc i personally like to read something i can read in one sitting or at most 2-3 days. but if you do want a wholeass novel boy do i have an author for you (philaetos).

the wheel by sleepdeprivedphilosopher

this is one of my favorite fics ever and its also by one of my favorite authors. its an au but theres still magic. simon and baz are in this never ending cycle of constantly being reincarnated in a new life together. theyre always rivals and simon always ends up killing baz but every life the situation for why theyre rivals is different. (this isnt a spoiler you find out pretty soon) the reason for this is that the first time simon killed baz he begged fate, who is like an actual personified thing you can talk to, to give him another chance so she “spun the wheel” and allowed him to be able to have another chance every time he messes up and kills him. so theyve been reincarnated for like centuries. its so good that i wish it was a whole book with completely new characters. i hope this author some day actually write a novel like this i love the plot so fucking much. it kinda reminds me of the show dark which is my favorite show of all time.

do as your told by IL46

also one of my favorite authors. they havent posted that much but everything they have i LOVE!!!!!!!! this one is my favorite tho. simon accidentally curses baz with a compulsion spell that forces him to do whatever anyone tells him to do and they work together with penny to try and create a counter spell for this ancient illegal spell that has no current counter. bazs life is pretty much ruined and hes really going through it but simon helps him. lots of hurt/comfort. i really loved this one.

love alarm by nevergonnacallmedarling

my favorite kinds of snowbaz fics are ones with a spell gone wrong and this is one of those. someone casts a spell that makes everyone whos within ten feet of someone theyre in love with have an alarm go off in their heart announcing their love. so baz is fucked and hes avoiding simon at all costs its really fun (not for him).

kiss it better by krisrix

this one SLAPS simon gets slashed by a goblin in the leg and the only way baz could help is with the kiss it better spell but hes so scared to do it bc he has to kiss the wound and ya know vampire and all that. i love this one.

a room just for two by krisrix

another banger by this author. its just late night conversations between the two of them and they slowly become more and more friendly and open up to each other more and more.

dream with eyes open by krisrix

i love this author ok. this ones about simon invading baz’s dreams over the summer break with “psychological warfare”.

sweet dreams by annabellelux

simon has nightmares so baz casts sweet dreams on him every night but that just leads to simon having romantic dreams about baz.

dont hate the player hate the game by annabellelux

i fucking love truth or dare fics

and these are some much longer ones if thats more what youre looking for. i actually am all here for the slowburn and thats it so ngl to you i ditched both of philaetos’ fics after they kissed even tho theres was so much left but i still recommend it because the slow burn slaps.

wondrous and mystical by philaetos

i fucking LOVE philaetos theyre fantastic. this one takes place right after baz gets back from being kidnapped and it really explores his trauma bc the book really brushed over the fact that he was literally locked in a coffin for over a month. so this is simon and baz slowly becoming friends and simon noticing that somethings definitely wrong with baz. i also like fics where simon finds out baz is gay well before they get together and that happens in this one.

ours by phileatos

this one everythings the same but baz has extremely bad internalized homophobia. i havent seen any other fics that arent aus explore this concept and i wish more people wrote it its an interesting take. baz honestly reminds me of mike in this fic.

the truth will set you free by sorbriqette

another classic fucked up spell trope. baz is spelled to tell the truth if hes hiding something he wants to tell someone so naturally he avoids everyone at all costs for weeks

i could recommend so much more honestly there are so many talented writers in this fandom. about the second and third books, im glad you loved them but i honestly will probably never read them for the same reason as me not finishing philaetos’ fics. im here for the slow burn i really dont care about established relationship that much when it comes to enemies to lovers (friends to lovers i eat it up but enemies i just love the angst). and i know they break up in the second book and i just KNOW id put the book down the second they do and never pick it up again even tho i know they get back together eventually. i just think carry on was perfect and i dont want anything to risk ruining it.