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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS, SMUUUUUUT, religion kink, virgin kink, authority kink, degradation kink, praise kink, age gap, ohhhhh the list goes on y’all been here long enough

A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time im sorry

***

Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to be sick.

Dinner in the grand hall was difficult enough, forking down mouthfuls of expensive food he’s sure was absolutely marvelous, if he could’ve tasted it. The s’Ziscari clearly splurged on the celebrations—expensive food, expensive decor, expensive everything, down to the silk napkin he studied and fiddled with under the table as he awkwardly waited for you to finish your plate.

He felt uncomfortable, absolutely. He’s felt uncomfortable ever since he shuffled into this blasted, Maker forsaken robe not long after he left your quarters earlier.

Not black, no. Not like yours. Not like what appears to be an overwhelmingly vast majority of the people he’s encountered so far this dreadful evening.

No, his robes are blue.

A strong, eye-catching royal blue, covering his body in waves of fabric—softer than anything he’s ever worn before and leaving him feeling incredibly exposed. The far more practical robes he traded for these atrocious garments are made of a thick, scratchy wool, a testament to the Jedi’s philosophical rejection of fine or expensive materials. And, against all logic—to somehow make matters even worse, the sash tying this uncomfortable piece of attire closed has no place to clip his saber, unlike the leather belt he usually wears. As a consequence, he’s left simply carrying it around by his side.

Granted, for some unknown reason, his robes are still far thicker and longer and more protective than the… stars, the ultra-thin black silk wrapped around your body, but Obi-Wan is so self-conscious about his appearance that he’s not even allowing himself to look at you. Obviously that doesn’t stop him from refusing to leave your side the entire night, and he finds himself rather grateful that only a very few number of s’Ziscari are fluent in Basic, if only to provide him with a valid excuse to socially detach.

Of the very few people he’s noticed wearing robes resembling his, they’re all far younger than him—much closer to your age than Obi-Wan’s, and stars, everything about this celebration is unbelievably unnerving to him—including, if not most of all, your response to it. One of the reasons he knows the food was grand, apart from the immaculate plating and lavish dinnerware of course, is because you momentarily excused yourself from the seat next to him to dish yourself out a second helping.

Even now, even in the skybox seats of this distressingly packed arena, Obi-Wan struggles to keep down what little food he could eat while you stand tall next to him and seem completely unbothered by the situation—and by the Maker, it bothers him. He isn’t used to this. He’s used to you being the emotionally turbulent one, the one whom he has to pacify, and it twists his stomach with the way the roles have suddenly found themselves reversed.

“I think the blue looks nice, by the way,” you lean sideways to mention casually to him, and he knows. He knows you’re just jesting, just trying to lighten the mood, but he feels the bile rising up his throat at the fact that you even commented on it aloud. “Fitting. Matches your saber. Your face, though.” The smallest hint of a smile tugs at your cheeks. “It’s beginning to match the color of mine.”

“Thank you for that, young one; your sense of humor is positively delightful,” Obi-Wan gripes, clutching the metal hilt tightly in front of him with both hands while he gazes out at the stadium before him, bustling with black hooded figures and a rare flash of blue. It does not escape his notice that in complete contrast, your arms are loosely meeting behind your back, your saber dangling in one hand while the other lazily holds your wrist. Your body is… open. Draped in garments somehow equally as opaque as they are revealing, presented to the wide panoramic view of the audience and stage with no qualms whatsoever.

“Wonder who I got it from,” you ponder with a tilt of your head, and… fair point. “How long is this thing supposed to last anyways?”

“Stars—‘this thing’ can’t get over with soon enough,” Obi-Wan grumbles, his eyes anxiously flicking down at the empty stage in the center of the audience. He’s struggling with butterflies and nausea like he himself is meant to have a starring role in this debauchery. “They’ll have… acts. Plural.”

“Heavens,” you sigh under your breath, and oh yes. He agrees.

He’s also painfully aware that he should be using this free time to continue contemplating his decision about… matters concerning later this evening with you, but he’s already feeling massively overwhelmed as it is. Right now, it’s all he can do to just breathe and attempt to face one trial at a time.

But then, as if the Maker is feeling just particularly malicious this evening, Obi-Wan’s stomach drops when something quiet flashes in the Force and the roar of the enormous crowd instantly falls to dead silence. The ominous sign rockets through him and while a Jedi should not know fear, this might be the closest he’s ever felt to truly terrified.

“Ooh, dramatic,” you whisper, but regardless of your laissez-faire attitude, his heart is positively pounding as he watches the figures of robed Force sensitives slowly file out onto the stage, and everything inside him lurches at the realization that—

They’re all wearing blue. Every single one of them is clothed in fabric that matches his current attire, the one that made him feel like a blot on the landscape the entire dinner and subsequent mass pilgrimage to the arena. A bright splash of color in the midst of an almost inescapably giant ring of black.

You’ve stopped talking. Truly, he has no idea if that’s a good or bad thing, not right now. The Force sensitives join hands and create a ring in the center of the stage while every single person in the arena sits in perfect silence, and Obi-Wan feels dizzy. He’s not getting enough air right now, but he doesn’t even want to breathe too loudly and somehow draw even more attention to himself.

Two of the blue robes break off from their fellow acolytes and meet in the middle of the circle, and to simply avoid having a heart attack, Obi-Wan very purposefully chooses to ignore—like he’s done multiple times this evening—the subtle flicker of curiosity he experiences at the significance of the color blue and what it symbolizes to the s’Ziscari. He can’t even bear to watch the way the two of them slowly lean in and allow their lips to touch from under their hoods.

Maker, if he turned his saber on and stabbed himself with it, could he convince you it was an accident? Probably not—no, definitely not, what a stupid thought to have—

“How does she wipe?” He hears your voice whisper, and Obi-Wan’s facial expression immediately screws up in confusion.

He turns to you, his tone equally hushed but the bewilderment sharpening his consonants. “How does who what—?”

Only—you’re not even looking at the scene unfolding in front of you. Your expression is just as confused as his is, but instead of looking down, your chin is lifted and you’re staring directly across the arena at the viewing booth opposite to yours. He still has no idea what you’re talking about though, not until he follows your line of sight and sees the way s’Zerthia has her jaw propped up in her hands on her throne, looking bored as usual, and how the length of her newly manicured fingernails curves halfway up her scalp from this angle.

“That’s dangerous,” you remark quietly. “They’re like talons. Gaudy little weapons she always has attached to her that she decorates, makes them seem less vicious than they actually are. I see them. I certainly don’t envy whoever she picks tonight to—”

You cut yourself off with a bit lip smile and turn your face away from him, and Obi-Wan is almost mystified by how casual you’re able to be about this.

“Whomever she picks to…?” He trails off with a sigh. “Do I… Do I want to know?”

“Never mind,” you tell him quickly, lifting your chin once more while still clearly trying not to laugh. You’re trying not to laugh, while… while that is happening in the center of the audience. “It was, uh… tasteless.”

He blinks, wondering what that could possibly mean. Everything about this is tasteless, the entire thing is just an absolute nightmare coming to life.

Though, after a moment of silence, Obi-Wan soon realizes he much prefers it when you fill the void.

“Members of the Royal Court take turns doing it for her,” he eventually replies, decidedly looking anywhere but where the man is slipping the blue robe from the woman’s body. It takes you a second to register to what exactly he’s referring, but when you finally do, you snort. It’s too loud. A few heads closest to your isolated seats turn as Obi-Wan very quickly thrusts his elbow into your ribs. “Quit being disrespectful,” he hisses under his breath.

“You just—!” You quickly clamp your mouth shut and face forward again, trying not to smile in an appalled sort of way. But then—“Oh,” you blurt, not loud enough for anyone else to hear in this open setting but still loud enough for him to glance around and be slightly anxious about it. “Oh. Wow. I wasn’t… expecting…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes automatically flick down to the couple, only just long enough to catch a quick glimpse of stark nudity in the center of the arena before his gaze immediately bounces back up again and focuses on the incredibly interesting steel beam currently propping up the Queen’s viewing box, clearing his throat. “I… did warn you.”

“Well, yeah, I expected them to…” Your hushed voice trails off and you stay quiet for too long, too long to imply you’re still formulating an end to your thought. You’re distracted by something, but then you appear to snap back to your senses and immediately clear your throat. “I just wasn’t expecting… the, uh. The… positioning.”

He says nothing in response. It… it doesn’t give him great comfort, wondering how you could possibly know enough about this type of profanity to have expected a different sort of positioning. The stark contrast between the color of his ceremonial robes and yours still remains completely unspoken, but it quietly pulls at the back of his mind nonetheless.

“What about it?” Obi-Wan immediately hears himself prompt and oh, no, this is completely inappropriate. Not only should he not be encouraging this kind of talk with you, but he also shouldn’t feel so… so negative, not about something so personal to you and something that’s certainly none of his business. Regardless, he… still has this buried, unexplainable desire to know the truth about it. Regardless of the indirect way he’s attempting to go about it, he wants to know the truth about whether or not you broke your oath, and while he recognizes it’s completely improper of him, the urge is still strong enough to manifest itself using his vocal cords.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just… It’s…” He doesn’t even have a visual reference for what you’re attempting to find the words to describe. He doesn’t want to. He just wants to know what you think about it. “…Bold,” you finally settle on.

Bold. It’s bold. Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t be analyzing your verbal responses so closely if he had something more interesting to look at besides the general coliseum-like structure of the large outdoor stadium, but there’s a certain horizon he just won’t let his eyes dip below right now and unfortunately for him, being so high up above the crowd, the upper hemisphere of his visual field remains relatively dull.

“Who would've thought,” he eventually sighs, blinking up at the star-splattered sky now and attempting to see if he can use the Force to break off a piece of a satellite and have it impale him in a tragic accident. “Considering the s’Ziscari are such a conservative bunch.”

His eyes soon wander back to s’Zerthia, and—Obi-Wan startles to find her staring directly at him with a thin eyebrow dangerously quirked. She motions two long fingers in a V shape at her eyes and then points down towards the stage, her expression expectant and waiting.

Obi-Wan’s teeth hurt at how hard he clenches them together, his jaw flexing but the thick blanket of his beard doing well to conceal it. She’s playing with him, he realizes; he can see the hidden smile on her lips all the way from here.

Maker, maybe she’s right. Maybe he’s—maybe he’s being ridiculous about this. This is fine. This is fine. His stomach feels like it’s all his food might come up at any second, but he’ll do it, he’ll look. He can at least just look, right?

His gaze slowly begins lowering, trying to take in just a few things at a time so as not to overstimulate himself. Thousands of s’Ziscari lining the seats of the arena, almost every single one of them dressed in black. Lower still—the platform leading up to the stage. A perimeter of blue figures now sitting down in a circle and then, at its center, a… a naked man and woman.

Obi-Wan’s heart pounds as he struggles to comprehend the sight, never having laid eyes on a nude woman before. She’s on her elbows and knees, forehead lowered and resting against the floor, and the man kneels behind her, one hand holding her hips and the other wrapping around his—

Stars, Obi-Wan wants to end it all. Right here. His aim will be true.

But then… oh, no, he’s an idiot. He’s a complete dullard, because he forgot. Consumed by his own sheer anxiety and unease, Obi-Wan stupidly forgot an extremely crucial detail of the incredibly little he’s been told about the Sh’inzith.

—the projecting.

All at once, he’s nearly knocked over by the strength of the two Force sensitives at the center of the arena as they deliberately cast their minds out across the entire audience, presenting every sensation and fleeting thought they’re experiencing in all its intensity. Obi-Wan immediately works to reinforce his mental shields as soon as he feels the shockwave about to hit, but there’s thousands of Force sensitives present—all of them congregated into one relatively small area, all of them tuning into the same two signatures and then suddenly… amplifying them back until it’s impossible for him to shut out.

“Oh, uh—” he just manages to hear you mutter through the whirlwind, just the slightest hint of panic in your voice peaking through the symphony of whispered thoughts and pulsing sensations coming from the stage, “—that isn’t good—”

Obi-Wan abruptly stumbles backwards and gasps at the awful, wretched feeling of something brunt pressing up hard against somewhere elusive, somewhere he’s never felt before towards the lower part of his body, and his mind fights viciously against it as he feels you spin around and reach out for his rapidly retreating figure.

“Wait, no—it’s okay, M-Master, it’s okay, it’s—” your voice cuts off and your hands suddenly fist into the robes at his chest, your forehead dropping to his shoulder against the sharp sting just continuing to push and push and push, “—i-it’s okay, it’s oka—”

He trips over his feet in the chaos and falls back on complete instinct and you’re so tightly attached to him that you’re yanked forwards with the momentum, the two of you plunging to the ground in a clumsy heap of grunts and tangled limbs. Obi-Wan immediately starts crawling backwards across the floor underneath you, still trying to escape the horrible, inescapable sensation digging into a part of his body that doesn’t seem to exist, but it’s like you’re of the same mind—you’re scrambling forwards in the same direction trying to get away from the same thing, frantically attempting to calm him and simultaneously deal with the agony yourself, and then suddenly—

Oh—oh, Maker—

Suddenly something gives and surges in, and then Obi-Wan gasps—his elbows buckling under him and as the both of you drop down onto the floor because stars, it’s nearly blinding with impression. Not only the aching, hard fullness stretching sharp and deep somewhere in his lower abdomen—but now a new sensation. A tight, wet silk he feels swallowing him between his legs, concentrated on a part of his body that… does exist, a body part that’s currently pressed up right between your spread thighs.

“Fuck,” you moan hot against his throat, trying to find somewhere to brace yourself next to his shoulders and push yourself up off him, and he tries—Maker, he tries so hard not to, but his hands shoot out to grab your hips before he even knows what he’s doing and then he’s dragging his lower body up into yours on instinct alone, clamping his eyes shut and groaning out a desperate sound he’s never heard himself make before as his head drops against the floor.

It’s staggering. It hurts. He can't even hear your muffled noises anymore, not over the roaring encompassing his mind and body. All he knows is that your hips quickly jerk back and grind down into his in response, sending Obi-Wan reeling while you bury your twisted cry of pleasure and pain into his neck.

The sound of it breaks through everything else.

Obi-Wan’s hands shake violently as they suddenly release you and then frantically shove at your shoulders, trying to push you off without hurting you. He can’t think, he can’t see, he needs to leave—

“Get away,” he rasps desperately up at the sky, blinking his eyes wide but somehow not seeing anything in front of him but blackness. “St-stars, get away from me—”

Suddenly you’re flipping off his body and onto your back next to him, too quick for it to be a mechanical movement alone, and he doesn’t even have the space in his mind nor the processing capacity to figure out if he Force pushed you off him or if it was you who did it to yourself. He just clambers to his feet and stumbles away in a terrified, graceless retreat, bent in half, limping and gasping and fighting for every step he takes.

***

Your Master was right to leave as soon as possible, you think. You were wrong to linger here for just a second to try and gain your bearings, because the more you work to grasp and attempt to organize them, the more mindless and disorienting they become.

You eventually have to heave over and drag yourself after him.

The further away you get from the arena, the easier it becomes to block the projection, but Maker, it’s exhausting. You’re resigned to start out with a crawl—one of those Jedi Core crawls you haven’t had to do since the Academy but this one exponentially slower, forehead dropped down and eyes closed, just focusing on alternating shifting your elbows and your knees forwards and dedicating the rest of your mental energy to just isolating your mind from the debilitating assault.

Consulars don’t usually see much of war—you tend to do absolutely everything in your power to avoid it. It’s the Guardians who experience the horrors of combat most often, who deal with ambushes and onslaughts from enemies of the Republic. But Maker above, every merciless thrust into that poor little virgin at the center of the arena is like a blaster shooting directly at you, but then couple it with the thousands of reflections and ricochets in robes lining the bleachers? You’re in the trenches of a deadly battle you had no idea was even about to break out and you have no weapon of defense besides retreat.

When you finally get far enough away to be able to push yourself upright as much as possible and continue staggering back to the palace on two feet, you have no concept for how long it’s been. You can still feel the projection vibrating and clawing sharply at the edges of your consciousness, but at least the majority of your thoughts are your own now, and it gradually becomes easier and easier to focus and speed up to a clumsy run.

Though, no matter how successful you eventually are at muffling the vibrant sensations and thoughts of the two Force sensitives behind you—when they cum, you stumble down to your knees again and have to bite the back of your fist to keep from screaming.

Maker, it takes you a minute to recover. You don’t even cum, you just feel it—the burst of energy from the Force in every direction, the violent explosion from the stadium that feels like it should fracture the ground beneath you.

You’re able to get up after a moment, if only because they decide to take mercy and finally cut off the projection. You know that it’s a temporary relief, that they’ll likely be at this all night, but you hope the palace will be far enough away from the arena to block out the sensations completely. You wonder if Master Kenobi felt that through the Force or whether he was too determined to block it out that he was able to simply ignore the nuclear missile that just detonated less than a few miles away from him.

You force yourself forwards and you want to hurry, you do—but strangely, in your wild state of exhaustion, stark reality is almost as debilitating as swimming through that endless madness was. It’s quiet around you but the noise of still air pulses deafeningly in your eardrums after breaking free from such a thick mental filter separating you from your surroundings. You still have your lightsaber clutched in your hand, Maker rejoice, and your thin robes are skewed awkwardly across your body, but you eventually find your way to the doors of the palace.

Though, trying to navigate the empty halls back to your Master’s chambers takes you longer than it should. His signature is cloaked spectacularly, concealed to a mere speck you wouldn’t even know was there if you weren’t so closely acquainted with it for more than a decade. You follow the flickering pixel of blue light through the obstacle ridden darkness, adjusting the front of your robes with one trembling hand while you wipe your brow with the other, closing your eyes and doing your best to take deep breaths. He’ll be spiraling right now. He’ll need a boulder to cling to in this tsunami, solid ground to stand on while the stars are falling out of the sky.

You… find him in your quarters instead.

The door is open and his handsome profile is to you, the thick fabric stretching over his broad shoulders now an agreeable light cream, familiar and telling of his intentions. His hands are moving. Setting something down on your bed—your robes, you soon realize. He’s laying out your Jedi robes neatly for you across the fur blanketing the large mattress.

Master Kenobi begins speaking as soon as you step foot into the room, the tone of his voice very clearly impatient after having waited for you for so long.

“Change out of those ridiculous garments,” he tells you hastily, neatly laying out your leather belt across your dark tunic without even turning his head to look at you properly. “We must leave. Quickly. Also—tell me you didn’t forget your saber at the arena, because if so, I’m afraid it’s lost to us forever now. Ilum is only three days from here, perhaps we can stop there on the way back to Coruscant to find you another kyber cryst—”

You drop the hilt of your lightsaber on the floor and step forward, cautiously reaching out for his figure as he continues to ramble. “Master, I—”

Your hand is thrown to the side with a subtle flick of his wrist and you instantly jerk to an abrupt halt, holding your palms out in front of you and keeping completely still while he spins around, his jaw slack and staring at you wide-eyed. He takes a few steps away from you in shock.

“I’m sorry—” he immediately gasps, reaching out towards you even though the rest of his body is still desperately evading yours. “Stars, I’m so sorry—that was just… That was excruciating, young one. Why would anyone ever willingly—?”

“It—it doesn’t always—” you cut yourself off just in time, clamping your jaw shut before you can finish your sentence.

“We must leave,” he says once more as he turns back to your mattress, not appearing to hear you at all and shaking his head, far too frantic to sound like he’s just reminding you alone. “We can’t do that. I can’t do that—”

“It doesn’t always have to be—” Maker, what is wrong with you? Your heart kicks up in your chest and somehow stutters to a halt at the same time. It’s the lingering effects of the assault your mind just experienced coupled with your desperate urge to console him that’s making you so utterly careless, you realize, it’s making your tongue loose.

“Stars, what do you mean?” Master Kenobi finally snaps, and your blood runs ice cold. “How do you know that?”

It takes the sum of all your years of training to keep the raging hurricane of emotion from showing in any capacity. You feel like he’s holding his saber to your neck with how dangerously little you’re even allowing yourself to breathe right now, how utterly and completely still you’re holding yourself in front of him.

Lie, a little voice in your mind supplies quietly, the little voice you keep locked inside an impenetrable box of everything you are but have never been allowed to confront, haven’t been allowed to openly think just in case someone is listening too closely. Lie. Lie, right now. Your silence is giving you away.

Only—you can’t. You shouldn’t. It’s not fair to keep this from him, not when you’re asking him to do something so structurally compromising to his belief system. If… if you tell him the truth, perhaps he won’t judge you too harshly. Perhaps he’ll feel… reassured, knowing he’s certainly not the first Jedi to break a sacred vow when he felt times were desperate enough.

Besides. This might be the only secret that could potentially get you kicked out of the Order, but… it still isn’t your worst one.

“Because.” The word is out of your mouth before you can rethink it, barely above a whisper. “I… know.”

He doesn’t respond, and no.

No, you were wrong. You were wrong to tell him the truth, and the look on his face immediately shoots panic through your whole body.

He doesn’t look reassured.

He looks… alienated.

“‘It doesn’t always?’” Your Master eventually repeats back to you, and fuck—the implication is instantly clear. The implication is made so clear from the sharpness in his tone, the hard edge to it as he rounds out the vowels in the last word that makes your heart twist and throb in your ribcage. He might as well have just asked you how many times you must’ve violated your code of honor to know the difference.

“It’s not.” You clear your throat and flick your gaze up to the ceiling, feeling like he’s using the Force to squeeze your chest in on itself. “That was the absolute worst possible sensation that can be felt during… It’s—it’s not like that. It won’t… be like that. Not.” Are there tears coming to your eyes? “Not… with me.”

Utter quiet. So quiet that if you really concentrate, you can hear the distant sounds of the arena continuing on with the Ritual without you. You bite hard at your lip and wait for him to say something, anything. Yell at you, tell you how disgusted he is, banish you from the Order.

Instead, Master Kenobi quite suddenly… deflates. He sighs—not a heavy, exhausted one, but a soft one. A quiet, accepting sort of sound.

He slowly lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, running both hands through his hair, and it’s just enough to give you pause. You glance over at him, trying not to let tears fall beyond the plateau of your lower lids with the frantic downward movement of your eyes, and you’re only just barely successful at it.

“It’s alright,” he says gently. “It’s… it’s alright, young one. I… suppose I am in no place to judge. Quite… quite literally,” he murmurs, gesturing to the space around him with a lazy wave of his hand. Maker, his figure is too watery and unfocused to make out his facial expressions, but you don’t want to blink to clear your vision just in case a sudden downpour escapes. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have asked. You’re… not my Padawan anymore. I should have no reason to… even care at all, really.”

There’s something that feels… major in that, something monumental yet incredibly well hidden, but you’re still too full of blind panic to interpret it further. Your breathing is shaky and you wonder, quite stupidly and not for the first time in your life, if it’s somehow possible to use the Force to evaporate the water in your eyes before it turns into tears.

“I am certain it took place in your younger years, a long time ago,” he continues calmly when you don’t immediately say anything. “You did always have a… a rather unconventional relationship with the rules.”

Your only response is a quick jerk of a nod. Yes.

“Yes,” you immediately agree, hoping your tone sounds convincing enough through the lingering tremors. “It was… a long time ago. I’ve changed, since then. Grown up in many ways.”

It’s his turn to nod, and you manage to calm down just slightly. You’re still breathing too hard and you’re a bit too braced, too much of a stance to truly feel like relief, but your heart rate is beginning to settle back into a somewhat acceptable rhythm.

Master Kenobi looks over at you, and he says absolutely nothing about the traces of water still glistening along your eyelashes. He just smiles softly and pats the space next to him.

You cautiously make your way over to him after a moment, feeling more unsure now than you’ve felt this entire mission. You leave at least a half a foot of space separating the two of you once you carefully sit yourself down on the mattress, and you can’t even look in his general direction. You just focus on the long, draping sleeves of your black robe as you look down at your hands and wait for him to speak first.

“Sometimes,” he eventually sighs. “Sometimes I… feel like you’re the person I know best in the entire galaxy, you know. I’ve… I’ve known you far longer than I ever knew my own Master, young one. I picked you out of thousands, and I’d do it thousands of times again. Sometimes—especially since the day of your accolade and subsequent absence, I feel like I can know exactly what you’re thinking, even from across an entire star system. And yet somehow, you… always surprise me. Even after all these years, I am just. Consistently surprised by you.”

You don’t know how to take that. You just sit there in a guilty silence, still unable to turn your head or offer any sort of response.

“I chose you as a Padawan because you surprised me, you know,” he reminds you quietly. “I had certain expectations for you, and you did not meet those expectations. Instead, you presented an alternative I’d never before considered, an alternative that forced me to reevaluate you—and by extension, myself—far beyond what I had previously. That is not a bad thing. It has never been a bad thing. As is made blatantly obvious by the fact that I’m the one currently standing in the way of saving lives, and you’re…not.”

Maker, this is thin ice. You don’t know what to say that’ll express hesitant agreement with his sentiment without making it sound like you’re not apologetic for breaking your oath. You’re… well, you’re not, not really. His response itself is causing you to feel far more turmoil than any legitimate regret for your actions.

“It was—” On instinct, you almost say it was a mistake regardless of the conflicts you’re just so happening to encounter on this mission, but something stops you. You suddenly remember your place here, your goal. To save the galaxy from the Separatists’ reign. And, by extension… sleep with your Master. You can’t call it a mistake if you’re going to ultimately try to convince him to do the same thing. So instead, you scramble to finish your sentence with a different thought, knowing his full attention is pinned to you right now. “…A long time ago,” is all your exhausted mind is able to come up with.

“Yes,” he gives you a small, companionable smile. “It’s alright. Your prior lapse—or, well… lapses in judgement… will forever be safe with me.”

And still, you don’t feel relief. Not when Master Kenobi very quickly appears to look uncertain.

“I… apologize,” he offers after a moment, “if. If I ever made you feel like… like you could not confide in me about any struggles or… or urges you may have been experienc—”

“Maker,” you suddenly interrupt with a frantic wave of your hands, everything cringing inside you, “Maker, we don’t have to do this. None of it, it’s okay. Know what? Let’s just go home—screw the galaxy, I don’t care, just stop talking.”

He snaps his eyes over to you, a sudden bark of laughter escaping him before the rest of his face even seems to register something was funny.

It evolves. Eventually he’s covering his face and stifling ridiculous little snorts behind his hands, trying to apologize in between the chuckles but laughing even harder. It’s almost like… just a form of pure stress relief for him. So far beyond traumatized that it’s revealing itself in a slightly hysterical way, even if what you said wasn’t hysterical at all.

“Now you have a mere glimpse into what my experience has been like today,” he finally tells you with a sparkling grin once he composes himself, lifting his chin as he looks at you and scratching his beard with a quiet flicking sound. “Shall I keep going? If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what, things can always get worse.”

“They don’t have to.” You say it without thinking, the gentle reprieve caused by his laughter flowing through you in waves and making you throw caution to the wind. The four words serve to shut him up quite quickly however, even though it was the opposite of your intent, and your smile drops. Maker, just freely conversing with him about these things is navigating a minefield for his mental state.

“You… you say that, and yet even—” Master Kenobi eventually responds, cutting himself off with a cough. “Even the things I’ve heard are meant to feel… pleasant, were just.” He shakes his head and blinks his crystal blue eyes over at you. “By all accounts. Agony.”

“I know,” you nod. “I know. Projecting that specific situation was… sadistic of them. A distortion of the truth. Probably rooted in deep tradition, but also a great scare tactic if I ever saw one, playing with us by presenting the absolute worst of it before anything else. It won’t hurt. At all. I promise. In fact—I-I can make it feel—”

Maker, you don’t even finish your sentence, but you must think the general idea loud enough for him to understand. You don’t actually have a specific word in mind—good, great, amazing, euphoric?—and yet, something quiet settles over you two at the silent implication, the mere whisper of the possibility of you pleasuring him.

And him… allowing it.

“Master, I—”

“Don’t,” he quickly tells you. “Don’t call—You don’t have to… call me that. Just for right now, it’s. I don’t—” he takes a breath that sounds shakier than it looks, and then he paints an easy, fake smile on his face following the exhale. You recognize that smile anywhere, though. While you’ve never seen him wear it before, it’s the smile that politicians make when they’re about to present a lesser truth to you, a smile shown to you in negotiations all the time that signifies something… hidden. He’s hiding something, something important, and you have no idea what it could possibly be. “I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called that right now, young one. Perhaps you should be the Master, and I the learner.”

“Ah yes, the circle is now complete,” you can’t help but jest in return, wanting to keep the tone light even though the subject matter is heavy. “Is now when we trade lightsabers?”

“Indeed,” he smiles, this time more sincere, and… you can’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it appears you’re physically closer to each other now than you were when you first sat down.

“Do they, uh… actually expect us to…” You clear your throat and wave a hand around, “…Project the entire time like that?”

Master Kenobi quickly shakes his head. “No. s’Zer—Queen s’Zerthia informed me that. Ah. For us, projection will only be necessary during the… well, she called it the ‘closing ceremonies.’”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod. “I… see.”

It’s like you can physically feel his body start to break out into a cold sweat next to you at the sudden… realness of it all, the realization that it has to be getting late. Close to midnight, if you’re not already pushing it. It’s come time to make a final decision, you both know it. You want to console him, offer him some kind of solace or reprieve, but stars, you just don’t know how, not when you’re this much of a mess about this, too, but for entirely different reasons. You don’t have a single clue how to make him feel better about any of this.

“I just,” you rush before you lose the nerve, “I want you to know that—e-even if you feel like you’re somehow alone in this, you’re not. Okay? I’m… I’m really nervous, too. I don’t… I don’t actually know what to do at all right now. I don’t know whether to respect your apprehension or tell you it’s unfounded. I don’t know if I should remind you what’s at stake here or whether I should avoid mentioning it at all costs. I have no idea what position I should take, but I’ll—I’ll take whichever one you want me to.”

And it’s odd, because when you first launched into your confession, Master Kenobi gradually began to look more and more relieved, but at a certain point, something just goes horribly wrong. You don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, it seems to rocket through your Master and suddenly his breathing stutters.

For a moment, you think he’s going to reach back, yank your neatly folded Jedi robes up from the mattress and push the dark fabric into your hands. Tell you he’ll meet you at the docking bay posthaste, tell you not to linger, tell you that the mission was a failure. But then—

“Before,” he suddenly says, the word almost startling you with how abrupt it comes out sounding. Almost like he wasn’t quite expecting himself to say it either. “Earlier today, you asked… you asked if there was anything you could do to… make this easier.”

“Yes,” you prompt immediately. He won’t look at you, and for some reason your heart begins beating faster and the inside of your thighs are getting warm.

“I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this,” he admits with a whisper, his voice sounding so quietly reluctant, like he doesn’t want to say the words aloud but is forcing himself to. “But… the Council put you in charge of negotiations.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his implication. What does that have to do with anything? Is he saying that you’re supposed to be in charge, and therefore he’s defaulting to you? “I’m not sure I—”

“The Galactic Republic…” Master Kenobi enunciates very, very pointedly, still unable to look at you, “…put you in charge of negotiations.”

Specifying—or in this case, generalizing—doesn’t help much. “I’m still not—”

“Maker, for—for the good of the Republic, young one,” he presses under his breath and finally flicks his gaze up to meet yours, sounding urgent and torn in equal parts. “Negotiate.”

Stars, negotiate with who? With—with him? For the good of the…? Is he asking you to somehow reason with him beyond what you’ve attempted to do already, or persuade him to do what’s right for—?

Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.

Shock paints your expression blank and his eyes instantly evade yours once more. You have to sit there for just a second and double-check that you’re not dreaming. None of this seems real. All of it seems like an incredibly elaborate illusion of the Force, ever since you first laid eyes on him at the start of this mission. You know you missed him but stars, did you truly miss him this terribly? Your longing must rival something fierce to unconsciously conjure this wild of a scenario. Is he actually here right now? Have you been speaking to a ghost? Are you actually here right now? Are you going to wake up any second and remember he’s thousands of lightyears away and has been for years, risking his life on the front lines of galactic war while you’re left to play politics and negotiate treaties behind the scenes?

These thoughts aren’t safe to have in normal interactions with him, but nothing about this situation is normal, and while you know Master Kenobi has years of experience reading your signature, he most likely won’t be able to gauge the specific details of your thoughts when you can sense how intensely he’s focused on guarding his own chaotic mind from you.

So you let yourself think. If only for a second, you sit next to him and allow yourself to just… think about him. About how much you care for him, how desperately you ache for him—you let all these improper longings finally have their moment with you. You let yourself confront it, crack the lid of the hidden box tucked away behind your consciousness and brave it, because if there was ever a moment to do so, it’s right now.

Your heart starts slamming up against your ribcage and your hands feel like they’re tingling. He wants you to convince him to have sex with you. He’s asking you to corrupt him. He wants you to negotiate the galaxy’s survival with the last man standing in the way of its prosperity—a good man with strong, immovable morals, a man who understands the consequences that follow integrity around and won’t be easy to tempt.

“This was a bad idea,” suddenly comes Master Kenobi’s voice, quickly backpedaling after too long of a silence. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said that, we should just g—”

“Would you like to meditate?” You immediately ask him on a complete whim, shuffling back towards the middle of the mattress for the second time today. You’re careful to make sure he doesn’t see you carelessly flick your neat robes to the floor with the Force, clearing the top of the large mattress. “Let’s meditate.”

“Stars,” he breathes, shyly his head turning to follow you, “I’d love nothing more, but there truly just isn’t any time—”

You find it easier than you thought it’d be to pull a playful face at him, crossing your legs and straightening your spine. “Please, you’re a Guardian. You blue sabers practically invented battle meditation, did you not?”

He looks skeptical for a moment, as he has a valid right to be. “Is this a battle?” He eventually asks over his shoulder.

You say nothing in response to that, instead using the Force with a flex of your finger to tug at the loose cream fabric of his robe at his elbow. “Come on, it’ll do us good.”

He looks conflicted for a second, but then ultimately decides to humor you. “Alright,” Master Kenobi finally agrees, turning around and crawling towards you on the mattress, and you’re just quick enough to stamp down a flicker of arousal at the mere sight of it. “It won’t hurt.”

“Of course it won’t,” you agree with just a bit too much air in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. He just seats himself directly in front of you, facing you, crossing his legs close enough to yours that your knees barely touch, and—

—Maker, he’s lovely.

You purposefully let yourself think it as his eyes slowly fall closed and he takes a deep breath, beginning to tame the wild tempest of his mind. You let the word flitter around your thoughts without instantly repressing it like you always do, and just the mere act of allowing yourself to acknowledge the truth is freeing. He’s lovely. He’s lovely. You could scream it.

Your eyes trail down the lines of his ever softening, tranquil expression, not even bothering to pretend to meditate for his benefit this time. Your gaze roams shamelessly across his face, the way his hair is combed back away from it. The sandy, masculine beard leading down to the thick column of his throat, the broad lines of his shoulders draped in pale fabric, the way his chest slowly moves as he breathes. Lovely. Lovely.

And then you go… lower.

His abdomen is stretched long with how upright he’s sitting, his flawless meditation posture. His thighs are spread wide in this position, pants stretched tight into an elusive drum over his crotch and preventing you from truly seeing anything—but stars is it a thrill even just letting yourself look.

Especially knowing that the more his mind works to compose itself, the easier it’ll be for him to hear you.

You keep thinking, growing bolder the more you’re left alone with this box wide open. You think about how lithe and strong his body is, how it would feel under your hands. You think about all the different things you want to show him, all the… the mind shattering pleasure you can give him if he’ll allow y—

Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.

It doesn’t sound the way you expect, though you don’t really know what you expected it to sound like. A sharp, frustrated bark? An exasperated, pleading attempt to get you to stop?

No—none of those. It’s a quiet, low growl of a sound, and the clear warning in it absolutely burns a hole through you like he picked up his lightsaber and used it instead.

You take practiced breaths, trying to calm yourself down. Stars, he just said your name, he’s said it so many times before, and yet hearing it in his mouth with that tone in this context feels like he just strapped rockets to your ankles and told you to stay put. You’re impatient. You’re turning yourself on, working yourself up, trying to get to where you can actually make a move on him after dedicating so many years to desperately repressing the longing to do so. Once he told you to negotiate this deal with him, however, it’s as if every ounce of the impeccable self control you’ve practiced so spectacularly throughout most of your life slowly started to unravel.

Reaching out tentatively so as not to startle him, you wrap both of your palms around the bend of his knees and squeeze gently. Master Kenobi displays no physical signs of—well, anything really, keeping his body completely rigid under your hands with no noticeable alterations in his breathing pattern. Biting your lip, you begin to slowly rotate your thumbs, making sure to keep your movements slow and perfectly symmetrical. Complete relaxation is your ultimate goal here—coaxing your Master into a serene state where physical contact is desired, not obligatory. He's so uncomfortable with the concept of intimacy in and of itself though, from the way his eyebrows start to furrow and his spine begins gradually tilting back and away from you, it's almost as if your ministrations are dampening rather than fueling.

“Relax,” you murmur, and stars, even though you make it sound quiet and gentle, it’s like the melodic lull of your voice appears to startle him more than if you’d just spoken normally. Maker—it’s counterintuitive; how are you supposed to turn someone on when the mere state of being turned on turns them off? “Relax with me, it’s okay—”

“But I just can't, young one,” he suddenly implores, his voice pressed up tight in his throat, his cerulean eyes popping open in frustration and something else—an honest, heartfelt emotion that's strikingly less familiar to you, even after years spent by his side: deep, hot, stomach-wrenching guilt. You watch your Master’s palms run the length of his thighs; back and forth, back and forth—almost like a nervous tick, you think—and it’s oddly endearing, if not increasingly concerning. “I just can't, this is all so wrong. Don't you understand? E-Even if the Council did provide a—well, a rather admittedly ineluctable blessing for this downright ludicrous endeavor, i-it’s… I don't…” He takes a deep breath, and visually, it looks like he's attempting to collect his thoughts and composure, but you know your Master all too well. You know what he's really doing, and at this point, it's almost… frustrating.

“What are you so afraid of?” You clutch his knees and whisper quietly, interrupting him before he can verbalize whatever perfectly logical reason he's trying to formulate as to why you both should leave the planet immediately, what he's going to say to the Council if they ever inquire as to why negotiations ultimately failed. He jerks his head up sharply to look at you.

“The Jedi fear nothing,” is his automatic response, though his previously intense gaze strays slightly from yours after a second of too much eye contact. “Fear is the path to the Dark Side, you know this.”

“And yet you are afraid,” you remark calmly, studying the way he’s turned his face away from you completely now, how you can still see his jaw clench under the thick beard with his profile shown to you like this. “I—I’m trying to understand, Master, but I—I don’t. Even if this mission were half as important as it is, your loyalty to the Order would follow you right into an early grave. But this?” You remove a palm from his knee to gesture between the two of you, the mattress beneath the both of you, “fulfilling this mission and these terms to save the entire galaxy is too ‘downright ludicrous’ for the Great Negotiator? I don’t believe it. Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”

Only, he’s suddenly moving—away from you. Turning and planting his palms to fur, beginning to climb to the edge of the bed and sweep his legs around under him, and your voice has an unintentional edge to it when you address his back.

“Do you know how many lives over I owe you?” You ask, and he jerks to an abrupt halt, feet just shy of stepping on the floor. “Do you have any idea the stockpile of mortal gratitude you’ve amassed from me? How many times you’ve risked your death to save me from mine over the years—can you count them? I have. I know my debt to you, I know the weight of my life piled on top of itself over and over again. I remember each and every one of them like they happened yesterday, and not once did you hesitate even slightly, let alone the way you’ve hesitated today.”

”And?” Master Kenobi quite suddenly snaps over his shoulder as he grips the edge of the mattress, sounding sharp but not necessarily directed towards you. “What is your point?”

“My point is that if you’d so readily trade your death time and time again to prevent that of even one other person, let alone a difficult Padawan who caused the Order nothing but grief for years, then what is it that makes the deaths of trillions—” you nearly say preferable to bedding me before you realize how incredibly harsh that would sound, but something about the way he seems to tense his shoulders and curl inwards implies he was following the general cadence of your agitated signature more than the specific content of your words.

He says absolutely nothing, but he doesn’t move to drop his feet to the floor, either. If only you could punch a proverbial hole through his practically indestructible mental barriers, you'd see the real reason he's so flustered, why he's purposely attempting to deceive you. Unfortunately for you though, they feel like they're made of triple-reinforced beskar, a countermeasure gradually increasing in strength the more you try to probe.

But then—all at once, something clicks. Something… fundamental. An understanding.

Your Master is a gifted negotiator, yes. But more than that.

He wields a blue saber. Not a green one.

He’s a Guardian. A warrior. He fights. It’s something that has never truly been part of your nature, no matter how much you struggled with it over the years—but it is a part of his, no matter how exceptionally he’s been able to mask it for even longer.

So, all at once, you stop pushing. Your signature abruptly pulls away from him, gives him room to breathe and simply hovers within your own personal space, unassuming and careful not to disturb him. You see your Master lift his chin and straighten his spine slightly, immediately noticing your absence and the constant pressure you’d been applying, and you honestly can’t tell if he relaxes or tenses up even more because of it.

Finally, when you feel like it’s been long enough, you slowly reach out and gently place your hand on his arm. This time, there’s no underlying motivation attached, no inherent desire for him to fulfill any sort of obligation. Just a warm, companionable gesture to reinforce the simple knowledge that you’re both in this together, for better or worse.

Please tell me, Obi-Wan, you quietly whisper to him through the Force, allowing your tone and energy to transfer through your open palm and into his troubled spirit as softly and gently as you possibly can—a caress more than anything even close to a sentence or inquiry. Your usage of his first name is entirely unprecedented however, and your Master sucks in a sharp breath in response.

I don't… But then the subconscious, half-formed thought fades away almost as quickly as it’s offered to you from behind the solid, unyielding fortress of his mind. “W-what are you doing?”

You bite your lip, wondering how honest you should be with him right now. Though, you suppose, if you truly want him to confide in you, you should at least meet him halfway.

“You’re the locked door,” you finally settle on. “This is me knocking.”

Obi-Wan turns around and blinks at you, looking for all the stars in this galaxy like that was quite possibly the last thing he expected you to say. You can see the frantic thoughts pass through his eyes almost as if the clear blue was completely transparent, likely remembering all the times you’ve leaned on him for guidance, listened intently and learned from his wisdom and experience. And now you’re a fully grown woman patiently offering him your ear, wondering if you’ve earned enough of his trust for him to do the same.

“I’m afraid I’ll form an attachment to you.” The words tumble from his mouth even though his body all but whips away from you in the process. “It’s unreasonable for the Council to expect this from me. From us. I’m afraid our relationship will forever be tarnished from this, that neither of us will ever be able to go back to the way things were before. I’m afraid that regardless of whatever decision I make, I won’t be able to carry the guilt on my conscience and continue to call myself a Jedi and Guardian of the Republic. But mostly, I just—I-I—”

Your heart is pounding as Obi-Wan buries his face into his hands and his muffled voice groans raggedly, “—I’m afraid I’ll like it. I’m afraid I’ll want it again, and again. I’m afraid it’ll follow me back to Coruscant, that I’ll save the galaxy but spend the rest of my days aching for something I’ll never be able to keep, and that’s petrifying. Desire, passion, selfishness, possession; all of them lead to Darkness, and I can—I can feel it right now. Your soul is so gentle, so peaceful, and yet you… you inspire such Darkness in me, dove.”

Maker, you’re trying so hard. So hard to keep your legs from clenching together at the utter desperation in his tone, how his breathing has picked up now that the words have ripped themselves out of his throat, like the whole thing was physical agony even just to say. You have to take a second. You’ve been so patient this entire time, but stars—this one makes you need a moment. You’re so glad his eyes are clamped shut behind his fingers right now because yours lose focus trying to mask the absolutely debilitating wave of arousal that sinks down hot through your stomach.

Even when you regain the ability to speak, the ability to form a safe and proper response to the bombshell he just dropped on you completely evades you.

You purposefully don't say that you're already helplessly attached to him, that the colors of the galaxy somehow lost their brilliance the day you graduated to Knight, the day you left his side. You don't say that you want this so badly you can feel it in your neck, that it would probably break you in half if he said no to this now. Though it's the honest-to-Maker truth, you know discovering this information will only cause your Master to further distance himself from you, and somehow that thought alone is a million times worse than being denied the opportunity to be this close to him. Even… even if what you end up sharing is more emotional than physical.

So you take a deep breath to center yourself, and choose your words very carefully.

“A compromise, then.”

Obi-Wan suddenly raises his head, turning around to look at you and blinking twice. “A what?”

“You told me to negotiate. What do we do as negotiators, hm?” You raise an eyebrow, giving him a gentle smile and trying not to curl your fingers into the fur underneath you with how hard it is to conceal your burning arousal. Do it for him. Do it for your Master, you’re in l—you… care about him, and you care about the things he cares about, even if doing so feels like it’ll rip you apart. “We compromise. Yes? So, let’s find one.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t see h—”

“If you were to…” You cut him off and look down, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase this. “If you were to… find other means to bring yourself to completion, would you be able to convince anyone listening that I was the one doing it?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even blink this time. He just stares at you, holding himself like a statue in front of you. Finally, he seems to find himself. “I… I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re stronger in the Force than anyone on this planet, Master,” you encourage softly, placing a hand back on his arm and squeezing this time. “I’ve felt it.”

“N-No,” he practically hiccups. “No, I mean I-I… I don’t know if… if I can.”

Your eyebrows narrow, a mixture of confusion and concern coloring your expression. “If you can…?”

He looks back at you almost desperately, his eyes practically begging you to figure it out so he doesn’t have to say it. Finally, Obi-Wan sighs, seeming to collapse in on himself with its intensity. “I—I’ve never… purposefully reached completion before,” he admits. “I’m—I’m not sure how to.”

Your eyes widen, wanting to kick yourself for making assumptions. Of course. Of course he’d follow his oath to its strictest interpretation, why would you ever think otherwise? “Oh, y-yes, of course not,” you stutter, sounding incredibly stupid and perfectly mirroring the embarrassed flush also painting your Master’s cheeks, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s alright,” he holds up a hand. “We simply… view such things differently. So long as you do not pass judgment, then neither shall I.”

You nod and look down at your hands, wondering how else you can attempt to tackle this predicament. “What if I…” You blink slowly, almost wanting to keep your eyes closed in case he’s offended by the idea but figuring you should have them open to read his responses. “What if I… don’t touch you?”

Now he just looks confused. “I’m sorry?”

You blush and clear your throat, obviously phrasing this wrong. “If you can modify the context of your projection, then I can… get you there. Without touching you.”

“How could you accomplish such a thing without tou—” Obi-Wan immediately cuts himself off when you lift your hand and close your eyes.

His thigh. The right one—you focus on it. There. Right above the bend of his knee folding over the edge of the mattress, you concentrate all the energy from your fingertips and reach out, connecting the two together. And then you take a deep breath and begin to draw your attention slowly upwards.

Your Master’s breath catches in his throat as you use the Force to delicately trail further up his leg, not laying a single hand on him as his muscles start to visibly tighten and quiver.

“Young one, I—” His breathing stutters when you keep your hand raised but let your head tilt and drop down towards your shoulder with your energy, slinking down the inside of his thigh like water and getting dangerously close to his— “Stars, hang on—”

You blink your eyes open at him and continue concentrating right there, letting your focus melt warm and thick along the muscle and squeeze it—

“Maker—” Obi-Wan gasps and drops his head back, his legs nearly spasming apart. “Maker, hang on, I…”

“Do you…” You breathe tightly, flicking your eyes down to the way he’s fisting the fur under his hands and subconsciously flexing his hips up just the slightest bit. Even though the Force, his body feels good. Strong, sturdy, and braced tight under your attention. “Do you want me to keep doing this? I can… go higher.”

“You can…? The—the Force isn’t—” Obi-Wan groans, his eyes clamping shut, “—isn’t meant to be used in such… in such… If I’m to break my oath, young one, it needn’t be so… so blasphemous—”

Trying to conceal the hot sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, you simply allow your metaphysical hand to continue resting right at the juncture of his hip and thigh, waiting for a real answer. You bite your lip and wait for him to tell you to either cut it out or to keep going. He doesn’t even have to say it out loud if he doesn’t want to—he can just slide it under the impassable door still separating him from you, the door you’re eventually going to get him to unlock himself.

His back is to you, so you can only see a bit of his face from this angle, but you can hear him loud and clear when he opens his mouth and whispers to you, barely louder than a breath. “Go higher.”

Adrenaline rockets through your veins and slowly, your fingers curl in thin air while your gentle energy wraps itself around his cock.

Both of Obi-Wan’s hands instantly fly up to his face and he releases a tight, longing whimper into his palms, and you feel almost as desperate as he sounds. You can sense the ghost of his thickness in your hand, and the way he’s already throbbing for it is like pure spice to you.

You can’t stop your crossed legs from shuffling and rotating your body to face his hunched spine more directly, just taking a second and allowing him to adjust to the sensation of you just holding him between his legs like this. Your fingers rest gently along his pulsing skin while he hides from you, and if only to get a little bit more of a reaction for your own sake, your thumb just barely angles to delicately brush up under his frenulum.

Obi-Wan shudders and makes a choking noise behind his palms, and oh good Maker, you really want to see his face. You know it’ll probably never happen unless you take your own initiative, but you also don’t want to overstep and snap him out of this blissful reverie. Still, something compels you to be so gentle about it that he hopefully won’t even notice.

You start to slowly work the length of him and squeeze his cock a bit more firmly, but a tendril of your energy slowly slithers upwards, so quiet and full of caution that it hardly even counts. Very carefully, you start to flatten the lifeforce from your other palm over his stomach and trail it up, gradually urging him to stretch his slouched figure upright and then eventually start to tip backwards, never once letting your focus on his throbbing erection falter.

Your courageous efforts bestow prosperous rewards. Obi-Wan’s hands drag down the length of his face and he makes it almost too easy to keep pressing him back—back back back until his muscles give up what little fight they were putting up against it and his shoulders are dropping down to the mattress, his head falling into your lap.

“There we go,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough to softly encourage him if he’s listening but avoiding a break in his focus if he’s not. “That’s not so bad.”

“It isn’t,” Obi-Wan gasps up at you, his eyes tightly closed but his jaw slack and his handsome features screwed up in rapture. “Oh, no, it’s… it’s really… rea—good.”

You bite your lip and your cunt flexes hard between your legs without your permission, feeling so empty. If you’re being honest, only touching him through the Force causes your hand to become increasingly bold, also feeling too empty. Obi-Wan’s head rolls to the side and he pants hot air against the thin black fabric covering your thighs as you tighten your hold around him just slightly and start to move up and down his cock in earnest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, the dirty word and rasp in his voice contrasting brilliantly with the proper Coruscanti accent and the crisp enunciation behind it. “Fuck, this feels so good, I—”

His fingers grab at the fur covering the mattress top and pull at it, his adam’s apple bobbing sharp along the arching column of his throat as he groans and twists his head around in your lap. He confesses it like it’s so wrong, but it can’t be wrong when he fits so perfectly in your hand? How can this be wrong when it’s the only pleasure you can possibly give him that’s anywhere near close enough to match the way you feel when he’s around? Even then, it’s but a fraction.

Your gaze flickers briefly from his face to check your progress with his body, and—stars, there’s a startling wet spot staining the front of his pale trousers, his cock tenting up shameless and needy for you to ache and throb just as desperately for in return. Fuck, he deserves this, he deserves more—

“I can—I can make it better—” you can’t help but gasp, your eyebrows slanting upwards with need. “Oh fuck, I can make it so much better than this for you, Obi-Wan—”

“You…?” He blinks his stormy eyes open and sounds like he’s about to explode. “This can be—” he chokes out, “—better?”

You can’t stop yourself. Your pussy is clamped up so tight between your legs and Maker, you want to reward him for being so good to you, give him true adoration instead of phantom touches. You don’t think before you’re moving out from under him and slinking down onto the floor, slipping in between his spread thighs. You use the Force with a bend of your finger to tug his pants down just enough, just enough to let the swollen tip of his cock peak through the waistband, and then your head is dropping into his lap as you let it slide into your hot mouth.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and snarls at you—and something across the room shatters as you widen your throat for him and slowly sink down his length, curling your finger to stretch his hemline further as you go. His fingers aren’t gentle when they fist into your hair and neither is the way he immediately twists it sideways, feeling like he’s trying to pull you off and shove you down on him at the same time.

You’re stuck between going as slow as you physically can to drag this out and giving him the best oral you’ve ever given to make him dream about this for the rest of his life. You want him to want this as badly as you have for so many years. You want him to fall into this Darkness with you, to crave you and what you can give to him so much that he’ll never want to leave you again.

So you make it wet. You make it soft and slow and wet, switching between sucking gently at the tip and swirling your tongue around it, and then inching his length down your throat and swallowing around the thick girth of it once you can’t fit anymore in your mouth. Obi-Wan is just an absolute mess about it—he can’t sit still, he’s tugging uselessly on your hair, whimpering out his bliss into the quiet room while you close your eyes and ignore his squirming, just taking your sweet time enjoying him and the way he feels.

He tastes exquisite. Maybe it’s just because all your broken, stupid brain can think right now is slightly varying forms of my Master’s cock is in my mouth and it’s fucking leaking while you slowly nurse from it with your tongue, but stars—he tastes exquisite.

He’s swollen. Throbbing. Aching for you. Releasing precum from the tip like his body is producing way too much of it after decades of neglect and just needs to get it all out at once. Shifting and writhing underneath you but managing to never move his hips or cock a single inch away from the soft attention you’re giving him. You can feel his smooth skin pulse against your tongue as you continue your lazy pleasuring, finally giving him what you’ve both been denied for so long and steadily swallowing down the spoils of your endeavors.

“—Wait, wait, Maker—stop,” you faintly hear gasped from above you not long after you even begin, and it takes the sum of all your efforts to unlodge his throbbing cock from your throat and pull away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale automatically, trying not to slur your words as a bit of drool slides down your chin. “I’m s’sorry, Obi, I should’ve asked before I—”

“Something’s… n-not right,” Obi-Wan interrupts you and lifts himself up to his elbows, his abdominal muscles heaving and a wild, frenzied look in his startlingly bright eyes. “My stomach was—I-I felt—”

Heat blooms through you along with a realization, and your eyelids begin to droop slightly at just how sexy it is—the fact that this man, this fully grown, red-blooded, warrior of a man is currently teetering on the precipice of his very first ever orgasm, and you’re the only one with the power to give it to him.

You shuffle backwards slightly, grabbing hold of his thighs and squeezing to get his attention. “Hey. It’s okay, relax.”

Obi-Wan nods his head vigorously down at you, the exact opposite of relaxed.

“Listen to me,” you urge quietly, trying to ignore the sight of his thick, swollen cock twitching restlessly against his abdomen, precum still steadily dribbling at the tip. Is your mouth watering? “This is it. You’ll need to start projecting when you’re ready. It’ll be tricky, but not impossible. You’ll just have to imagine you’re inside me when it happens.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head vigorously from side to side, vehemently opposed.

“No, I don’t—” He croaks, “—I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t be able to—”

“Doesn’t my mouth feel similar at least?” You ask, looking down at his cock once more.

“I-I—” Obi-Wan sputters, “I don’t know, young one—you tell me!”

Okay, well. He… makes a valid point.

You settle back on your knees even further, gazing at your Master thoughtfully. His chest continues to rise and fall with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat coating his temples and a mild flush high in his cheeks, but his eyes have regained a bit of their focus. “You can just try to imagine the, uh,” you try, your cunt nearly convulsing with burning need at the mere sight of him, “the same positioning and sensation from… earlier?”

“Alright, I can…” Obi-Wan nods, though his hands are shaking. “I’ll do the best I…”

You can’t help but lean forward to press a soft, encouraging kiss to his thigh, and he jerks under your touch. You try it again, receiving the same result, and it makes you pause for just a minute longer.

“I’m nervous,” he blurts unceremoniously after a moment of stillness, as if you hadn’t noticed. “Oh stars, I’m nervous, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” you let your voice lull, your hands squeezing gently around the bend of his knees once more. “Calm down. Clear your mind.”

He hiccups and you wait. You wait with your mouth a few inches away from his cock, waiting for his breathing to slow and for him to follow your lead.

Can you hear me? You murmur through the Force, and he quickly whimpers and nods. Focus your thoughts.

You gently kiss at his tensing thighs once again, and he doesn’t flinch away from you this time. His breathing slows into a calmer, steadier rhythm, letting you trail your lips gently along the curve of his leg.

Will you let me try something? You ask after a moment, opening your mouth just the slightest bit to brush your tongue out and taste his skin.

“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his breath stuttering through the word.

And—perhaps you shouldn’t have, but you give him something; a suggestion, more than anything else. You give him a… visual. A reference to guide his mind through the Force.

You, still in your black robe, slowly standing up from between his legs. Widening your stance to straddle his lap, pull you robes up just enough, and then adjust your hips just slightly over the head of his cock.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at the vision, his eyes clamping tightly shut against it in vain. He can close his eyes, turn away, hide his face all he wants—he can’t escape the way your body looks as it slowly begins to sink down on his.

At the exact same time, you lower your mouth around his cock once more, and you try to make it as close to the sensation as possible. You don’t even move your tongue, you simply lift your soft palate and close your lips around his girth, beginning to carefully bob up and down along his length in time to the image you’re conjuring of you riding him.

Only, you already feel his balls tightening up and his body starting to go rigid with tension once again, and you can sense him still wanting to resist his approaching orgasm. It’s okay, Master, you encourage quietly through the vision, it’s okay, just let it come easy.

“I—I’m not—” he shakes his head back and forth against the bed frantically, his breathing getting shallower and almost immediately picking back up to where it was before you stopped. “I d-don’t want—”

Stop fighting, you tell him, continuing to mimic the sensation of him thrusting into your aching, neglected cunt with slow and steady movements of your throat. Don’t run from it, let it take you.

He grits your name tightly in response and subconsciously begins to rock his hips up to match your unhurried pace, his ragged breathing gasping out into the quiet room and gradually increasing in volume and desperation the longer he stubbornly tries to hold out against it.

You know not strong enough to use the Force to coax it out of him. You can’t alter your technique and break the illusion, either. So you have to resort to desperate measures.

There’s enough remaining wherewithal to your mind that prevents you from permanently damaging his clothing when you tear his robes open with the Force and allow the metaphysical image of yourself to rip them apart with your hands. Obi-Wan gasps when both versions of you reach up his bare torso at the same time and dig your nails into his chest.

Master—you demand, taking his cock down your throat as far as you can go and then clawing hard down his stomach—cum.

And thank everything good and right in the universe that he remembers at the very last second to start projecting, because being this close to someone as strong in the Force as Obi-Wan when he finally succumbs to his first taste of the Dark Side is just a fucking atomic missile straight to your nervous system.

It’s all you can do to just remember to keep swallowing.

The projection he casts out through the shockwave is utterly flawless—brilliantly composed, looking and feeling so authentic and overwhelming even from this distance that there should be no issue at all convincing any s’Ziscari in the wide vicinity who are tuning in right now.

Except—then you hear it. Through the roaring pleasure of his thoughts, a flicker of his subconscious he’s unable to mask through the mind blowing bliss.

Is she…? Maker above, she’s drinking it—

A ragged groan tears through the silence of the room, his cock pulsing spectacularly on your tongue. He just keeps cumming, and cumming, and so you just have to keep swallowing, and swallowing. You suppose you should’ve expected this from a fully grown man who lived a life of celibacy, but what would typically be a rather short moment with anyone else subsequently goes on long enough to where Obi-Wan is actually able to lazily raise his head up from the mattress and simply watch you continue to swallow his load, dazed and reverent in his stare, glassy blue eyes trained on the hypnotic movements your jaw and throat make around him. The remaining traces of whatever visual he attempted to maintain immediately flicker out of existence, replaced instead by the sight of your mouth around his cock, diligently taking down each rope of cum he gives you.

When he finally stops throbbing, you reluctantly let his cock fall from your mouth and slowly stand up as the botched projection fizzles out completely. His gaze eventually follows the movement like he’s on a five second delay.

“So, uh…” Your voice is hoarse. “We… need to have sex.”

“Alright,” he agrees dreamily, his eyes lazily dragging down your body. “Alright, we can have… I… Wait, what?”

“You, uh. I know it wasn’t intentional, but you might’ve, uh…” You shuffle awkwardly from side to side, wondering why you’ve chosen now of all moments to become shy with him. You’re literally still savoring the taste of his release in your mouth. “You might’ve accidentally projected a very specific thought towards the end there and let everyone know that we weren’t actually doing what we’re technically supposed to be doing.”

“What did… what did I think?” The question would likely be nonsense in literally any other situation, but you understand. And truthfully, for the life of you, you can’t find it within yourself to feel even a little bit mad about it, not when it means you can continue doing this together. You can’t even conjure up a single shred of disappointment in his failure, it’d just be a lie.

“Doesn’t matter,” you assure him, your heart continuing to pound. You know you should make your next move now while he’s still so loopy, the post-orgasm bliss causing his signature to vibrate with pulsing endorphins as he blinks up at you slowly from the bed. “Though we won’t be able to do it for a little bit, just uh. Just for general… anatomical reasons. But that should’ve at least counted for… initiating the Ritual, so I don’t think we have to worry about time anymore.”

Obi-Wan just stares at you, his Force signature feeling more serene and spaced out than you’ve ever sensed before. Oh Maker, how you wish you felt the same. You swallow thickly, still tasting his hard orgasm on your tongue, and then try not to clamp your thighs together with how embarrassingly turned on you are. Anyone with any experience whatsoever would know exactly what you’re going through with just a mere glance—you’re biting your lip with your entire body is subtly crumpled in towards your swollen, neglected pussy—and your Master has been watching you struggle through it this entire time.

“Are you alright?” He asks dumbly, finally managing to at least push himself upright, still completely unaware or unconcerned at his softening cock on full display for you and your starving libido. “You’re… shaking.”

“I—won’t die,” is the only serious assurance you can make to both him and yourself right now that’ll ease your suffering the smallest bit. The last thing you want right now is to come on too strong and snap him back to his senses, bringing everything back to square one. “Just, uh… r-really worked—worked up. Trying to just. C-Cool it?”

Your fingers flex at your sides because no matter what you try, you just can’t stop thinking about his. They’re right there. They’re so close, so strong and thick and—

“Aren’t you…” He trails off, letting his head tilt and then drop to his shoulder with a combination of confusion and exhaustion. “Aren’t you going to…?”

“To what?” You prompt shortly, your hands suddenly clenching into fists to deal with another violent wave of arousal at how unbelievably drunk he still looks. Maker, you did that. That’s all you.

“s’Zerthia said all—” Obi-Wan murmurs, blinking long lashes lazily up at you, “—all Jedi must… participate.”

Fuck. Just hearing him provide you an excuse to give into the boiling arousal causes you to suddenly break out into a sweat. You don’t know if he wants you to get yourself off or if he’s indirectly implying he wants to help, but you’re so far beyond desperate that you jump at the chance as soon as he so much as hints at the opportunity.

Very slowly, you move forward and lift one trembling knee to brace next to his thigh on the mattress, and then carefully swing your other leg over his lap, lowering yourself into a straddle in the same exact position he attempted to project earlier. You’re so unbelievably cautious about his cock, making sure you don’t accidentally touch it and jolt him awake. Instead of your newfound proximity scaring him away like you feared though, he stays so… docile. Still so relaxed from his very first orgasm that he even rests his large palms over the thin fabric covering your thighs, letting the loose silk drape and fold over his hands as he drags them up and down.

His eyes follow your trembling fingers as you work at the knot tying the material around your body, your cunt throbbing between your legs at how he’s just… staring. His eyelids are dipped slightly, breathing so calm and slouched under you, pliant and waiting.

The thin fabric slowly parts only enough to reveal the valley between your bare chest to him, and you watch his eyes fall down the thin strip of skin and catch on the dark line of your panties riding low on your hips. Maker, you can’t help but remember his terror at even glimpsing the two acolytes taking off their robes earlier—the way his eyes bounced around and how his cheeks lost whatever color they had left to them as soon as he finally made himself look. Now, though. Now he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the soft flesh of your tummy, the way your nipples are still covered by the thin fabric of your slightly parted robe but are impossible to miss while your breasts subtly move with your breathing.

You gently call one of his wrists to your hand with the Force and Obi-Wan is either mentally or physically too weak to resist your will. He allows you to catch his hand and slowly lead it downwards with both of your smaller ones to the part of your body that’s longed for his attention for years, though now it’s absolutely weeping for it.

You don’t want to scare him. You don’t want to scare him. Oh Maker, you need him to be brave for you right now, or at least just continue to be stupefied. You can work with stupefied, but you cannot work with panic, especially when you feel your own wanting to rise up the more you drag this out.

When the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties, Obi-Wan’s hand pushes under it without your guidance.

You’re throbbing. It’s been years in the making. Unable to stop the way your thighs contract and you lift your hips against his palm as it steadily curves down the slope of your soft curls, the sight of the finish line so within reach makes you reckless and too quick. You can’t help it. When he gets hesitant and eventually slows down to a halt right above your slit, you don’t even think before you’re suddenly giving his wrist an abrupt shove with the Force, pulling his hand down before he’s ready and forcing his middle finger deep through the soaking cleft of your pussy.

Your shameless moan of his name comes out sounding so grateful—you pour everything you have into it and sag into Obi-Wan’s chest at the feeling, but he startles and all but rips his hand out of your underwear before you can stop him. He was a hair’s breadth from touching your clit and the denial of it—the sudden turnaround from your goal is just so massively overwhelming that tears suddenly spring to your eyes.

You can just barely make out the sight of him staring down at his trembling hand between the two of you, your slick shining wet and hot along the length of his finger.

“Stars,” he rasps, blinking his wide, sapphire gaze up to yours—and then he quite suddenly looks alarmed. “Did I—Did I hurt you?” Obi-Wan gasps, his energy beginning to outright seize with distress while you blink rapidly and try not to crumble on his lap.

“No—I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m just… oh, fuck, I n-need it,” you stammer. “Oh fuck, I need it Master, I’m so sorry—I’m trying to be calm but—”

“What is it, little dove?” He urges, reaching his hand up to your face and flicking his eyes back and forth between yours, sounding almost as panicked as you do from your desperation. “What do you need?”

“Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I need you to just—” You can’t fit anything into words, a tear finally making its way down your cheek when you clamp your eyes shut in frustration. You just need him to understand, to give you what you’ve been craving for so long—but when you blink your eyes back open, his troubled expression has suddenly resolved itself.

Your Master’s hands immediately grab tight to your hips and twist you around, easily tossing you back up onto the mattress. The jostle of bouncing back into the soft fur startles you, but not nearly as much as when he climbs over your body and braces an elbow next to your head, gently placing the tips of his fingers to your temple.

He pushes carefully but firmly against your natural mental barriers, flexing the energy shields inwards gently enough to not hurt you but with enough force to let you know he’s entirely capable of breaking through should you refuse to let him in.

So you do. You let him in without a single thought, never mind a second one. Obi-Wan gasps as your shields all but collapse for him that easily, and then he’s finally breaching the surface of your thoughts.

“Oh—Maker above, little one,” he grits almost immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and his other hand wrapping tight around your arm as he struggles to acclimate to the blinding distress you’re experiencing. “Collect—” he groans as your cunt clamps down at the rasp of his broken voice, “—collect yourself. I can’t—can’t think—”

Oh, no, it’s too much. It’s way too much, even just having him inside your head without being able to read him in return—it’s too much for you. You start hyperventilating and instead of wanting him out, you just want to drown out the sensation of everything else. The endlessly pulsing, aching throb between your legs that you’ve been dealing with for so long, the way you can feel his cock dragging against your tummy from this angle and how much you already want it in your mouth again, the way your nipples are so hard right now that even this soft fabric feels so rough and sharp against—

Your robe suddenly rips itself off your chest, and you whimper up at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into thick fur and writhe under him, almost completely naked and just desperate for him to do something, to at least just use his hands or his mouth to make you feel bet—

Obi-Wan’s head drops and his blazing mouth opens hot around your nipple, his tongue rolling soft and slick up under the hard bud.

You choke out the first part of his name and you barely even have a flicker of a thought—a brief flash of a rabid, baser desire you’re not even able to consciously recognize before you feel his jaw opening and his teeth closing gently around it, biting down just hard enough to make you spasm bright and urgent between your legs. “Oh, fuck—”

As soon as you feel the pleasure and twisting ache spark deep in your core, Obi-Wan flutters his eyes shut and wedges his hand back into your panties, humming low in his throat when your legs jerk apart for him.

This time, your clit is the very first thing he touches.

He zeroes in on it. The tip of his finger starts to rub it exactly how you’d do it to yourself, exactly the right angle and speed and pressure that your body suddenly feels massively overheated and dizzy from it. It blindsides you. It makes sense he’d be able to do this, after all, but for some reason, the whole thing just absolutely blindsides you.

“Maker,” you whimper at the ceiling, soft and pitched high in your throat, eyes rolling back when Obi-Wan gently bites down on your nipple again and continues to work to relieve you even as every muscle in your body feels like it’s tightening up.

“Stars—” he whispers when he pulls away, “This—this feels incredible, Padawan.”

You moan and roll your hips against his hand, on cloud nine at just how he’s slowly allowing himself to become filthier with you, to lower himself in all his righteous beliefs and descend into delicious sin with you, and—

—wait, did he just…?

Your cunt clamps down hard with realization as he continues massaging your clit better than you’ve ever even done it yourself. Maker, it shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does, hearing that word in this context. Padawan. Padawan, holding her legs open while her Master explores her pussy. Padawan, moaning desperately as her orgasm buzzes deep down inside with a rising, threatening resonance. Padawan, Padawan, Padawan—

“Oh, you liked that,” Obi-Wan remarks tightly, taking a second to tug on your clit. You nearly start to cry again, your insides pulling up and going rigid at the sensation. “I heard it, little one. You like it when I call you that?”

“Oh I like it when you do f-fucking anything,” you choke out helplessly, your words starting to slur together. “Oh fuck, you’re so amazing, you’re so good at everything, you’re the best Jedi in the whole entire galaxy Master, you’re so much better th—”

“My, you’re agreeable like this, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan grits, his touches growing stronger and quicker and rocketing you straight to the edge of madness. “Shall I take that to heart, my darling little Padawan? Or did you say such flattering things to the oth—”

“Wait!” You suddenly exclaim, desperately trying to push his hands away. “Oh, nonononono—wait, wait, wait, I—I-I’m about to cum—I need to—”

His hand yanks itself out of your underwear once more and you take giant, gasping breaths and try to compose yourself at least somewhat, but then your Master is quickly scrambling down your body and using the Force to rip your panties down your hips—

“Obi-Wan, wait—” you choke out, “that isn’t—you don’t… h-have to…”

He looks up at you, dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’ll be able to—y-you don’t—” You have to take a few gasping breaths and remember how to speak Basic. “I used my mouth on you before because I… I wanted to. If—If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to. It’s not… oh fucking stars above, it’s not n-necessary.”

“Are you telling me this because you don’t want me to?” He immediately asks, though you both already clearly know the answer to that considering how exposed your wild thoughts are to him right now.

“Ah, no I, uh… I just.” You try to clear the thickness from your throat and you feel your body tremble while you focus as much effort as possible into trying to explain. “I just want to be sure I’m not taking advantage of you, that’s all, I—I want you to know the truth about these things. It’s not… necessary, b-but.”

“But.” He repeats the word meaningfully as he glances back down at your weeping cunt, nodding slowly to himself.

And then your Master leans in, flutters his eyes shut, and slides his warm tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.

“Obi—Wan—!?” You gasp, somewhere between a squeak and a squeal, your entire upper body launching upwards around his head as your clit is immediately enveloped into a slick, dexterous furnace.

Hold still, you hear his voice warn through the Force, sounding so much closer than you’ve ever heard him before. Whether that can be attributed to the fact that the command came directly from wherever he is inside your head or whether it’s simply because his tongue is now tracing gentle circles around your clit as you whimper pitifully into the quiet of the dimly lit room, you’re not sure. All you know is that his mouth feels like velvet between your legs and his beard is scraping across your thighs and your fingers have buried themselves in his hair without your conscious permission.

Hold still, young one, he urges once more, but you just close your eyes and moan shamelessly at it this time, opening your legs wider for him. His voice, it’s… it’s maddening like this, coming directly from your own thoughts. Deep, precise, somehow sounding so true, so much clearer and full-bodied without your pesky ears in the way. Your hips are subconsciously rolling slowly against the lower half of his face when Obi-Wan apparently decides he’s had enough.

An invisible energy wraps around each of your individual limbs and snaps them against the mattress without any warning. You whimper high in your throat, arms and legs held so firmly against the bed with the Force that your internal struggles aren’t able to be translated outwardly; he doesn’t allow your body a single centimeter to move under him, no matter how hard you fight it. Which means you have to lay there and just take the way Obi-Wan’s hot mouth continues to lick and kiss at your clit slowly, taking all the time in the universe to properly explore you between the legs he’s forced apart.

“Obi—” you croak breathlessly at the ceiling, feeling a familiar heat start to burn hot and tight through your core, “Obi, I—I have to p-project—before I—ah!—before you—before you ma-make me cu—ugh, f-fuck—I have t-to—”

Then project, he encourages simply, gently fluttering his tongue over your clit. You gasp and he hums, murmuring through the Force once more to you. We’re not hiding anymore. They’ll all know I’m using my mouth on you like this. It’s alright. Let them know.

You realize you’re going to cum the second you hear your Master’s voice say the words using my mouth on you like this while he slowly sucks on your clit, and you barely have enough wherewithal to gulp in a giant breath and begin projecting your signature as far across the palace and surrounding city as physically possible before your body shatters hot into searing euphoria under him.

Obi-Wan groans deep in his throat and holds you perfectly still under him as you cum with a ragged, hoarse wail of his name, giant waves of white hot bliss beginning to radiate through the Force from you with spectacular power. The contractions are so much more pronounced when it’s one of the only sets of muscles in your body he’s granted permission to move. It’s like everything is concentrated and multiplied there because of it. You can feel each individual spasm your floor muscles make as they convulse against his tongue, how each blazing shot of ecstasy that shatters through your body wrings more and more wetness from your cunt into your Master’s mouth.

Never. Ever ever ever. Has anyone done something so mind blowingly sexy to you. Nobody. Ever. He’s a virgin, you frantically remember as Obi-Wan purrs softly into the folds of your pussy while it cums all over him.

Your thoughts, young one, you can just barely make out his voice remind you gently, just as gently as he sucks on your clit through the aftershocks, somehow sounding even more aroused than he did before.

After allowing your projection to flicker out of existence with a putter, you’re completely dazed. Incapable of moving regardless of the way he keeps you pinned with the Force long after he pulls away, slowly moves back up your body and waits while you work to regain your bearings. You don’t even want to open your eyes right now, knowing he’s looking down at your peaceful expression while you work to catch your breath. You’re too stupid with pleasure you almost don’t even process the soft touch of something against your lips.

You’re lovely.

The thought is so quiet you don’t even recognize it isn’t your own. Not until he keeps pressing his lips to yours so sweetly, not knowing to do anything else when your mind is too fractured with ecstasy to unconsciously act as his compass like before. Everything is innocent and gentle and not reminiscent of the fact that the robes you’re both wearing are wide open and your mouths tasted of each other even before he kissed you.

Instead of melting into the soft touches, though, they just start to burn you alive, the thick fog of your orgasm clearing more and more with each gentle press of his lips and your need for him steadily growing. He’s kissing you. Master Kenobi is kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds at a time before pulling away, pausing to look at your face each time to make sure your eyes are still closed, before leaning down and carefully pressing his lips to yours again.

The only part you can’t stand is that he won’t even let you move your jaw to kiss him back.

Kiss me, Obi-Wan, you urge desperately through the Force, not wanting to interrupt to speak.

“I am, little one,” he replies between kisses, and the sincerity in his tone tells you he’s not purposefully teasing you. No, this is him kissing you, genuinely, the only way he knows how to.

Let me— you start to struggle in earnest against his hold on you, —please, let me—

The warm breath from his nose puffs softly against your cheek with a quiet little sound from far back in his throat, and then you suddenly gain the ability to move from the neck up.

You immediately part his lips with yours and Obi-Wan pulls back just the slightest bit in response, but your neck lifts up to compensate as you lick deep into his warm mouth. He gasps at the foreign sensation and loses his concentration for a split second, enough for you to break free of it completely. Your hands quickly fly up to cradle his face as soon as they can move and your fingers hook around the thick beard blanketing his sharp jawline, urging him back down into you.

Your legs come up to wrap around his lower back and he sags against your strong will with a needy groan, dropping down closer and obediently keeping his mouth open for you to taste. As soon as he presses his body into yours, his cock strains and drags against your lower stomach, already throbbing hot and leaking precum along the soft hills of your skin.

Maker, you want it but somehow you… you don’t. You just want to savor tonight as long as you physically can, keep holding him and kissing him like this for another few hours at least before you try to take his cock, but he’s unintentionally grinding it against you while his tongue shyly dances with yours, needy and already raring to go in his own timid way.

Do you want it, Master? You finally murmur to him, running your fingers through his hair and gently biting his bottom lip, scooting your hips up to let him rub himself against something better than your tummy. You feel… ready.

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. Your feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, and Obi-Wan finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck.

“Yes, I—” he moans into you skin, “Oh stars, I want it.”

With a gentle wave of your hand, you use the Force to drop his hips down to the proper angle and tilt the head of his cock to line him up perfectly.

And now this is the part you don’t want to rush. This is when you take Obi-Wan Kenobi’s virginity. You’ll savor just being able to remember this for the rest of your fucking life. You’ll see him in Council meetings years from now and be reminded that you’re the only person in the galaxy to know the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room. You’re the only one who will know that sound, that sound is yours, that sound belongs to—

“Padawan,” he grits, hips stuttering into you while you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “your thoughts—”

You groan up at the ceiling and your pussy tightens at the reminder that he can still hear you, but your body is just too bold and desperate for it. Your thoughts begin to flare bright, growing more possessive by the second, and you can’t even wait for him this time. Every single muscle in Obi-Wan’s body goes rigid when you tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow.

It stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you as Obi-Wan instinctively tries to lift off you and away from it, but you’re clinging too tightly to him. Your whole body hovers off the mattress to stay with him.

“You said—” he gasps, “—it wouldn’t h-hurt—oh—”

“It doesn’t,” you groan, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. “Oh, Maker, it feels so fucking good, Obi—feel it—”

His elbows shake where they’re locked and braced against the mattress but he drops his head and holds strong like this while you work your muscles to take him as far as you can from this shameful angle. Your body feels like it’s on fire while you desperately cling to him and the length of your robe brushes against the mattress while you just keep trying to get him deeper inside you—

Suddenly something grabs hard at your hips and tries shoves you downwards and off his cock, but you want it too badly. You summon the hidden strength of your energy and then channel it into your legs where they’re hooked around the curve of his lower back.

Obi-Wan chokes at the unexpected resistance and his elbows buckle, dropping you both down to his forearms with a jolt, but you’re too busy mentally clashing with each other for it. The result is… well, it’s maddening.

Every time your pussy is able to swallow him more than halfway, you pull back and let his energy shove you down his length—but then dig back in right before you drop completely and use the Force to bend your legs and fight the uphill battle to his cock once more. Your Master gasps, beads of sweat gathering at his temples while you fight him with every ragged breath in your body to keep fucking him.

Except—he’s the fighter. And you should’ve known.

You’re no match for the sudden blast of energy from him, easily hinging your legs apart from around his back and then ripping you down off his cock with a wet sound, bouncing back down into the mattress once more.

In order to stop the desperate tears of defeat from coming to your eyes, you immediately clamp them shut and twist your face away from Obi-Wan’s, but he makes a low growl and uses the same ferocious royal blue energy to keep your knees pinned open and wide against the bed.

And then drops his hips and rocks back into you, giving you those last few precious inches of his thickness you weren’t able to get at before. It hits sharp nirvana up inside you with his thighs pressed tight to your hips like this. His name rips itself from your throat while Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed with the Force while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you.

He’s so gifted, so strong in the Force, he’s able to use your mind as his anchor and give you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. And in return, you want to do the same to him. You want to read his thoughts, instantly be able to give him everything he never knew he needed—

“You do,” your Master chokes out, “darling, you already—”

Everything inside you surges up at the admission, aching that much harder to hear him, to hear everything the way he can hear you. The tips of your fingers find his temple, slick with sweat, and you press just hard enough to tell him your intent.

“Let me in,” you whisper, wicked arousal swirling tight in your lower muscles as they start to bear down on his cock.

“I—I can’t—” Obi-Wan gasps breathlessly, “I can’t—”

“Open—open the door, Master,” you beg, “please, open th—”

“Fuck,” he cuts you off, his voice rising in pitch while his his hips snap just a little harder against yours and his rhythm falters, “—It’s too good, Padaw—I’m going t-to—stars, are you—are you r-ready?”

Some terrifying, swirling darkness manifests itself deep in your thoughts. It rises up, part of the desperate, hidden subconscious that you’re typically capable of stifling. No, it says, don’t let this be over. Not yet. You don’t want to go to sleep alone, wake up and remember you’ll never have this again. You need there to be a next time, and a time after it.

You try your hardest to push the longing downwards when you recognize it, but your Master is too quick, too talented to deceive when he’s this close to you. He easily plucks it from your mind and expands it, enlarges the chaotic string of thoughts until you feel them pulsing at the edges of your consciousness.

And then Obi-Wan sees it all, immediately playing out in your memories as you helplessly watch on. Every desire you buried for him unearthed, every whimper you stifled with the back of your hand when you touched yourself at night and thought of him amplified. The years of repression, the blind hope that simply ignoring it would make it go away. How hard you worked to deaden the burst of affection that radiated through the Force when you finally saw him after two years apart. The circumstances behind the night you lost your virginity—not a long time ago, as he suggested before, but only just last year. So desperate in your loneliness and longing for his presence that you began routinely sneaking around and fucking other Knights—Guardians with blue sabers whose souls were just marginally close enough to Obi-Wan’s, and you thought of him the whole time. Every time.

But, perhaps, worst of all. The… fantasies.

He sees himself dropping to his knees and congratulating you for passing your trials by burying his tongue inside your warmth and telling you how proud of you he is. He sees you opening his trousers and slowly licking his cock while he meditates, trying to get him to break his concentration. He watches the two of you fucking in every conceivable position, how incredibly ready you always are to take him when he needs it. Most importantly, he recognizes your inherent, blazing desire to drag this out as long as physically possible, to permanently brand every moment in your memory to get you through his impending absence.

And then… then Obi-Wan does something unexpected. Something incredibly uncharacteristic.

You watch as he morphs the fantasies right before your eyes. He's still on his knees with his head between your legs, but now he’s telling you how proud he is of you for negotiating the mysterious, confidential deal that ended the Clone Wars. You’re licking his cock as the ship autopilots itself through the week-long journey back to Coruscant from s’Ziscari, letting him slowly cum in your mouth as he sprawls lazily in the captain’s chair. He’s taking you against the wall of your quarters after a mindless and dull Council meeting; you’re riding him quietly in his bed after lights-out at the temple; he’s rubbing your clit while he sits behind you and advises you on matters concerning your own Padawan you’ll be choosing sometime soon, two fingers deep and squeezing a bared nipple when he whispers in your ear how much he absolutely adores you.

Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill the empty spaces of your mind, a lovely pale blue tenor to harmonize gorgeously with the soft green alto of your own consciousness. The resulting color of your combined energies fills your soul with Light, a stunning turquoise of a color you’ve never loved more, one you wish you could live in for the rest of your life.

For every debased thought of yours he sees, he shows you one even more revealing. The way he used to dream of you at night, especially after a close battle where many Jedi and Clones fell, and then he’d wake up in a cold sweat with an erection pulsing feverish and so terribly shameful between his legs. How he tried to shove a pillow down there once to somehow relieve himself of the aching hardness, and then had to rip it away and launch it across the room with the Force when he realized he’d been dragging himself against it and thinking of you.

“I’m gonna—cum—” your voice scrapes across your throat, and you can already sense him throwing his beautiful consciousness out like a net. You match him with what little mental strength you have remaining, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your ankles around his lower back and pulling him down into you.

Obi-Wan’s energy keeps swirling a brilliant aquamarine with yours, presenting his every subconscious thought to you, one right after another, so quick you can barely keep up. How he’ll always be with you, no matter what. How the Maker himself won’t be able to drag him away from you now. How quiet jealousy still tugs at his heart just thinking about the fact that you broke your oath—before you both could do it together.

Everything swells up inside you and you scream when it finally crashes over, your blended signatures sealing themselves together permanently and then detonating in a debilitating shockwave that ripples the air around you. You’re blinded and deafened by its vivid energy, powerful and dazzling every shade between blue and green and Light and Dark, all balanced perfectly together.

You lay there in the gentle afterglow afterwards and feel your pussy still clamping tight to him, pulsing in random intervals while Obi-Wan slouches into you and every muscle in his body trembles with the comedown. Everything is right. Everything in you sparkles.

“Stars, Obi,” you start chuckling up at the ceiling, the sheer joy overwhelming you and bringing tears to your eyes. “Stars, did we just—”

“We just won the Clone Wars, my dear,” he slurs into the crook of your neck while his cock still throbs inside you, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping up his spine, every single thought in his mind completely dead at the moment.

“How long do you… do you think it’ll take before it’s over?” You ask quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair. Obi-Wan groans and buries his face deeper into your neck.

“Few months, maybe. Time for s’Ziscari…”

He stays like that for just a second, and you press your nose to him and breathe him in, marveling at how utterly gorgeous his signature is right now. Clear blue with the lightest touch of teal, rippling like quiet water in a crystal calm riverbed.

Lovely.

You keep softly playing with the hair at his nape, and then quickly wrap your arms around him when he goes to try to brace his forearms next to your shoulders and lift up just the slightest bit.

“Wait, don’t—it’s—” You bite your lip and feel him sink back down into your body without another word, clearly having only attempted it for appearances. “This is good, let’s just… stay for a second.”

He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even move, and—a few months, you think. A few months of his absence, of wondering where he is but never being able to ask. It burdens your heart, but you understand it’s necessary.

The Council may… grant me a position with a more permanent location after this mission, he responds quietly to your dip in the Force after a moment, too tired to even talk anymore and exhaustion weaving his every thought. On Coruscant.

Your heart pangs with sudden hope, and you know he can feel it. “They would do that?”

I could ask to oversee the s’Ziscari’s assimilation into our ranks, he offers alongside a stifled yawn into your collarbone.

He’d… request that? To be closer to you? But why?

He doesn’t hesitate before offering the words to you simply, not even considering them before they’re the only thought in his mind. Because I care for you more than there are stars in the sky. I always have.

Lovely.

No, no, not even, that’s just. Love. By itself.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly into your neck, and your soul feels like it grows wings.

You both lay there in silence for a long time after that, and it takes you even longer to realize he hasn’t succumbed to sleep yet, even as the aching fatigue weighs heavy on his back. He’s resisting it, keeping his eyes purposefully open against your neck while yours are blissfully shut.

“Master,” you eventually whisper up at the ceiling, and his cock twitches inside you. Oh stars, you’ll have to remember that. “Go to sleep.”

I have one more confession. The thoughts are slurred and distorted, barely conscious as he desperately tries to outlast the sleep trying to pull him under. I didn’t even want to mention it before because I didn’t know how this was all going to go, but… He blinks slowly against your neck even as his eyes droop, only just a few seconds from passing out with exertion. The Sh’inzith lasts six days, dove.

Your eyes pop open in shock just as his finally fall shut, and Obi-Wan stops fighting.

#WE OUT HERE #obi-wan kenobi x you #Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #smut #fanfic #no-droids

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Real Friends

Valkyrae & Reader (Male)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: SMAU, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following an accidental and not very consensual face reveal, Y/N’s dealing the sudden shift of the spotlight on him even more than it was before. Being the big deal he is on social media, the internet has every right to be freaking out. Luckily, he’s got a friend to help him cope with it all.

Requested by @iawaythrown Hii! Thank you so much for your request! I’m so sorry for how long it has taken me to complete your request and post it but here it finally is. I’ve never written a SMAU before so this isn’t the classic SMAU format but I still hope you’ll enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

Imagine you end a toxic relationship of almost a year and go to bed feeling like a ton of bricks has been lifted off you, like you can finally breathe properly and like you’re finally getting a taste of freedom. The very freedom you chose to lose by getting in the toxic relationship in the first place. Of course, I didn’t know it was toxic at the time, probably cause it wasn’t, but it gradually turned into a nightmare.

A nightmare that keeps haunting me even after I thought I had put an end to it.

Apparently, that was wishful thinking cause I woke up this morning to find an unbelievable number of notifications and messages from friends, family and my manager and associates. Being in the music industry as a faceless creator, I keep my circle tight and it only consists of people I can trust so to see them all freaking out at me at once, even the most level-headed ones, freaked me out too. Quickly, I opened the first notification I reflexively tapped on and it opened a post in which someone had tagged me.

A picture taken of me while I was asleep, no doubt one taken by my ex. That being said, I think we can all have a guess at who posted it in the first place. I didn’t listen to my manager when he told me to not allow anyone I trust 1000% into my inner circle. I was foolish and at the peak of my career, feeling on top of the world and feeling invincible which was rare for me. I’ve always been insecure about many things in my life, growing up with a lot of judgy people made me be that way. Not to mention that I didn’t want to be the victim of the internet’s racism either. People turn a blind eye most of the time, but it’s still there, it still exists and looms over all social media platforms, disturbing people’s peace left and right. You see, I didn’t want people to have an opinion of my art based on my appearance or associations with other creators. I’m pretty good friends with many content creators, especially in the gaming industry, but I’ve never wanted to be put in a box as one of the many friends of someone famous. I made a name for myself without anyone knowing who I am exactly.

And now they all know because of this photo that my ex sent to float down the rivers of hungry social media:

Damn am I gonna get an earful from my manager or what. It’s still rater early though and I’m really not about to deal with this drama on a caffeine-free brain so if there are any calls, emails or messages that need answering - and yes, there are PLENTY of them - they’ll all have to wait until I feel like dealing with them. I’m glad I don’t have to keep up this unbothered charade at home since I live alone cause I seriously don’t feel ok with this. I mean, I could probably report it, but what use would that be when my brand now has a face and a huge chunk of my privacy has already surfaced against my will.

As I sit in my kitchen, sipping my coffee, I finally gather the nerve to at least scroll through the notifications that I’ve received. Fans reaching out, relatives, friends, pissed off people that are there just to exist and try to disturb my peaceful existence but all they’re gonna get is a hard DELETE from me. I have offers on top of offers for modeling pending, waiting on my response. I’ve never considered it, being a faceless creator and all, but my manager will definitely want to milk some cash from this too. That thought makes me sigh in defeat. I have no one to blame but myself for trusting my ex. No one made me do it, no one made me let them in, but I still did, fucking myself over insanely. Just like they’ve now fucked me over.

Amongst the sea of notifications and yet to be opened messages, one in particular stands out and makes me do a double take. It’s a message from my friend Rae - Valkyrae, as she’s known online. She’s one of those gamer friends I mentioned earlier, probably the one I’m closest with. Her and I talk on the regular so seeing a message from her in my inbox is nothing unusual so I wonder why that was the one that stuck out to me. Regardless, that’s the only one I feel like opening and replying to at the moment.

V ~ Hey Y/N, you doing ok? This all must be really hard on you so don’t feel obligated to reply. Do so when you can or want to. I’m here if you wanna talk

Of course Rae would be the one to know how I truly feel in a situation like this. I can act and cover up all I want but she knows exactly what’s underneath the surface of my façade. That third eye friends have for each other, it’s incredible.

Me ~ Doing ok. Wasn’t expecting to wake up to this but now that millions of people know what I look like it feels oddly bittersweet, you know? Like I don’t have to go out of my way to hide anymore but I’m also gonna miss that privacy I had while I was a phantom

Me ~ On the upside: people want me to be a model now XD

My message goes to Seen almost write away, the Typing icon appearing shortly after the messages were read. I wait for Rae’s reply, sipping my slowly cooling coffee with little interest due to how invested I am in our conversation. If there’s a person who can make light of this situation, it’s Rae, no doubt about it.

V ~ I know what you mean. It’s not gonna be easy to adjust to but you will get used to it eventually. I’m sure you’ll even grow to like it. Promise you, it’s not that scary to be exposed, there’s literal millions of people who support you wholeheartedly :)

V ~ Us, your friends, are here too! Never forget that, we’ve always got your back, Y/N!

V ~ Oh and you really should be a model! Whoever’s saying that has got the right idea. Maybe don’t fear this new change, but embrace it! Take this new turn in your life confidently. Sure, it was out of the blue, but do you really want the person who exposed you to feel the satisfaction of bringing you down? That doesn’t sound like you at all tbh

The epiphany strikes me as soon as Rae’s words sink in as I read them. She’s 100% right. The last thing I want is for my ex to think they’ve won. I refuse to give them the pleasure of tasting victory on the expense of my mental health and career progress. In fact, imma show them just how much they benefited me. But first...

Me ~ Thank you so much, Rae. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this eye-opener

Me ~ I owe you one <3

I sure as hell owe her one, but for now I have other battles to win.

Rifling through my gallery, I find one more recent picture and without a shred of doubt or hesitation, I go straight to Instagram to post it.

~ “Since y’all were curious...And since y’all wanna see me model, you’re welcome” ~

Within seconds likes and comments start flowing in like a riptide, taking over my phone that, despite being charged all night, is already at half of its battery life.

I refresh the page with the post to look at the new comments that have come through, all supportive and complimenting me, some are real thirsty and some are incredibly kind. And even in that sea, her comment still sticks out to me, making me grin like an idiot.

“That’s what I was talking about! Work it, Y/N!“

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ptergwen · 4 years

Text

heartbreaker

warnings: angst, swearing, drinking, and smut OK WOW

summary: never have i ever with your ex and current boyfriends is an interesting experience

a/n: excuse me for taking such a long ass time on this but super big shoutout to whoever requested it for being patient <3 i’ve been trying to write what y’all would actually be interested in so don’t be shy tell me what you want to read!! also italics are flashbacks and as always i hope everyone enjoys hehe

“never have i ever...” harry purses his lips and looks around at your table, “cheated on schoolwork. successfully.” everyone easily takes a sip of their beers, except harrison. you snort and tilt your bottle to where he’s sitting across from you.

“haz, how are you the only one?” “because this div used to copy all my shit in year eleven, and i’d be the one to get in trouble for it.” he elbows tom’s side, tom nudging him back. “should’ve turned yours in first, bro.” rolling his eyes, harrison bends the rules of the game by sipping his drink.

their silly bickering makes you realize how much you’ve missed hanging out with the boys like this. it makes you realize you how much you’ve missed the boys in general. the last time you even saw tom, really saw him, was for a catch up lunch. you had to rush it because he was in between onward press junkets.

before that was the day he left to film cherry, almost a year ago. it’s not at all something you like to remember. dwelling will just set you back, and you’ve come too far to let that happen. as far as one can go when the person they gave their whole heart to breaks it.

now you have luke, and tom has anyone in the world he wants. it’s a new relationship. you’ve only been seeing luke for about three months. you met him while buying some post-breakup ice cream. he randomly started a conversation with you on the line. you bonded over your hatred for chocolate and ended up trading numbers. since you’re slowly getting more serious, you invited luke to the pub tonight.

the meet the friends stage is an important one, and it’s not often that one of your closest would be available for it. tom’s thoughts and opinions still mean a lot to you. you’ll always love him, even if it’s not in the same way you once did. you know he’ll always love you right back. that’s why he did what he did in the first place. that’s what he told you, at least.

you spot luke searching for your table in the pub not too much later. sitting up straighter for him to see you, you wave him over. none of the boys knew that he was coming tonight, so you’re a bit nervous about what they might say. you just hope they’ll like each other as much as you like all of them.

“hey, y/n.” luke leans down and kisses your cheek. you smile up at him, scooting over in the booth to give him room to sit. you’re in between him and tom now. it’s pretty metaphorical if you think about it. “hi. good day?” “yeah, and super busy. i’m luke,” he reaches out his hand for any of the boys. harrison gives him a friendly shake. you haven’t noticed the way tom has been looking at you this whole time.

it’s like he wants to say something, but he’s biting his tongue.

harry shakes luke’s hand, then tom. he uses a firm grip paired with his signature lips pressed together smile. “good to meet you, man. what do you do again?” “i’m in journalism, so mostly chase people around all day.” tom clicks his tongue in a way that sounds like he approves. you’re not exactly sure what’s going through his head at the moment, but it seems to be good things so far.

“he’s just taking the piss. your writing is seriously amazing, luke. don’t downplay it.” you lean into the arm he outstretches across the back of the booth. he lets his hand move to your shoulder and pulls you in closer.

tom stares down at the floor. his leg bounces next to yours, one of his nervous habits you’ve become familiar with. picking up on his brother’s mood change, harry clears his throat to change the subject.

“let’s keep playing never have i ever. we were enjoying that earlier.” “great, i’ll go get everyone another round,” harrison volunteers himself and takes off for the bar. that was obviously his way of escaping the sudden awkwardness that came about.

you tap tom’s foot lightly with your own, making him look up at you. “doing okay over there?” “‘’m fine. my jetlag picked a bad time to act up, is all,” he lamely excuses himself and shifts the tiniest bit away from you.

you’ve seen jetlagged tom plenty of times, and this isn’t him. something else is clearly on his mind. you’d call him out on it and have a heart to heart, but it isn’t your place to do that anymore. you’re both still adjusting to the whole friends thing. it’s going to take time to get back to how close you were, especially with different boundaries in place.

harrison comes back with fresh beers and sets them down on the table. each of you grab one. tom immediately chugs half of his without bothering to wait for the game to continue. you’re not in the mood to watch him act like this, so you turn to face luke. that only encourages him to drink some more. harry is the one who steps in and pulls his bottle away.

“easy there, alcoholland. you gotta save some for when we play.” “right.” tom wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes already glossy. this isn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

“speaking of,” harrison starts, overly cheerful to make up for the way his friend is behaving. “it’s my turn.” “go for it,” you force a smile at him and swish the beer around in your glass. “this’ll definitely be good. never have i ever gone skinny dipping.”

the heat that rises to your cheeks gives you away before you can take a sip. with a shit-eating grin, tom snatches his beer out of harry’s hand. “gonna need this back, baby bro.” you shyly pick up your drink, tom and harrison being the only others who are guilty. harrison clinks his glass with yours, then you’re both gulping down your poison.

luke playfully raises his eyebrows at you when you’re finished. “i’m sorry, y/n, but i have to hear this story. you went skinny dipping?” cockiness absolutely oozing out of him, tom cuts in. “we went together, actually. i can help her tell this one.”

you spare everybody the explicit details of what happened, but it isn’t hard to guess them. tom is thankfully mature enough in the moment to not reveal much. now that luke knows the story, it feels like there’s tension between him and tom. he’s just too nice to let it show.

taking notes from tom, you impulsively finish off the rest of your drink in hopes of clearing your mind. you earn looks of concern from everyone except the man of the hour. he’s enjoying messing with you.

“that was a fun night, huh?” tom smirks at you. you close your eyes and rub your temples. sensing how off everything is, harrison leaves the table again to get you another drink. he sure has a talent for that.

you’re not sure why tom has to be such an ass tonight of all nights. you’ve already told him about you and luke before, actually he was the first person to know. he should’ve expected to meet him at some point. maybe then, his coping mechanism wouldn’t be getting drunk and making both of you look stupid.

“you okay?” luke nudges your shoulder with his hand. you give him a tight lipped smile. “yeah. sorry about all of that.” “no, it’s fine. i’m a big boy.” he glances over at tom, who’s poking harry’s cheek with a spoon. jesus christ.

harrison brings over another beer for you and a water for tom. you take your drink and push tom’s over to him. he decides to be immature and drops the spoon to switch your glasses. drunk tom is a child.

“are you serious right now? you need to learn when to cut yourself off.” you switch them again, taking a sip of your beer before tom can take it from you. he huffs and drinks his water like you said. you’re only doing this because you care about him. he’s probably too gone at the moment to understand that. if he’s going to think you’re a buzzkill for helping him out, oh well.

“so, babe,” luke makes a point to stress the word, “how about you do the next round of the game?” he leans into you again. you still haven’t taken your eyes off of tom.

“sure,” you agree absentmindedly. “um, never have i ever...” tom smiles lazily at you when he notices you’re looking at him. you forgot that drunk tom is also cute, but you’re not supposed to think that way anymore. not about him. you clear your throat. “never have i ever given myself a really bad hairstyle?”

everybody takes a drink this time, tom finishing his water. you’ve styled your hair in so many awful ways so many times, but only one comes to mind. it’s technically tom’s fault.

“come on, y/n/n, let me do it. i’ll even say please. please?” tom all but begs you for the third time. you look up at him from your phone to see him making puppy eyes at you. saying no to those is physically impossible.

you’ve been on hold with your hair salon for almost half an hour trying to make an appointment. they’re normally never this busy, but you really need to go. a person can only let their ends become so split.

for some reason, tom decided he wants to be a hairdresser today. he keeps offering to cut your hair for you instead. you’re not so sure you trust him with scissors, but he won’t stop asking about it unless you let him try. plus, this could be interesting.

you end the call with a sigh. perking up, tom grabs your hands. “so? that’s a yes?” “don’t make me regret this, tom.” he pulls you off the couch by your hands and leads you straight to the bathroom.

“should we wash it first? i think that’s what they do.” he turns on the sink, then goes into the shower to get your hair products. you lean back against the counter and watch him set up. you’re starting to feel kind of nervous about this. tom is usually good at everything he attempts, but something as permanent as a haircut, you’re not sure about.

“relax a bit, darling. you’ll be fine.” tom ruffles your hair with his fingers, making you crinkle your nose. “if it looks bad, no i won’t.” “it’s just hair.” he gets a towel off the rack and drapes it around your shoulders. you look at your hair in the mirror one more time, then lean back so your head is under the faucet. “you’re the one who uses a bottle of hair gel every day.”

“anyways,” you can hear the eye roll in tom’s voice. “let me know if the water’s too hot or too cold.” “nah, it’s good.” he opens your shampoo and squirts some into his hand. “see, i know what i’m doing.” you hum in response, tom’s fingers combing through your hair to make sure it’s wet enough.

you lift your head up from the water so tom can do the shampoo. it feels good, like you’re getting a massage but on your scalp. tom notices your small smile as he eases you down to rinse it out. “enjoying yourself?” you open an eye to see a smug look on his face. “for now, yeah.”

after all the shampoo is gone, tom starts with conditioner. he pulls all your hair to one side and runs through it with a brush a few times. you’re honestly impressed he knows what he’s doing. he must have learned from watching you do your own hair. he puts in the conditioner and twirls a loose strand of hair around his finger, letting it sit for a bit.

“i’ll admit it, you’re actually good at this,” you reach up and poke at his chest. tom pokes your cheek back, then gathers all of your hair again. “mm, thanks. you should let me do your hair for you more often.” “that’ll depend on if you can cut it.” with a chuckle, he lets the ends of your hair fall under the water again.

your hair all washed, tom helps you stand back up. he takes the towel from over your shoulders and uses it to scrunch your hair up. it falls over your face. you know he’s trying to do it so it stays in place, but that’s not what’s happening.

“i’ll do this part, babe,” you laugh to yourself and flip your head over. “pfft, yeah, i was totally gonna try that next,” tom jokes, searching through a drawer for scissors while you wrap your hair. he opens and closes them before dropping them on the counter.

“wanna sit? i don’t know how long this’ll take.” “oh, god. sure.” tom easily lifts you up by your waist and sits you on the counter. you giggle a little at the gesture. he’s full of surprises today. “there you are, m’lady. let’s get started.” he takes the towel off your head and squeezes your hair out with it one more time. pouting, you grab a few strands. “i’ll miss you guys so much.”

”stop it, i’m not even cutting that much off,” tom groans and stands in between your legs. you put your hands on his shoulders. “that’s the plan, but knowing you, you’ll end up giving me, like, a mohawk.” “you think i know how to do that?” your legs wrap around his waist, scooting yourself closer to the edge of the counter. “i hope not.”

tom wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a wicked smile. you probably should’ve asked him to section off your hair so he could cut it evenly, but it slipped your mind. he splits your hair in half the best he can and picks up the scissors. you’re facing him, so you can’t see what he’s about to do in the mirror.

“i’m gonna count to three, okay? one, two, three.” tom takes half of your hair and starts cutting it in a straight line, which is already a problem. it ends up creating this weird zigzag look that can’t be saved by just him. he realizes his mistake after he’s already holding your hair. “oh, shit..” he puts down the scissors and covers his mouth with his free hand. your eyes go wide. “what? what did you do?”

“i- i, um, we can fix it,” he tries, backing away before you freak out. you hop off the counter and turn around to see what happened. it’s long in the back and too short in the front. how did he mess up this bad in not even two minutes? you gasp and touch your disaster of a haircut.

“tom, what is this? it looks... i don’t even know what to say!” you spin back around, pointing at your half cut hair. he winces when he sees it again. “i’m so sorry, y/n/n. i thought-“ “no, you didn’t! you thought nothing! your mind literally must have been empty.” you sit on the floor with your head in your hands, tom crouching down in front of you.

“look at me, darling.” he puts a hand on your back. you scowl up at him. “it’s really not that bad. you’ll figure out a way to make this work.” “you’re so helpful,” you mumble, leaning your head forward so it’s resting on his chest. you’re being dramatic. he was trying to do something nice for you, and it’s not like this was on purpose. tom rubs circles on your back, you nuzzling your cheek into his shirt.

“should i leave the other side, or would that be worse?” “i can do it for you.” “absolutely not.”

“i could only wear my hair up for months because of you,” you laugh to tom, warming up to him again from the memory. he puffs some air out of his cheeks with a smile. “be happy you didn’t ask for bangs.” “that’s because i’d never be able to pull them off.” tom messes with your hair so it’s over your eyes, you pushing his hands away with a breathy laugh. “not true.”

luke shifts in his spot next to you to remind you he still exists. you glance over at him and move your hair out of your face. “um, what was yours?” “i dyed my hair orange once. ginger definitely isn’t my look,” he jokes. it seems like he’s just trying to compete with tom now. you muster up a small chuckle for him anyway.

“tom, you haven’t gone yet,” harry points out, picking up his glass. tom considers the fact for a second. “true, but it’s not much fun if i don’t get to drink. can i get another since i’m behaving?” he juts his bottom lip out at his brother. harrison lets out a long sigh. “mate, i really don’t feel like getting up again. take a break.”

you slide your beer over to tom without a second thought. “you can share mine.” he looks at you like you said something wild. “are you sure we should do that?” he’s clearly referring to luke and how he might take it. at this point, it doesn’t matter to you. luke has been acting off since you started playing, and you’re not going to let him ruin your time with your friends.

you shrug your shoulders and tap the glass. “i’m the one who suggested it. drink up.” he hesitates, but takes it.

“ok, never have i ever gotten kicked out of somewhere.” harrison shakes his head and harry rests his chin in his hand, bummed he can’t drink. luke raises his hands up in surrender. that leaves you and tom. you know exactly what he’s thinking about right now. he takes a sip of your beer and hands it back to you, you finishing off the rest of it.

tom brought you to a super fancy restaurant for date night. it’s one of those places that has their own dress code and mood lighting. here you are, sat across from him in your most uncomfortable pair of heels and picking at course three of your meal; a bland salad. tom isn’t thrilled with it either, so you don’t feel too bad.

you rarely get the chance to go out for dinners like this because of tom’s ever-growing schedule, so you’re giving this place a try to make up for it.

“i wanna ask if they have dressing, but i’m scared i’ll get yelled at,” you murmur to tom, stabbing a piece of lettuce with your fork. he bites his cheek. your look of disgust makes a giggle slip out of him. “try holding your breath so you don’t taste it,” tom suggests, fiddling with a button on his jacket to stall from eating.

you take a big gulp of water in hopes of cleansing your tastebuds. tom looks at you from over his cup, doing the same. it’s so hard to take this seriously. “i know you wanted to take me somewhere nice, baby, but this kinda sucks.” you whisper the last part. “you’re right. i’ve heard great things about their dessert, though.”

“we’d find out if they didn’t take five years to serve us every course,” you laugh a little too loud at your own joke. an older woman with diamonds around her neck shoots you a glare. tom finally cracks, joining in your laughter over the situation. your waiter comes back at that moment, and he’s less than pleased by the behavior from both of you.

“is everything okay over here?” he asks sharply. “we’re, uh, we’re fine. thank you,” tom hides his laugh with a cough and makes an overly serious face. your waiter places a check on the table. “we didn’t ask for this yet,” you tell him politely. “i’ve heard several complaints about you two throughout your meal, so i’m going to have to ask you to leave.” he explains, handing you a pen to sign the check.

tom’s fake serious face is now a real serious face.

“you can’t-“ “let us pay for what we had, and we’ll be on our way.” you take tom’s arm from across the table. he would’ve pulled the ‘do you know who i am?’ card without you stopping him. your waiter walks away and goes to serve someone else.

“i can’t believe they’re kicking us out. this is so unfair,” tom complains, but gets out his wallet. he grabs the pen from you to take care of everything. “to be fair, we were being pretty annoying. we didn’t even like our food,” you try to reason.

tom does his signature and leaves money on the table. he’s going to be sulking about this the rest of the night. you stand up with your arm still linked in his and walk him over to the exit. he squeezes you closer to him on your way to the car.

“that was disappointing,” tom speaks again once you’re in the car. he rests a hand on your thigh. you put yours on top of his. “and funny. the only thing is, i’m still hungry.” “yeah? how about we go for burgers?”

you’re in the mcdonald’s parking lot eating your second dinner not too much later. it’s a lot better than your first. your heels are kicked off, your feet on the dashboard while you and tom eat and listen to your favorite songs.

tom steals one of your fries and shoves it in his mouth, sticking his tongue out at you after. that earns him a flick from you. “you have your own fries, weirdo!” “yours taste better somehow. here, i’ll trade you.” he lifts the bun off his burger so you can have his pickles. he knows you so well.

“can i tell you something?” tom asks all of a sudden. you stop eating and turn down the radio with a nod. “i know this isn’t as cool as fine dining, but i’m happy we get to have these moments together. wish they could last a little longer,” tom admits to you while staring out the window. you bring his hand up to your lips and kiss it.

“i’ve had so much fun tonight, and every night i spend with you. i don’t care about some gross rich people food. the only thing that matters is is being together, okay?” tom grins at your words, then leans forward and presses his lips to yours. it’s a short but sweet kiss. it’s a kiss that says the words he doesn’t have. “love you, y/n. thank you.” “i love you.”

you and tom are doubled over, giggling like kids with your heads bent together. you’re both pretty buzzed from your drink. you try to get yourself together, but he makes eye contact with you and you bust into another fit of laughter. even harry and harrison join in. it’s nice to finally have all of you getting along.

“i think it’s time to head out,” luke announces, moving to get up from the booth. you turn to him and wipe under your eyes. “oh, ok. i’ll text you later?” “you’re not coming?” he sounds more bitter than surprised. “i’m gonna get a ride back with tom when he’s ready to drive. it’s too early for me.”

luke fully sits himself back down and places his almost full glass in front of tom. all the boys are looking at you, but you have no idea what‘s happening. “why’d you do that?” you ask just to him. “i’ve changed my mind. i’m staying for another round of the game.”

you have a bad feeling about whatever he’s going to say. he’s been salty about you and tom all night, as if he didn’t know you’re still friends. it’s not like him at all. not the him you thought you knew, anyway.

“never have i ever,” luke intentionally directs the question at tom, “broken up with the most amazing girl so i could make shitty movies and fuck models. i wonder who’s done that.”

everyone stays silent. you could swear you’ve just been knocked sober. tom gets up from the table without a word, not bothering to wait for harry and harrison to move. he ignores them telling him not to go and steps over them. he’s out the nearest exit of the pub before anyone can stop him. you want to go after him, but you’re stuck in the middle of the booth.

your ‘boyfriend’ put his jealousy before your feelings for the last time tonight.

“what the fuck, luke?”

“are you sure you have everything? you remembered all your stuff from security?” you hold tom’s hand impossibly tighter as you get close to his gate.

he leaves today to film cherry in the states. you’re dropping him off at the airport like you always do, but something feels different about this time. it seems like a more permanent goodbye.

“mhm, it’s all here.” tom squeezes your hand back. you stop walking when you reach the sign that has his gate number on it. this is it. the last time you’ll see him for who knows how long? he stands his suitcase up off to the side and moves so he’s in front of you.

his arms are around your neck now, hugging you so close. you wind your arms around him so there’s no space between you two. he rests his chin on your shoulder, letting out a breath. “gonna miss you so much, baby. fuck, i hate this.” “it’s okay, tom. we’ve done it before. we’ll be okay.” you’re trying to convince yourself and him.

he pulls back from you and holds you by your waist. you stay flush against his chest, grabbing on to his hoodie. you don’t trust yourself to look at him right now.

“y/n, i can’t keep doing this to you,” tom says into your ear, his voice oddly steady for such a big thing to say. “doing what? you mean your job?” your fingers play with his hoodie strings. “i’ll be fine. i always am.” “that’s the thing. i don’t want you to just be fine all the time.” he can’t be saying what you think he is. you shake your head against him.

“you should be happy. it’s not fair that i make you settle for less.” “tom, stop.” you move off of him completely, your throat getting tight. “we’ve already talked about this. you do make me happy, even if it’s from another country sometimes. i don’t care.” he takes your hand again.

“this is something i’ve been thinking about for a while, honestly. it’ll be good for both of us.” “i- what are you trying to say?” tears are already clouding your vision. tom lets go of you. “we need to break up, y/n.”

you can feel your entire heart shatter into millions of tiny little pieces. this isn’t happening. not now. not ever. he’s not leaving you so easy.

you’re crying in the middle of the airport for everyone to see, and tom isn’t too far behind you. “i thought you loved me,” you manage to get out. tom chokes back his tears and wipes yours instead, his thumbs running over your cheeks. “i do, angel. i love you so much that it’s hurting me to say goodbye.” “then why can’t we make it work? please,” you lean into his touch for probably the last time.

“because you deserve more. i’m away all the time, and there are things i can’t give you. you deserve someone who’s here for everything.” tom’s fingers trail down to grab your chin gently, you looking up at him with bloodshot eyes.

“i want more for you, y/n.” “i have you. that’s all i want, tom.” neither of you say anything for a good minute. tom almost gives in, you can see it. you whimper when he grabs the handle of his suitcase instead.

“this is because i love you. i... i need you to understand that.” his voice is soft. you wish he could’ve done this way earlier since he was planning on it. “it’s all happening so fast.” tears are dripping down your cheeks and chin. you want to reach for tom, but there’s no point. his mind is made up. an announcement plays through the airport that tom’s flight is boarding.

“i really don’t wanna leave you like this, but i have to go. i’ll call you after i land, okay?” who are you to stop him now? “o- okay. be safe.” tom presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger for a few seconds. he puts his hood up and turns around. you watch him walk to his gate. this is the first time he’s left you without looking back.

you start making your way to the parking lot as soon as he’s gone. it takes everything in you not to scream and sob the whole way back. none of this feels right. if you both still love each other, you should be together.

after the longest walk of your life, you get back to your car. you break down all over again.

“i’m trying to help you, y/n. it seems like you forgot what he put you through,” luke scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. you can’t believe how he’s acting. “let’s talk about this somewhere else. sorry, guys,” you smile awkwardly at harrison and harry. harry waves you off. “it’s okay. we understand.”

luke gets out of the booth, you following behind and leading him over to an empty corner in the pub. your smile fades. “that was fucked up, luke. we didn’t end things for his career. you know that.” “not officially, but it definitely helped.” does he not realize how crappy that sounds? like you were holding him back?

“you’re wrong. i told you exactly what happened. everything you’re saying is some weird story you made up in your head.” “then he should’ve said that for himself.” you throw your hands up in the air. “you made him fucking uncomfortable! i would’ve left, too.” luke laughs bitterly. “he’s really good at that, you know. leaving.”

“he did it because he loves me. fuck you for joking about it, like it wasn’t something that took me a really long time to get over. it’s sad that my past makes you jealous.” there’s a beat of silence before luke says anything. “do you still love him, y/n?” you both already know the answer. “well?” “yeah. yeah, i do.” you push past him and go out the door tom left from. luke doesn’t bother following.

you’re ready to start searching for tom, but he ends up being right outside. he’s leaning against the side of the building. his head snaps up when the door opens. “didn’t mean to scare you.” you walk over to him. he sniffles and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “‘s alright. rather you than someone else.” “tom, i’m-“ “don’t apologize.”

“i have to. the things luke said to you were really gross, and i hate that i didn’t stop him.” you take a step closer to him. “you couldn’t have predicted anything he said.” tom gives you a tight lipped smile. “he’s... not the kind of person i thought he was.” “he’s a bit of a dick, to be honest.” you giggle a little at that. you’re just relieved tom isn’t taking this too hard.

“so, he didn’t pass the friends test. i guess that’s okay since things are kind of over between us.” tom finally meets your eyes, furrowing an eyebrow. “why? what happened?” “i cursed him out. said some pretty mean stuff.” he holds out an arm for you. you let him put it around you, instantly settling into his warmth. you’ve needed this.

“you can do better. he seemed too boring for you, anyway.” you shrug your shoulders with a small smile. “i wanted to talk to you about that. i’m not really sure how to say this, so i’ll just... say it.” tom’s heart is beating so fast you can feel it next to you. “yeah?”

you turn to face him, his arm still around you. “i haven’t stopped loving you. this is bad timing because you’re about to go film uncharted, and it’s out of no where, but i thought i should tell you. it might not mean anything now-“ “come with me.�� you’re both shocked by each other’s words. you laugh in disbelief, tom nodding to urge you to say yes.

“for real? you want me to go?” “i wanna work on us, and i’m not making you wait any longer. i was stupid for ever giving up. we can figure everything out, and it would only be for the summer-“ now it’s your turn to cut him off, your lips crashing into his. his eyes flutter closed as he kisses you back. he grabs your arms and both of you pull back to catch your breath.

tom kisses you again, this time softer. you smile against his lips. “god, i’ve missed doing that. i really, really love you, y/n.” “i really love you, tom.”

and just like that, he put the pieces of your heart back together.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland blurb #tom holland angst #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #marvel #mcu #spiderman #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction

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wave0fg00dvibes · 4 years

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Sparks - Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: Could you do a spencer Reid x SSA fem!reader where you guys are on a case and he sees the cops flirting with you and gets jealous and reveals his feelings?

A/N: WOW I’m really sorry this was out so much later than I predicted. Life is hard sometimes, y’all! My stressors are gone now so hopefully I’ll be cranking out a whole lot more of these.

Also, I never understood how writers could just start a story they thought would be short and end up with 6K words. Now I know! Whoops.

Please leave feedback if you have any! Lots and lots and LOTS of love, as always.

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Your favorite part of any given case was closing it.

There was no rush or relief quite like the feeling of taking someone dangerous off the streets. No sensation could match handcuffing an unsub and watching officers escort them to police cars, never to wreak havoc again. Those days were undoubtedly the best part of being a profiler at the BAU. Those beautiful days took away the pain and anguish you so often faced as an agent, even if only momentarily.

Today was one of those days.

The resolution of this case provided the small town a chance to take a deep breath of relief. The killer was locked away, there were minimal casualties, and several hostages had been rescued and reunited with their families. All in all, it was a success.

Normally the team would fly back to Virginia right away, but a large, dangerous, looming electrical storm prevented a safe flight. Hotch made the executive decision to stay another night at the motel, and no one complained. After all, this case had been exhausting and draining for all of you.

It wasn’t until Morgan suggested a trip to the bar next door that the night got interesting.

Classic.

So, there you and Emily were, taking a trek across the street in the pouring rain, clutching your shared umbrella as if your lives depended on it.

“You know; I think I might be getting too old for this.” Emily nearly yelled over the roar of the weather. You laughed.

“Never! Who would be my off-duty partner in crime if not you?”

She shook her head and smiled at you. Strands of lightning lit up the sky and reflected in the many puddles at your feet. As beautiful as it was, you were not particularly comfortable holding a large piece of metal in a barren landscape during an electrical storm. As soon as the next inevitable clap of thunder shook the earth, both of you silently agreed to walk even faster to get to the bar and out of the rain.

“All I’m saying is you’d better start looking for my replacement.” Emily fired back, clutching the umbrella even harder as the wind blew the raindrops straight into your faces.

“As if I could ever replace the best wing woman I’ve ever had.” You shouted back to her. At that, Emily laughed out loud.

“Wing woman? Yeah, right.”

You didn’t have time to question her cheeky comment before the two of you finally reached the door to the bar. Emily immediately sighed in relief and you chuckled, stepping inside to relish in the warmth and shelter from the aggressive storm. Both of you stood in the doorway and took off your rain jackets, thankful to be dry and safe again.

“So, you’re telling me that if I found you someone at this bar…” Emily started to tease you, elbowing your ribs in jest. However, her eyes held an underlying mystery that frightened you. It was as if she was looking directly into your heart, reading your every move, discovering your deepest secrets.

Emily was one of your closest friends, but there was one secret in your heart that you could barely admit to yourself, much less another person. That was not something you wanted to dive into at the moment. It had been such a good day. There was no need to tarnish it with rambling thoughts and uncomfortable feelings.

Did that secret involve romantic feelings for a team member? Maybe.

She couldn’t know. There was no possible way she could know.

“I mean… I don’t know.” You bashfully tripped over your words, knowing she was kidding, but not doubting her willingness to embarrass you.

“Really? A gorgeous, smart, single woman like you, not wanting to find any company?” You blushed at the compliments, but shook your head in denial.

“Nice try, but I am perfectly happy being all alone.” You playfully nudged her shoulder. She let out a big laugh, hooking your arm in hers and starting to head toward the rest of the team at the back of the bar.

“Oh, come on. Don’t feed me that. We all know about you and Reid.” She subtly whispered in your ear.

And there it was.

She knew. Of course she knew. You felt your face begin to drain its color.

“We…” you attempted to launch into your heavily used “just friends” speech, but Emily put a finger up to your lips.

“Don’t even try that excuse with me. Just, don’t. Your self-appointed wing woman knows better.” She smirked and gave you a wink before releasing your arm and taking a seat between Morgan and JJ.

Rolling your eyes at her, you sat down in the only remaining seat, conveniently next to none other than Dr. Spencer Reid. You glared at Emily and she wiggled her eyebrows at you, fully aware of what she had done.

Oh boy. This was going to be a long night.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be around him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Plopping down next to Spencer was the most comforting thing you had done all day. Though he was deep in conversation with Morgan, he grabbed one of the drinks in front of him and handed it to you without looking. You smiled, taking the glass as you watched his face contort while arguing with his friend. This was undoubtedly a conversation you did not want to interrupt.

You took a sip from the glass, and your heart skipped a beat. He had ordered you your favorite drink without even asking if you were in the mood.

Then again, he’s a professional profiler and one of your closest friends. Of course he knew you needed it.

That’s the whole problem, though. Why fix something that isn’t broken? Why go out on a limb for something that could destroy an already perfect relationship, both personally and professionally? The costs outweighed the benefits in every single sense. It just wasn’t worth it.

But all the rationality in the world couldn’t stop your heart from longing for the fairy tale.

“Hey!” Spencer’s soft, warm voice cut through all of the noise and broke you right out of your thoughts. He had turned to face you, cheeks slightly tinted red, probably from the heat of the bar and the alcohol. His ever-shining smile lit up his face. You couldn’t help but return it.

As always, you were amazed at how one shared moment with him could make every insecurity and anxious thought feel so small.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, the furrow in his brow reflecting his genuine concern.

“Oh, yeah! Just a couple of bumps and bruises. Nothing too serious.” You assured him.

Earlier that day you had been shot by the unsub. Thankfully, all of the bullets hit your vest and not your unprotected body. It wasn’t the first time you had been in a shooting match with a perpetrator, but for some reason this one had really rattled you.

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink before proceeding.

“I looked at your vest. If that last bullet had been just 2 centimeters to the left, it could’ve dissected your subclavian artery, and that could’ve been deadly. Arterial rupture can cause life-threatening hemorrhages, pseudoaneurysm formation, and compression of brachial plexus.” His eyes lit up with excitement as he continued to talk about your circulatory luck of the day, blissfully unaware of how intensely it had scared you.

That was one of your very favorite things about him. He took any moment, any situation, any scare, and turned it into a statistic. He put all your irrational fears into rational numbers and ideologies. No matter what happened to you, or anyone on your team, he was right there to make sure you all knew you weren’t alone, even if that meant spouting off facts about arterial dissection in a bar at midnight.

This man was something else.

“Hey, pretty boy!” This time the voice breaking you out of your thoughts was Morgan’s. Spencer’s many statistics halted abruptly as he turned to face the summoning voice.

“What ever happened to that lovely lady you were going to ask out for coffee last week?”

His body immediately tensed next to you. Your stupid, irrational, unforgiving heart dropped into your stomach.

“Um, I mean… I didn’t end up asking her.” His answer was surprisingly short. You had never seen Spencer so flustered and lost for words. You looked up at Emily and saw the delicate look of annoyance in her eyes.

“It’s really hard to date in this line of work…” Emily attempted to defend his decision, JJ nodding and offering noises of agreeance while taking sips of her drink, but Morgan cut them off to press him further.

“Oh come on Reid, you haven’t shut up about her for months!”

“Yes, thank you Emily.” Spencer replied, letting some of the tension go. “I’m not sure I want to take any of my focus away from this job right now.”

“Oh whatever…” Morgan started, but before he could go any further you saw Emily subtly kick him under the table.

She looked up at you, eyes faintly conveying her apologies and intent to knock some sense into the oblivious man. He gave her a confused look, but immediately dropped the subject after meeting her fiery gaze.

“Anyway… are you seeing anyone?” This time Morgan’s question was directed at you.

Nope. Not happening. Where was the alcohol?

“On that note, I’m going to go get a drink. Anyone want anything?” You asked, grabbing your glass and standing up quickly.

Before they could answer, you were on your way to the bar. The first drink was strong, but not strong enough to numb the stupid, unreasonable pain and excruciating awkwardness of what had just happened.

“I’ll have another of these, please.” You asked the bartender, sitting at one of the chairs to help calm your shaking knees.

Breathe.

There was literally no reason for you to be upset. He was allowed to see people. Both of you were single, for crying out loud! There was nothing you were willing to do to make the fairy tale in your head a reality, so why was this weighing on you so heavily?

Breathe. For the love of everything, breathe.

He deserved every happiness in the world, and more. There was no reason for you to be so self-centered and deny him that. Who’s to say he even thought of you as anything more than a colleague anyway?

“Agent?” You slightly jumped and turned to face the familiar voice, recognizing the man sitting next to you instantly.

“Sergeant Jones. Hi.” You presented the best smile you could muster in the moment at the sight of one of the local deputies.

“Please, call me Michael. It’s so nice to see you outside of the unfortunate situations our jobs bring.” His smile was warm, and the hand he reached out to shake was soft.

“It’s nice to see you too, Michael.” You smiled, angling yourself to face him more directly.

Breathe. Distractions are good, especially when they are this handsome. Breathe.

His short blonde hair was combed perfectly, and his blue flannel shirt subtly brought out his eyes. No wedding ring. You could feel your heart ever so slowly begin to rise at the prospect of feeling valued, wanted, especially by a handsome stranger.

Did it take your mind off Spencer? No.

Could anything at this point? Who knows.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the true concern evident in his pretty blue eyes.

No, Michael. You seem wonderful but this is the worst timing.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s just been a long day.” You lied straight through your teeth like a pro. However, you were captivated by his seemingly genuine integrity.

“You can say that again.” He chuckled. “This town hasn’t seen action like this in the last century, at least.”

Spencer could probably pinpoint the exact date of the last time this tiny town had a historic day like this…

NOPE. Breathe.

“How often does your team handle cases like these?” Michael’s deep voice snapped you out of your racing thoughts.

Okay, this was good. You were good at talking about work. It was basically your whole life.

“Well, we mostly handle serial killer cases. Sometimes abductions, things of that nature.”

Michael was a good listener, and the way his body angled toward yours indicated he actually enjoyed listening to you talk about your gruesome job.

“Cases involving children are the hardest for me, but it’s different for everyone.” You added.

“Yeah, I understand. I know our jobs are of different caliber, but I struggle with those too.”

You were enamored with Michael’s honesty and emotional depth in your short conversation. Compassionate, good at listening, and handsome? The other shoe was sure to drop soon…

The bartender set your drink down in front of you, but before you could pay her Michael handed her some cash.

“Oh no…” You started to argue.

“Please, I insist. It’s been a hard day for all of us.” Michael softly smiled at you. You smiled back, immediately taking a big gulp of the strong drink. Bring on the numbness.

“So, do you have any kids?” His surprising question caused you to choke and begin coughing profusely. He immediately looked alarmed, placing a hand on your arm to steady you.

“I’m so sorry, I just meant because those cases affect you so much… I didn’t mean…”

“No! No, it's okay!” You choked out between coughs. Could this night get any more awkward? You took a deep breath and drink of water before continuing, noticing his strong, soft hand was still on your arm.

“No, I don’t have any kids yet. It’s hard to find time to date in this line of work.”

“Cheers to that.” He smiled, lifting his drink to tap yours.

Feeling the alcohol start to kick in, you closed your eyes and smiled. Finally.

“Hey, I never got a chance to thank you for what you did today.” You opened your eyes to meet his, slightly confused as to what he meant, but he continued. “You jumped in front of one of my men and took those bullets.”

Ah, transference. He’s only interested because he thinks you’re a hero.

“Oh, that’s just part of the job.” You brushed it off.

“No. That was true bravery and sacrifice.” Michael turned completely toward you. “I don’t know many people who would’ve done that. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

...or maybe he’s just incredibly kind?

“Of course.” You laid your free hand on top of his. Thankful for the recognition, but far more thankful that no one had been harmed that day.

“Man if you didn’t have to leave, I would absolutely be asking you on a date right now.” Michael’s undying honesty once again caught you by surprise.

“You’re just saying that because I took a successful risk today.”

“No, I’m saying it because in the last five minutes I’ve realized that you’re smart, along with brave and clearly beautiful.”

All you could do was smile and squeeze Michael’s hand, for though the flattery was lovely, both of you knew full well that was all it could be.

Out of nowhere, you felt the air tense. Michael looked past you in confusion, and all at once you knew who was there. You could feel Spencer’s presence before he spoke a single word. Somehow you could tell he had been there for a short while, and could feel the inevitable speech coming.

“Actually that’s called transference, which happens when material from our unconscious mind is propelled into our conscious mind as we try to deal with the usually painful psychological trauma that we are experiencing. The brain unconsciously re-surfaces and re-enacts conflict-ridden experiences as if the past were the present and one setting were another. We transfer thoughts, feelings, and attitudes, especially about people who resemble others. We assign them roles once played by others. We take on old roles ourselves. All unconsciously.”

Both you and Michael were stunned into silence, staring at Spencer as if he were from another planet.

What the hell was he doing?

You sighed, giving up any hope for a single shred of happiness to come from this night.

“Michael, you remember Dr. Reid.”

“Of course, good to see you again.” Michael nodded toward Spencer, which he awkwardly returned.

“Sorry to interrupt. I came over to see if you were alright after that coughing spell and couldn’t help but overhear…”

“It’s fine, Spencer.” You coolly cut him off, begging him with your eyes to go back to the table and let you make a connection, for once.

He saw the look, understood, and promptly ignored it.

“We should probably get back to the motel. The others left when I got up to check on you.”

“I’m a big girl, Spencer. I’ll be okay.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

“I can walk her back.” Michael looked up at Spencer, attempting to analyze him, to no avail.

“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer looked him dead in the eye, challenging him. A sudden look of realization dawned on Michael’s face. He immediately stood up, grabbing his jacket.

“Wow, I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding. I assumed you were single.”

God fucking dammit, Spencer.

“Oh I am! I am. It’s not like that. Spencer is just a good friend.”

Spencer stood there, unmoving, arms crossed, stoic as he could be. Michael gave up the silent fight, putting on his jacket and turning to leave.

“Listen, it was really nice to see you again, agent. Thank you again, truly, for all you did for my team today. Best wishes.” He shook your hand, far more awkward this time, and nodded to Spencer before bolting toward the door.

The prior sadness couldn’t hold a flame to the anger bubbling inside you at that moment. You whipped around to face the ever stoic Spencer, who didn’t seem to care about the fact that you were pissed as all hell about what he had just done. Before he could say another word, you took your coat from his outstretched arm and stormed toward the door, not caring if he followed or not.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but the beautiful lightning illuminated the sky as you furiously stomped back across the street to the motel. Normally you would attempt to walk softly in your heeled boots so as to not draw attention, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. You wanted Spencer to know just how royally pissed off you were, and you could tell he was right behind you.

Who did he think he was? Swooping in at the last second to sever the one human connection you’d made all night? Breaking the newfound bond you started with someone to distract from what he had caused?

The anger coursing through your veins seemed to dissolve the alcohol all on its own. You were no longer drunk, you were furious.

Breathe. Assault of a federal agent will put your ass in jail. Breathe.

It wasn’t until the two of you were alone in the elevator that you’d finally calmed down enough to form a sentence.

“What the fuck, Spencer?”

He didn’t answer. You took a deep breath, trying to expel the burning desire to scream. It didn’t work.

Of course, the one time you truly needed his explanation, he refused to offer it.

When the elevator reached your floor, he silently followed you to your room. You fished in your pocket for the key, but before you could swipe it Spencer grabbed your wrist, turning you toward him.

“I’m sorry.” He flatly stated.

Sure. Nice try.

“For what?” You challenged, not breaking his eye contact.

“For not getting you out of that situation sooner.”

You laughed right in his face. Pitiful, loud, uncontrollable laughter.

“Are you kidding me? Seriously? Oh my God.” You laughed so hard you thought you were going to throw up, clutching your stomach and leaning forward. His arms attempted to steady you but you eagerly batted them away.

“What is so funny about that?” You could tell he was getting frustrated.

Were you really about to start this?

You were really about to start this.

“Guess what? Men are allowed to flirt with me, Spencer. Believe it or not some people actually find me desirable.” He was surprised, but not as much as you thought he might be.

He didn’t deny that this was what had struck the nerve and prompted him to get you out of the bar.

“Those cops are bad news.” He broke eye contact, further proving your point.

“Michael was kind to me.”

“He was putting up a front.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to believe someone could actually be attracted to me?”

“He doesn’t even know you!”

“And if he did he wouldn’t want me?”

Spencer opened his mouth to fight back, but immediately closed it, eyes darting between the patterns on the carpet. Your heart cracked.

“I didn’t realize you thought so little of me, Spencer.”

“That’s not what I…” He cut himself off with a deep sigh, putting his hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling.

“Then what the hell is it, because I don’t have time for this.” You spat, trying to use your keycard once more. Spencer grabbed your wrist again, holding tightly even as you tried to squirm away.

“What is your problem?” You nearly yelled in his face. “I don’t understand why it is SUCH a stretch in your mind that a man could want to spend time with me. Why can’t you fucking accept that?”

This time, as you tried to push him off of you, he grabbed your other arm and pinned both behind your back, pulling you close to him so you couldn’t escape.

“Because no matter who it is, I can guarantee they don’t want you as badly as I do.”

Your entire, sober brain shut down. All at once, the world was spinning, and not from alcohol.

You pushed him away, and this time he let you go, standing at a respectful distance, allowing you to soak in his confession. The wheels in your head weren’t turning fast enough for this.

“But… that girl Morgan was talking about…”

“Yeah. That’s you.”

Wait… what?

You let your hands fall to your knees as you leaned forward. It was too late in the night for this, too wrong a moment for such a bold confession.

So… he wanted to ask you out… but didn’t? When did that happen? When have you ever given him an indication you weren’t interested? But had you ever given him an indication you were interested?

The madness in your swirling thoughts was interrupted by Spencer taking a step toward you. Oh no. Oh dear God no.

Your brain screamed at you to move, take a step, run away, anything. But your heart held its own. In your deepest desires, you had been waiting for this moment since the day you met him.

Now it was your turn to observe the patterns on the carpet. Each and every flower seemed far more interesting now that you were confused out of your mind and your heart was beating at twice its normal rate.

All of the sudden, the toes of his converse lined up with your own, and you felt his hand lift your chin to look him in the eyes. In the low light of the hallway, they almost looked golden.

He moved painfully slowly, as if you would bolt at any moment. Which, to be fair, if your rational brain had anything to say about this moment, you’d be halfway down the street by now.

But, it didn’t. His hands slowly made their way to your waist, delicately touching to make sure you were okay before settling firmly. Your own hands worked their way up his arms and around his neck, feeling every tense, trembling move he made the whole way.

It was as if the entire world was paused, as if everything was in slow motion except for you and him. For the first time since you joined the bureau, you allowed your guard to drop for a moment.

And in that brief moment, his lips met yours.

Alarm bells sounded in your mind as soon as it happened, and you pulled your head away, ending the kiss almost as quickly as it began. You frantically looked into his eyes, still clutching onto him, allowing yourself to let it sink in.

Spencer Reid had just kissed you. Okay, sure.

The part that really scared you was how much you enjoyed it.

Breathe, dear God, fucking breathe.

He held your gaze with a surprising intensity, letting his eyes tell you all the truths he was afraid to say out loud.

You were afraid too. Terrified.

Yet, somehow, standing in that musty motel hallway holding onto your best friend for dear life after just locking lips for the first time felt like the most natural, perfect thing in the world.

Were you really about to continue this?

You bet your ass you were about to continue this.

You grabbed his face and pulled his head back down to yours to kiss him again. Your lips met just as softly, but this time settled into an intimate rhythm. One of your hands made its way into his hair, lightly pulling, causing him to let out a deep moan.

Oh, no. No, no, no. You really liked that.

His hands splayed out over your back, attempting to bring you even closer as your bodies moved together.

So this was what you had been running from all this time, the scariest possible scenario you’d tried so hard to bury.

That fear seemed minuscule compared to the overwhelming feeling of goodness that came from being this close to him, feeling his soft hair in your hands and his beating heart against your chest.

The edge of the abyss grew closer with every soft movement and crash of your lips. The point of no return loomed, begging you to hold him closer, bring him into your room, and cross all of the lines your paranoid mind had set long ago. After all, rules were made to be broken and lines were meant to be crossed, right? By the way he hungrily pressed your body against the door to your room, you knew he was thinking the exact same thing.

But, in true agent fashion, your rational brain caught up to you before you could make the dream a reality.

You pulled away harshly, and he immediately removed his hands and stepped back. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might burst right out of your chest.

He looked so beautiful like this, hair all disheveled, lips big, full, and thoroughly kissed. His eyes held the horror you had grown to know so well, the fear of ruining one of the very best things in your lives. You were positive your own eyes reflected the very same idea.

“Spencer…”

“I know.” He cut you off, closing his eyes.

“We can’t ruin this. We can’t go down that road.”

“I know.”

The charged silence that followed was most unwelcome.

“Why would you say that. Why would you act on that?” Your accusation against his confession was less of an attack and more of a whimper, trying so hard to bury the longing feelings again.

He shrugged, analyzing the carpet once more. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Spencer.” You let his name roll off your tongue softly, gently, longing to somehow take it all back, to push what you had done into some secret place, never to be seen or spoken of again.

He looked up at you, the same emotions swirling through his eyes. He understood.

“I didn’t want to live any longer not knowing, I guess.” He softly admitted.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. There was no way to take it back, no way to fix this, no rational comfort you could offer.

There was nothing more either of you could say.

So, with that, he turned on his heel and walked back to his own room, never looking back.

You stood there in the hallway for a long while, completely stunned. It wasn’t until the subtle bell of the elevator broke your trance that you finally swiped your keycard and retreated to the solace of your room.

Somehow, in the midst of the war going on in your head, you managed to pack all of your things. You wouldn’t remember going through with your night routine or climbing into the soft motel bed, but somehow your unconscious mind led you there.

The tears of frustration didn’t start until about 20 minutes into blankly staring at the ceiling. They rolled down your cheeks and pooled in your hair, but you barely noticed. Every so often, you lifted your hand to your lips, unbelievingly, wishing for some reminder of what it felt like to be connected with him.

How had your pride been so dominating that it thrust you into the very situation you worked tirelessly to avoid? What prompted him to act so impulsively? Why did you just stand there and let him leave?

Most importantly, how in the world were you going to resolve this?

To say it was going to be a sleepless night would be the understatement of the century.

-------------

As you got on the plane the next morning, Emily was the first one to meet your exhausted gaze. She got up from her seat and walked over to you, enveloping you in her arms.

“I heard the yelling from my room. I’m sorry.” She whispered. You sighed, hugging her back as hard as you could.

So, they all knew. Of fucking course they all knew. Even Hotch and Rossi shot you a look of understanding sympathy as you moved to take the seat next to Emily. JJ patted your knee knowingly, and you gave her hand a squeeze before laying your head on Emily’s shoulder. Maybe now, surrounded by your girls, you would finally be able to get some sleep.

Thankfully, your hope became a reality. The next time you opened your eyes, everyone around you had drifted off as well. You gingerly lifted your head, making sure not to disturb Emily’s fragile sleep.

The plane was peacefully silent, and as you scanned the cabin, your heart ached with gratitude for your team, your family. Getting shot was less than ideal, but the love and appreciation it prompted was most welcome.

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you before you even noticed he was awake.

Turning your head toward the couch he was sprawled out on, your eyes locked with his. He made no move to look away, and neither did you.

Fixing this was a necessity, and you both knew it. There was no space for awkwardness or personal feelings getting in the way of this line of work.

As always, even despite the awkwardness and confusion of the past 24 hours, plopping down next to Spencer was still the most comforting feeling. Looking into his equally-tired eyes provided some comfort. At least you knew you weren’t the only one that lost sleep over the incident.

His eyes were always a home to you, no matter what state your friendship was in. This was uncharted territory for both of you. Simply sitting next to each other, enjoying the presence and absorbing the moment, seemed to kickstart the healing that was sure to follow.

Before you knew it, your arms were reaching out for him, and his enveloped you. Your head immediately fell to his shoulder, letting out a deep breath you didn’t remember taking.

“I’m sorry.” You offered, chuckling at the whole situation. He joined in your slight laughter, squeezing you a little bit tighter as you felt the glorious sound reverberating in his chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He whispered.

You pulled away to look at him, offering a small smile that he quickly returned. It already felt as if 1,000 pounds had been lifted from the air around you.

“It’s just, I would never forgive myself if I ruined this friendship, you know?” You admitted, ashamedly.

“I do. I promise, I do.” He insisted. You knew it was the truth.

The plane jolted from sudden turbulence, and you quickly scanned the cabin to make sure no one had woken up. When you were certain the whole team was still in a deep sleep, you turned back to Spencer, finally voicing the question that had been hovering for hours.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me.” He replied, smirking at you.

Fair enough. You relaxed at the reemergence of his straightforward attitude, refreshed to know that his brutal honesty was unceasing.

The silence that followed held far more meaning than more words could.

There was no easy fix here, even though both of your feelings were now out in the open. Romantic attachment was a recipe for disaster for anyone at the BAU, much less two of its own agents. You both knew that all too well.

So… what now? Logically, you were at a dead end.

Then, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he genuinely surprised you.

“Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?” He unceremoniously blurted. You looked up at him in surprise. Suddenly, it felt as if every logical answer to that question had left your brain.

“I…”

“Don’t think too hard, just reply.” He quickly added, desperate for an answer, longing for a means to an end of whatever this night had started.

“Spencer Reid… are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes, I am.” His golden brown eyes met yours. No hesitation, no jokes.

It’s amazing how the moments you spend so long running from can sneak up on you in a single instant. You knew that every fear you had about taking this path with him was rational. Attachment was a death sentence for one or both of you, in its own way.

Was your heart really worth that risk? Running away from your feelings for so long was exhausting. How much longer would you really want to push it all away?

Well… you were both inevitably going to die anyway. Might as well do it with some love in your heart.

“I’m not asking for forever, I swear. Just for a couple hours of your time. I just think…” He started, but you held up a hand, hoping he would ease up for long enough to let you answer.

Were you really about to take this leap?

“I would love to.”

Damn right you were.

His surprised smile was blinding, and you couldn’t help but match it.

This time, you barely noticed the turbulence when the cabin fell silent. Both of you sunk back into your seats, relief flooding the air. The million thoughts constantly circling in your head all stopped for a single moment, allowing you to finally, blissfully, breathe.

“You know, for two profilers, we really should have caught this sooner.” Your tired eyes began to fall closed again, finally feeling the full weight of the night lift from your shoulders.

“Yes, but as two emotional repressors, I think we did a pretty great job.” Spencer’s sweet, beautiful voice brought you back, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyful laugh at his sassy retort.

Touché, Reid.

You silently scooted closer to him on the couch, laying your head on his shoulder and letting sleep overtake you once more.

“I’m not asking for forever.”

His words, meant for comfort and persuasion in the moment, replayed in your mind as his arms encircled you.

“I’m not asking for forever.”

No, love. Not just yet.

#spencer reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #angst #spencer reid angst

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sevlgi · 3 years

Text

the florist pt. 2

requested: yes

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: jiu x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: hanahaki!au, florist!jiu. read part 1 here.

warnings: death

synopsis: Minji’s drawing away. You know that; you can see it, and you can feel it deep in your bones. But when you finally realize the pain afflicting her, will it be too late for you to save her?

a/n: I’M SORRY THIS IS BASICALLY FULL ANGST ASLKDFFDSKJN... i’ll do a part 3 if y’all want it 😬

word count: 3.6k

Sometimes, the arrival of a new person changes the way you see things.

That fact had been true for Minji for years; meeting people always taught her something new, whether it was about the world or about herself. And yet, no one had ever been able to change her thoughts about her 6 closest friends, until she found a beautiful girl in her flower shop, begging for help with the blooms in her lungs.

She didn’t mean to resent Siyeon. She shouldn’t have-- you were a stranger, just another person that used your personal connection to her friends to guilt her into helping you. But when Minji saw how dismissive you were to even the possibility of asking Siyeon to save your life, she realized something about her friend, and she realized something about you.

On one hand, Siyeon knew what she could or couldn’t do to help others. Minji had seen her go out of her way to pick up a fallen grocery basket for someone or help an old lady across the street, but she would never try to lift a car to save someone underneath. She knew her limits, and Minji had to accept that it wasn’t selfish of her to protect herself.

But on the other hand, you were selfless. Too much so, really. You hated the thought of inconveniencing the girl you loved, even if it meant that you would die. It took too long for you to convince yourself to even ask Gahyeon for help, just because you knew how touchy of a subject it was for her.

Maybe Minji loved that about you, at the same time that she hated it. And maybe it was something that she hated about herself as she stared at the speckled purple blossoms swimming about in the toilet bowl.

“Shit,” she whispered, wiping droplets of blood off her lips. “It’s getting worse.”

“Obviously.”

Gahyeon looked more grim than sympathetic as she offered a box of tissues to the older girl. She experienced the disease herself for long enough that she knew how painful it was, and she was smart enough to know that Minji didn’t have much time. “How long has it been?”

“8 months.” Minji gingerly plucked petals out from under her tongue, flicking them away. “I met Y/N 8 months ago.”

She could’ve smiled just by saying your name, but she kept her face solemn as Gahyeon did the math in her head. “8 months. It takes 3 months to fall in love, but knowing you, it was probably shorter.”

Minji rolled her eyes, taking a sip of water. “Watch it.”

“I’m just saying,” Gahyeon protested. “But at most, you’ve had Hanahaki for 7 or 8 months. So why are you basically on your deathbed? Y/N told me she loved Siyeon unnie nearly 2 years before she even bothered to ask me for help.”

“Maybe my heart is just weak,” the florist sighed, leaning her head against the wall. “It’s my fault, I fell for a client. A client, Gahyeon, how stupid am I?”

The younger girl scooted closer, wrapping her arms softly around Minji. “You aren’t. Okay? Y/N is amazing, and if I wasn’t so hung up on... if I had the time for it, I could see myself loving her too. You should--”

“Don’t,” Minji warned, eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me to tell her. I can’t put that on her, and I can’t let her know that I’m in... that I’m in pain because of her.”

“You’re one and the same, you know that?” Gahyeon shook her head. “The exact same.”

But no matter how much she griped, Minji knew that her friend wouldn’t reveal the secret, not until she was lying on her deathbed. She was trustworthy, and she would leave Minji to her own solutions if she asked for it.

Finding a real solution was what would become the problem.

“Hey, Minji!”

Even though you felt awkward with your shoulder pressed up to your face and bags in your hand, you smiled as you squeezed the phone closer to your face. The florist hadn’t picked up on your call, but you didn’t fault her for being busy. “Uh, I’m coming to you to make Gahyeon’s cake like we promised.”

You cursed as you dropped one of the grocery bags, taking your phone in your hand to finish the message so you could check out. “I’m almost there, so wait up for me! I got some special supplies for you too.”

Rounding the corner onto the Love Blossom, you fished your keys out from your pocket. There was a pink jewel-studded one on the chain, new as of just 8 months ago, but it felt like it had always belonged there as you twisted the lock and pushed the glass door open.

To your surprise, Gahyeon was waiting inside, almost looking like she was shielding the door to Minji’s apartment. “Hey, Gahyeonie,” you greeted, attempting to wave. “Good to see you.”

“Hi, Y/N. What’re those for?” she asked, nodding her head at the bags. “Baking again?”

“Yeah, you know me.” You craned your neck, trying to see if Minji was fixing a bouquet somewhere, but you didn’t find the brunette anywhere. Gahyeon, standing smack in the middle of the shop and blocking the door, didn’t help. “Is Minji here?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s just... finishing something.” The younger girl’s smile was disarming, obviously hiding something and yet innocent enough that you could’ve just been paranoid. “You don’t mind waiting, do you?”

Your eyes narrowed, but you shook your head. “So, uh, how’s Siyeon?”

Gahyeon softened at that, sighing, “Still not ready to see you. I’m sorry, she... she feels guilty now, that Minji and I had to help you not die.”

“It’s okay.” To be honest, it was true; despite all the feelings you’d invested into her, Siyeon couldn’t break you just yet, not even after you barely recovered from the Hanahaki disease. “I’ll give her time.”

“I’m grateful for that,” the other girl smiled, squeezing your arm. “On her behalf.”

Before either of you could say something more, the hidden door creaked open to reveal a Minji that was decidedly more gaunt than when you had last seen her. Her cheeks were hollow, lips pale and dark circles unable to be hidden by the layers of makeup she wore. “Oh. Hey, Y/N, what’re you doing here?”

You raised the bags in your hand in answer. “Baking? We agreed a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh!” Minji attempted an apologetic smile, though you still got the feeling that she didn’t really remember. “Right. Gahyeon, I’m fine, you can go home.”

“Are you sure?” the younger girl eyed the florist critically. “Because--”

“Gahyeon. I’m good.” Minji’s tone left no room for argument, and Gahyeon merely waved at you before making her way out. Finally only the two of you left in the shop, the brunette opened her door for you. “Sorry about that. Come in?”

Despite not really wanting to overstep, you blurted out, “So. What was that about? If you’re sick, I can easily go home and bake there...”

“No, I’m good!” Minji tried her best to grin, but something was just lacking. You also noted that she did her best not to touch you, skirting around the kitchen table to be on the other side. “Did you get chocolate like I asked?”

“I did,” you nodded, accepting the fact that she wouldn’t talk about it until she was ready. After all those months, you learned that when Minji was stubborn, there really was nothing that could change her mind. “Chocolate because Gahyeon likes it, but I also got vanilla to make cupcakes for anyone who doesn’t like it?”

She clapped and you played along by bowing, though she stopped so she could start to taking ingredients out of the bag for you. “Oh-- what’s this?” she frowned at the can of coconut cream she held in her hand.

“That--” you snatched it out of her hand-- “is for you. I learned how to make coconut mousse recently, and I thought that while I’m here, I might as well treat you.”

Minji opened her mouth to speak with a smile, but she was interrupted with a sudden fit of coughing. You reached to grab water for her, concern parting your lips, but she waved you away. “I- I’m fine. A bit of a cold, that’s all, I’ll be right back.”

With that, she ascended to her loft again, leaving you with coconut cream in your hands and confusion written all over your face. In all the 8 months that you had known her, Minji hadn’t gotten sick once; she brought you chicken soup when you got the flu and miraculously avoided it, claiming herself to have “immunity superpowers” with that amazingly infectious smile. So it was weird for her to be so affected by a simple cough.

But as you turned back to your cake recipe, you tried to write it off. After all, she’d saved you already... she didn’t owe you any explanations.

Yubin was sweet. A lot quieter than Minji, but she was that calm kind of funny that didn’t really require being boisterous to invoke laughter from you, and you definitely didn’t mind it. “Thank you for coming to shop with me,” you mentioned as you bent down to stare at the label on a folded jacket. “Minji said she’d come, but she’s really busy lately.”

“Yeah, she can be like that sometimes,” Yubin shrugged, pointing a decorative cup out to you. “She insists that she doesn’t like to burden us or whatever.”

“That’s bullshit, but it sounds like her,” you sighed. You folded the jacket over your arm and picked up the cup on your way to the register, Yubin following with her gift for Gahyeon already hanging on her arm. “But I can’t help but think that she’s hiding something from me... just me.”

The younger girl raised an eyebrow. “Really? I mean, Minji’s been quiet recently, but I don’t think she’s treating you any different. If anything, she’s nicer to you than she is to the rest of us.”

You chuckled at that and passed your credit card over the counter. “Right. She is being really nice to me, almost weirdly nice. You know, I brought my baking supplies over to her the other day, and she didn’t even try to throw flour in my face. It’s weird.”

“You’re right that that doesn’t sound like Minji,” Yubin frowned, opening the shop’s door for you as you walked out. “I don’t know, she’s like a different person after meeting you. Doesn��t talk to Siyeon much--”

At the guilty expression on your face, she stopped talking. “Y/N, it isn’t your fault. Minji... she’s just too kind. She never understood how our friend, who saw the effects of Hanahaki herself, could just let you die.”

“Isn’t it my fault though?” You tilted your head to the sky, observing the fluffy white clouds that floated over the skyscrapers of Seoul. “I gave her that responsibility of healing me, she wouldn’t have given a shit if she didn’t have to heal me.”

“Well, if you think that, then you still don’t know Minji well enough.” The other girl laughed softly, shaking her head. “See, it’s less about letting you die and more about letting someone else die. We all know that Siyeon-unnie couldn’t love you on command, but Minji thinks she was callous with how she rejected you.”

“Yubin...”

She held up a hand so that you’d let her continue to talk. “See, she’s selfless. She could’ve turned you away, no matter how much Gahyeon tried to convince her, but she didn’t. Minji can’t handle the thought of not doing something when she could, but she would also never impose on others.”

“Do you think that’s what’s happening?” you asked suddenly. “Is she sick or something, and won’t tell us?”

Yubin hesitated to answer, her expression conflicted. “I want to say no. But it’s... more likely than not.”

You almost reached for your phone, but you remembered how curt Minji’s text messages had been in the past month, and how often she had blown you off. “Huh. Well, I guess we’ll just have to ask her tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Coffee?” your new friend offered, stopping in front of a small coffee store. You followed her in, more and more worried about the florist as you thought about her. Your heart was beating uncomfortably in your chest again, as quick as it had been when you had Hanahaki, just without the unrequited love clogging your lungs like so many months ago.

You leaped onto Bora’s back as soon as you saw her, laughing as she shrieked. Gahyeon, who had been talking to Bora, grinned at the sight of you in your sparkly outfit. “Gahyeonie, happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Y/N.” She took the gift from your hands to set it down on a table, Bora hitching you up higher on her back. “Now that you’re here, will you convince Handong-unnie to let me see the cake?”

“Not a chance,” you sing-songed, sticking your tongue out at the pouting birthday girl. “I spent hours on that cake, I’m not letting you see it before the grand reveal with Minji. Where is she, by the way?”

“Minji?” Bora frowned, finally giving up and letting you down onto the floor. The petite woman scanned the apartment with her lips pursed, swishing her specialty punch in the cup she held. “Mm. I don’t think I’ve seen her today.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that, and you stepped further into the living room to try and catch the florist among the throng of celebrators. “Really? That’s unlike her, I would’ve thought she’d be here first.”

“I think Siyeon stepped up for organization this time,” Gahyeon offered. “I can... ask her for you?”

You were tempted to agree; after all, it had been nearly a year and a half since you had confessed and gotten painfully pushed away. But then, you had to know where Minji was for yourself-- any information, even if it was given to you by Gahyeon, wasn’t trustworthy unless you heard it for yourself. “It’s fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go.”

“Y/N, are you sure?” Bora asked quietly, catching you in your stride with her hands on your arm. “She’s not exactly friendly towards you.”

“I’m good,” you smiled in an attempt to reassure her. “Really.”

Once you left the two behind, it wasn’t tough to find Siyeon. She stood in the kitchen with Handong, laughing at some joke or the other that you couldn’t hear over the music. To your alarm, your heart hurt a little bit at how beautiful she looked, blonde hair lengthened by extensions and lips colored; but it wasn’t the disease, just a normal twinge of remaining heartbreak as you approached her. “Hey.”

She didn’t turn until the hostess pushed her to. “Y/N. Hello.”

You pursed your lips at her attitude. “Look, I don’t want to talk to you either. All I need to know is where Minji is.”

“Minji...” Siyeon frowned at that, turning to look at Handong, who shrugged. “She still hasn’t shown up? The party started hours ago...”

Handong offered, “She texted me a little while ago, she said she had a cough? It’s not like Minji to be sick, but I’m sure a cough is no problem.”

“A cough?”

The three of you turned to find Gahyeon behind you, her expression a mixture of grim and absolutely horrified. “Gahyeonie..?” Siyeon asked, panic seeping into her voice just like it did yours.

“Y/N, you need to come with me” was the youngest’s only answer as she grabbed onto your wrist. “We don’t have enough time, Bora can drive you to the LB. And--”

“Hey, Gahyeon, what the hell is going on?” you asked, quieting yourself when she hushed you. “Is Minji sick? And if she is, why wouldn’t you tell us? We can buy her medicine--”

“She has Hanahaki.” Your eyes widened immediately and you stopped in your tracks, ignoring Gahyeon tugging at you. She gave up, and tried to soften her words. “Y/N... Minji loves you. And you don’t love her back.”

You stammered, attempting to find the right words to respond. But there didn’t seem to be any-- none of the sentences on the tip of your tongue could even come close to describing what you wanted to say, so you could only settle or saying, “What?”

Gahyeon pinched her lips together, typing something furiously on her phone. “Yeah. It’s progressing too fast, I think, she was on the brink of death when you saw her last. Coughing out full blossoms already, and I’ve already found her choking on her own blood twice.”

“But...” Your mind raced, trying your best to find an explanation. “I’ve only known her for 10 months.”

“That’s how much she loves you, I guess,” Gahyeon shrugged, turning as Bora bounded down the stairs. “Please save her. It might be too late, but- but I don’t want Minji to die without seeing you one last time.”

Bora grabbed you then, not giving you a minute to even ask if it was okay to leave. It was a short bound to her car in the driveway, and the both of you seemed just as desperate to reach the florist when Bora pressed down on the pedals with close to her full force.

You came dangerously close to crashing into at least 10 cars, and you were sure that you had run a red light, but there was nothing else on your mind as you slammed the car door closed and kicked the door to the flower shop right open. “Minji!” you shouted, craning your neck to try and see up to the loft. “Minji, where are you?!”

At the sound of some weak coughing, you were leaping up the stairs, gripping onto the banisters to move even faster. And there she was, looking all too frail and weak in her bed.

There was a spray of blood on the pale pink comforter, wrapped around her body with minimal effort, and Minji’s eyes were barely fluttering open. “Y/N,” she croaked, hand creeping up to touch your face as you fell to your knees right next to her. Her voice was hoarse, almost gone from the months of coughing up mallow blossoms and blood. “You came.”

“I... of course I came.” Your voice was shaky, and there were hot tears already spilling down your face. “Minji, why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Not- not your responsibility,” she coughed out. “I couldn’t let you feel guilty for what’s happening to me. It’s not your fault, Y/N, that you don’t love me.”

You sobbed out at that, wiping your eyes roughly with the palms of your hands. “Minji, please...”

The girl lying before you could barely be called a shell of Minji, and no matter what you said, it could only be your fault that her eyes were as sunken as a skull’s. It could only be your face that her wrist was as delicate as that of a bird, that her hand wasn’t even able to support the weight of your head as you slumped down to sob next to her.

There was nothing bright shining in those brown eyes anymore, none of the light that exploded into a thousand golden sparkles whenever you baked her favorite pastries or arranged a bouquet just right. There was no smile on her parched lips, no laughter shaking her entire body or a stupid joke that no one really understood.

All the memories of the Minji that you remembered flooded into your mind, like videos flickering over the nearly-dead girl that you could see in front of you. Minji when she spent hundreds of dollars for your birthday bouquet, Minji when she took you as a plus-one to her favorite concert. Minji when she smiled at coconut tarts, Minji when she presented you with your very own apron for the shop.

Was there something I could’ve said to make your heart beat better?

Said. As what could’ve been Minji’s last breaths began to escape her lungs, your head shot up and your heads reached out to cradle her to your chest, your lips moving faster than you could’ve ever imagined to say those three words out loud. “I love you. Kim Minji, I love you I love you I love you so much, please don’t leave me--”

You couldn’t feel her breathing against you with the force of the sobs racking your entire body, rocking back and forth on the edge of her bed with your hands wrapped around what was left of her familiar frame. “Please,” you cried, her hair damp against your cheek with your own tears. “Please...”

And with the last plea that escaped your lips, she drew in a rattling breath, only to cough it back out with a good 2 blossoms or so. You gasped, holding her away from you and patting her back to help as Minji vomited purple speckled blossoms onto her bed.

“You said it,” she rasped, collapsing. All you could do was continue to cry, the salt of your tears finally tasting sweet on your lips instead of bitter like they did when you thought that the girl you loved was dead.

“Thank you.”

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA 6th Popularity Poll Reaction Post - Risky Spoiler-Dodging Edition

hey guys, so seeing as the results from the 6th popularity poll were leaked today, I figured I would do a separate reaction + analysis post this year, rather than piling it in as an extra on top of the chapter reaction post tomorrow. I figure this makes more sense anyway, since they’re really two completely different things. also this way I can write as much as I want lol.

also, just fyi, I am still completely unspoiled for chapter 293. and probably the smart thing to do to keep it that way would be to log off tumblr and hold off posting this until tomorrow, but I apparently have no impulse control today so oh well. anyway, so I’m hoping you guys will keep this spoiler-free if you don’t mind! as always, I would prefer to just jump right in completely unaware tomorrow like Troy returning to the study room with the pizza boxes lol.

okay so this first part is just going to be my predictions. fyi I am writing this part on Wednesday night, and then I’ll add on the results part on Thursday or Friday (ETA: Thursday, apparently, since I am impatient.)

okay so first of all, just as a refresher, this poll was open to Japanese voters from Aug 3 to Sep 30. meaning chapters 279 through 285. meanwhile last year’s poll took place around the tail end of the MVA arc. so between then and now we had Heroes Rising, the Endeavor Agency arc, and the War arc up to the part where the 1-A kids took on Gigantomachia in Gunga, and started battling Tomura in Jakku. so technically only a couple of arcs, but a LOT of stuff going down in them. oh and season 4 of the anime as well

so! firstly, I predict that my truculent africanized honeybee son will hold on to his crown at #1, coming off a year in which he did some internship-boosted soul searching, borrowed OFA in movie canon, and finished out the voting period as the my-body-moved-on-its-own character development MVP. like CALL ME CRAZY lol, but I’m pretty sure his title is safe. and then after him will be Deku and Shouto as usual

Aizawa should hopefully also have a strong showing because the dude had a banner fucking year. reunited with his old dead friend, took on Tomura with his hopelessly inept hero pals, and then chopped his fucking leg off. he had better be in the top 10. his fucking leg died for this, idk what else he has to do

Endeavor also stands a decent chance of doing well given the internship arc and the final episode of season 4. which I’m sure will go down just swimmingly if that does happen lmao. especially if he somehow manages to rank higher than...

Dabi, which I don’t think he will btw, but you never know. anyways though, but I’m thinking Dabi’s going to have a stronger showing than in past years (in the last poll he only got 367 votes and was ranked 19th). mostly because of his fight in the Gunga mansion, and his cheekily censored name reveal to...

Hawks, who is also going to rank pretty high here, I think. might be he loses some points for killing off Twice, but his back was basically to the wall there. and he has always been very popular, and I think season 4 will also give him a boost, along with his heavy involvement in the first half of the War arc

Tomura was already in 6th place last year and I think he cracks the top 5 this year. he’s gotten exponentially more popular since the MVA arc, and got a boost in the last poll even though his flashback had only just barely happened, and he hadn’t finished Awakening yet and all that stuff. anyway, so he’s only gotten cooler and more tragic since then so I think he makes a big play here

Kirishima, Momo, Tokoyami, and Mina should also hopefully do well, since the poll opened right in the middle of all that Gigantomachia action, and Toko had just got done being an absolute badass and protecting his birb dad. I don’t think he’ll quite make it to the top ten, but he should

and last but not least, I’m hoping that Mirko will come out and take the polls by storm, although I have no clue how popular she is in Japan lol. she’s clearly Horikoshi’s favorite though. she SHOULD be everyone’s favorite, but I mean, we’ll see how it goes

anyway that’s it as far as predictions! and so now, through the magic of writing stuff at different times, we will fast-forward to the part where we actually find out the results!

OH MY GOD YES, STEAMPUNK KHLKSLLKL. HERE FOR IT. JOLLY GOOD SHOW. 5 STARS

Kacchan looks SO COCKY and SO HAPPY and SO ADORABLE, YES I SAID IT. he is adorable as FUCK. I don’t quite know what it is about this particular Kacchan that just screams “LOOK HOW FUCKING CUTE MY STUPID, LOUD SON IS WITH HIS BIZARRE WINDOWPANE-LOOKING CONVERTIBLE SUNGLASS GOGGLES and his POORLY TIED CRAVAT”, but I think it’s because he looks like if a Digimon character and a FMA character had a baby

anyway, so it looks like most of the people present here are more or less who we expected to see. except that I can’t tell for sure if that’s Dabi or Shindou, and if it’s Shindou I’m going to punch somebody in the face so you will have to excuse me

Iida wearing a TRENCHCOAT and a TOP HAT with ENGINE EXHAUST GOGGLE ACCENTS is my new favorite Iida of all time. take note how there is no possible way he can wear those goggles with them sitting on top of his hat like that. plus he’s already got glasses on. these are just purely for aesthetic and IF THAT AIN’T JUST THE STEAMPUNK WAY

Deku out here speaking softly and carrying a lead pipe. Kacchan you best look out. seems like he’s done watching you take first place year after year while he languishes in the number two spot. your only hope is that he trips while attacking you because his boots are unbuckled

Shouto’s standing over there with the rest of the non-first-and-second-place characters, but what are the odds his results are actually within spitting distance of Deku’s same as always. anyway he doesn’t mind, though. also his outfit is by far the most sensible one here, but if you look closely he’s got some sort of fire extinguisher/jet pack thing strapped to his back that’s got a control switch on his belt. Shouto are you jetpacking or putting out fires

Kirishima out here all “I’m not sure what steampunk is so I’m just going to take off my shirt and pose”

AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH SKLKSDLKFJLSKJLDFKJSLDFFJLDKSJFL:KS. SIR. SIR. also, lowkey furious that Horikoshi refuses to show us the automail leg that he is clearly sporting here but which we just can’t see, SHOUTO MOVE GODDAMMIT

Endeavor has TWO fire extinguisher-slash-jetpacks. THE BETTER TO... WHATEVER. look at you here in the top ten again. you really live for that controversy

HAWKS OUT HERE WITH HIS STEAMPUNK BEATS BY DRE AND HIS WEARING A RING ON EVERY FINGER. nice to see you’ve still got your wings there, kiddo. then again Deku still has both of his arms too so who even knows what is going on

BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, IS THIS DABI OR SHINDOU. as if I don’t know the truth deep down in my heart. y’all I am gonna flip lmao. it’s not that I dislike Shindou, strictly speaking. but just... I can’t explain what it is, but if you put him and AFO next to each other and told me “you can only punch one”, I would be having a serious crisis. just, THIS FUCKING GUY, idek. STOP SMILING

Tomura looks like he just wandered onto the set here by mistake and has no idea where he is or what is going on. it’s because you’re wearing a bigass severed hand that’s blocking your entire view, Tomura. just take the hand off your face my sweet murder dumpling

anyway! so I managed to also find a link to the full poll results while somehow managing to avoid spoilers, and then I wanted to compare the results to last year’s poll, and so I made... this

hopefully you can all see this. if you’re on desktop you might be screwed, but on mobile you should be able to click and enlarge it. I mean, assuming you actually give a fuck about boring poll analysis spreadsheets lmao

anyway, so there were actually 13k fewer votes cast this year which is a bit of a surprise. is the series not still growing in popularity? do people apparently have better things to do during their quarantine lol

anyways but despite this, and despite getting 8k fewer votes overall, Kacchan still managed almost twice as many as his closest competitor. well fought, Deku. please put down that pipe

I somehow always underestimate the power of ship popularity to influence these things. but for example, it looks like Present Mic got that Vigilantes Trio bump. ride that wave for all it’s worth my man! hell, you got me on board

Iida fucking Tenya somehow got some sort of POWER BOOST out of NOWHERE which I can’t explain at all lmao, but I’m here for it. NOT BAD FOR AN OLD MAN

Sero managed to get the exact same number of votes in both 2019 and 2020. clearly the most loyal fans in the business

Mirko being all the way down at #20 is, of course, a travesty, and I hereby nominate her to be the one to punch Shindou in the face

ngl though, the lack of a single female character in the top ten hurts just a bit. it’s not overly surprising, but still. the worst part of it is that even if you kicked Shindou to the curb and moved everyone else up one slot, it would still be all dudes since Mic beat out Momo by a margin of a little more than a hundred votes. hard to stay mad at Mic for too long, though. ah well

Tomura actually lost a bunch of votes which is a genuine surprise to me. I know the villain standom isn’t as dominant in Japan as it is in Western fandom, but still. you can go ahead and punch Shindou too I guess

Tokoyami lowkey doubled his vote count over the past year while hiding down there at #18. he is slowly becoming more powerful. biding his time

anyway so I think that’s it! I mean not really, but I’m getting kind of tired lol. so just, you know, insert the usual gripes at Overhaul’s ranking here, although we can be happy about Magne making her way onto the list (r.i.p.), and Mineta and AFO taking a very satisfying slide down (all the way out, in AFO’s case; good riddance you bum). Hadou also got a huge boost which is awesome. Mustard’s persistent ownership of the #36 spot will forever remain a mystery to me, but oh well

anyways, this was fun. and I really do feel like everyone is looking away on purpose so that when Deku brains Kacchan with that pipe in about two seconds from now, there will be no witnesses, oh my fucking god

#bnha 293 #bnha popularity poll #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #aizawa shouta #shigaraki tomura #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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chrolloctrl · 4 years

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hello～! can i request for Adultrio who fell in love with fem crime hunter Reader? also have a nice day/evening💘

thank you for the request! i tried my best to make all of these different from each other, but i also tried to stay true to how the characters would sincerely react:) oh and sorry for the late post, school’s been tough :( but yknow it be like that

note(s)/warning(s): some mentions of blood and violence, but other than that nothing you wouldn’t see on hxh though

fandom(s)/character(s): hunter x hunter, adultrio, aka illumi, hisoka, and chrollo

for dialogue purposes, italics are you, and bold is the character :)

i l l u m i

since you’re a crime hunter and he is a literal trained assassin, the relationship is pretty much seemingly doomed for failure

however i imagine that you guys meet in an a very unexpected way

he’s on a mission to kill someone who had stolen from the zoldycks, and you’re on a mission to take out a thief

yeah it’s the same guy you got it

illumi gets there first and gets the job done

much to your dismay

you’re standing right behind him as he’s covered in blood over the body

all you say is “since when does the assassin do something morally correct?”

“when it benefits him.” he responds.

i think he recognizes you before you recognize him

“you’re y/n, right? crime hunter?”

“you could say that.”

“we aren’t so different you know..”

“we are incredibly different. i don’t kill for sport.”

“you still kill, though.”

you’re so pissed off because he kind of has a point

oh and that emotionless stupid little face of his pisses you off even more

it’s all love we know i love illumi

illumi’s bloodlust is out of control at this point, your interaction with him just increased that

“what are you going to do? kill me?”

“no. it doesn’t benefit me now does it?”

“what do you want from me illumi?”

“ a deal.”

somehow he ropes you into helping him on missions as long as it corresponds with your own morals

i think the moment he realizes he’s in love with you is when you explain morality to him

like obviously he has no idea wtf good morals are lmao

you act as his therapist in a way, comforting him about his past and telling him that his bad actions don’t make him a bad person, just a person who used to do bad things

sorry guys i love soft illumi, and i genuinely think he has the capability to be good

one day he breaks down after a mission, and he is so embarrassed that you’re the first person he shows his deep, buried emotions to

you just hold him and comfort him, telling him its not his fault

after that he doesn’t want to talk to you because he’s embarrassed

“i think emotions make you a better assassin.”

“how does that make sense?”

“makes you think twice.”

and now he knows why killua loves gon so much.

h i s o k a

we already know this bitch is obsessed with you

probably keeps tabs on you to see what you’re up to

every headline involving you “taking down another lowlife” catches his attention so fast

he wants a fight so bad

so he creates a plan

commit a crime so terribly that they HAVE to send you to take him out

just another amazing idea from hisoka!

so he figures out who you’re working for, and kills someone close to them, obviously leaving behind a trace so they have somewhat of an idea as to who he is, but still making it a hunt

he probably leaves a star and tear behind, something that only those who knew him would recognize

and so he watches you hunt him while he hunts you

you’re asking anyone and everyone if they recognize the star and tear, most people either having no clue, or recognizing it but keeping quiet about it in fear of what hisoka would do

eventually, someone says they know a person who draws a star and tear on their face — hisoka morrow

once hisoka hears that you know his name he is absolutely ecstatic, he probably reveals himself to you right after

“it has been so fun watching you search for me.”

“if you knew i was looking, why be a coward and hide?”

“there’s no fun if there’s no chase, darling.”

you guys battle it out, i imagine the fight is very close, but evidently you just can’t keep up with him

“you put up a beautiful fight…hmm, perhaps i’ll let you survive if you join me?”

out of breath and on the brink of death, he assumes you’re saying no

right as he goes for the finishing blow, you hold your hands up, and whisper through a mouth full of blood a small “i’ll do it.”

he has a huge grin on his face, so excited to have successfully “corrupted” you

sorry y’all added a little corruption kink in their my b

once he takes you to machi so she can heal you, you both go on ur little killing ppl missions together cos what else does hisoka do lol

he realizes he’s in love once you finish someone off, a crazed look in your eyes, smile on display, covered in blood.

“you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do now.”

you and hisoka’s love is weird. but it’s intense, and it is real. just not...normal.

you guys are crazy killers, but it works

he probably draws a star and tear on you just so u guys can match

after u.. murder people <3

yandere reader vibes sorry

c h r o l l o

for this, we are going to assume that you are the “weakest” link of the crime hunter agency

so they make you the bait

sorry i just want to cover all of our bases

you definitely have a lot of potential, you are just incredibly clumsy, and taking down the phantom troupe is something that requires plenty of people on the job

chrollo already knows you’re a crime hunter when he “runs into you” at a bar, as well as the fact that you aren’t working alone

but he entertains you, just because he’s bored lol

i can already picture you being caught off guard by how handsome chrollo is, because honestly im sorry who wouldn’t be

you kind of even forget you’re there on a job

but, when chrollo asks if you know about nen and what type of nen you use, you quickly remember why you’re there

you smile, “yes, i’m a specialist.”

he asks you to show him, but you decline

“i will lose it if i do.”

chrollo smirks, “smart girl.”

with that, you feel a sharp pain on the side closest to chrollo, and everything goes dark as you tumble into his arms

once you wake up, all the spiders surround you, chrollo in the center

“caught in the web.” you say, as chrollo’s eyes lighten up.

“precisely.”

“is there any way to escape a spider’s web?”

“prove to be worthy.”

there he went again, begging to see your nen so he could steal it

but just because you were thought to be the weakest link, didn’t mean it was true

“i mean, you’re looking at it right now.”

the troupe stares in confusion, and before chrollo can respond, one of the spiders falls to the ground, beheaded. (i can’t pick who so just pretend its ur least favorite <3)

the spiders stand there in shock

there were two of you.

the real you, free and unbounded, makes the clone disappear

“you said you were a specialist, but this seems to be a conjurer technique?”

“the speciality is that you can’t steal it. it isn’t exactly nen.”

this is the first time someone’s caught chrollo off guard, he has no idea what to do, i mean how did he know that this you wasn't a clone?

“now, i’ve heard once a leg is missing, there needs to be a replacement. what does the head think?”

you weren’t just a crime hunter, you were a double agent who wanted in on the phantom troupe

the moment chrollo realized your abilities weren’t nen, i think that’s when he fell in love

hear me out

he knows he’s going to be indebted to you forever

and we all know those books he reads...mf is a hopeless romantic who if in love, pretty much is absolutely obsessed

and boy is he obsessed already

of course, he is unable to steal it from you which is quite a drag

but, with you there, and your undiscovered abilities, the phantom troupe was basically unbeatable

something he wanted so badly

“welcome to the troupe number ___.” (once again i can’t decide who LOL you guys can pick)

you protect him and he protects you.

if any of the troupe questions you and your decisions, he defends you so fast

eventually the troupe is referred to as “a spider with two heads”

kinda cute, kinda funky fresh name for thieves and murderers<3 at least u guys r passionately in love <3

i hope this was good!! im kind of rusty so sorry :( im finishing up some other requests, and im thinking of crossposting a fic on here and on ao3, inspired by my dr strange/hxh hcs :) but requests are still open! guidelines right here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ thank you to everyone who shows love to my posts!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh hcs #adultrio hcs #adultrio x reader #hisoka x reader #chrollo x reader #illumi x reader #hisoka hc #chrollo hc #illumi hc

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still-a-morosexual-help · 3 years

Text

OBEY ME! LESSON 50 DETAILED SUMMARY + THEORIES

One locked lesson. There’s also a chat between Mammon & Lucifer after they leave which is just Lucifer spamming him with texts that are all some variation of “don’t do anything stupid” and “be safe”, which Mammon never replies to and it reminds me intensely of my mom when I had school field trips.

In the morning Asmo says MC looks like they had a goodnight’s sleep ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡• )and Satan says despite how much Lucifer denies it, it’s a fact that he spoils Mammon (AH HA!) and Asmo teases Satan about being jealous (AHH HAA!!!!). turns out they’re running late and Mammon’s still asleep, they can either wake him up gently (he blushes and asks if they came for round 2 before he realises what time it is), roll him outta bed (he screams, falls and gets pissed off) or yell his name in their best and highly accurate Lucifer imitation (He wakes up screaming and trying to convince Lucifer he didn’t do anything wrong before realising it’s MC). They end up having to skip breakfast and running to the station where they meet Luke who tells them the train’s about to leave. Mammon says that a kid like Luke wouldn’t understand the complicated adult process behind getting ready to leave on an overnight trip, Luke says that’s BS and they just overslept. The two of them start arguing and MC tells them to both shut the fuck up cause the train’s leaving. A red faced Luke starts screaming while they’re running cause Mammon picks him up and then he starts yelling at MC to stop laughing and help him. They never reveal who screamed the night before? Was it Levi realising Crowe was missing? Was it Lucifer trying to get Mammon to stop hugging him? Was it either Mammon or MC as they railed each other? Was it some poor brother who walked in on that? Was it for completely unrelated reasons? Can screams just be heard from outside the house at a semi-regular basis?

Mammon ends up tossing Luke on to the speeding train and when they’re all on it the two start arguing about being late/ the merits of throwing children on to trains. MC says people feel more comfortable to freely argue about things when they’re close. Mammon and Luke both instantly yell “We’re NOT close!”. Luke goes to keep him luggage, mumbling about being worried about spending time with Mammon and Mammon tells him he feels the same. MC and Mammon go to check out their room and MC coos about how big the bed is (it really is a comfy looking bed right under a large window) and Mammon says it could fit both of them and have room to spare before blushing and asking whether they’d actually share (and hey didn’t Lucifer book these rooms????????) Mammon remembers the train trip in S1 and blushes cause this time it’s just the two of them (did y’all forget Luke!?), MC says it’s like they’re on their honeymoon (GUYS SERIOUSLY DID YOU FORGET THE CHILD ALREADY!?), Mammon (while obviously blushing) says there’s other stuff that’ll have to happen first, like a “..um…p…proposal…and stuff”. Mammon then says it’s just the two of them and a bed right now and there’s only one thing they can do and they start going to make out before the door slams open and MC instantly pushes Mammon off and he falls of the bed. Luke completely oblivious and innocent asks what just happened and Mammon says they were practicing self-defence techniques and guys guys I’m crying why is this so funny, why does this seem like the scene from a dozen family comedy movies/sitcom shows where the kid walks in on the parents!???? Luke says he’s hungry and want to go get lunch.

Luke goes over their plan, Mammon grumbles out a whatever, Luke says he needs to listen and take it seriously, Mammon says he’s listening but totally not taking it seriously. He asks Luke why he’s so excited anyway, that he’s bouncing about. Luke’s embarrassed and tries to deny it and MC says Mammon had been bouncing around too. Mammon blushes and tells MC to shut it and Luke says it’s best to ignore Mammon cause he’s not worth it (I love Luke but sometimes…….) Luke ignores Mammon’s protests and shows MC the pamphlets. All the cars in the train are named after angels, with the first being Michael. Mammon says something about Luke going back to talking about his “precious Michael” and that no one cares that the cares are named after angels cause angels aren’t really all that great and he doesn’t see what’s special about them (AND NO GRUDGE HUH!????? Also this line gets a lot sadder when you remember angels killed his little sister). Luke starts telling himself to calm down, Mammon says he can hear everything Luke’s saying. Dessert arrives and Luke wants to share with MC and Mammon teases him about being excited about it before he realises it looks really good. Mammon asks for a bite, Luke refuses they start arguing (Just so you know ever since the “precious angels” line Mammon’s had this smile on his face no matter how much they argued and something about it reads as particularly nasty). Mammon suggests they flip a coin, either they each keep their own desserts or they switch (and pls don’t steal candy from a kid even I can’t defend no matter what issues you may have with the kid’s home/guardians). Luke refuses and Mammon taunts him about being afraid of losing and calls him ‘Luke the loser’ (really wish MC could smack him now and this is probably the most vicious we’ve seen Mammon throughout the 3seasons and we always take time to talk about everyone else’s issues but never Mammon’s, even in S2 when everyone was fighting each other they all got a chance to air their problems with each other and then MC helped them settle it and sure Mammon got a brief chance to yell at Lucifer about how he’s treated but they never got to resolve it, like Asmo said they ignored each other for a bit and then went back to their usual normal. Mammon’s long overdue a therapy session). Anyway Luke takes the bait and says he won’t lose cause he’s got Michael watching over him. Mammon says he should take the challenge then cause he’s got “whats-his-face” watching over him. Mammon wins and Luke accuses him of cheating and Mammon asks what the ‘doggy’s’ proof is. Mammon calls him a chihuahua and when Luke protests, Mammon says he’s Michael’s little puppy who sits on his lap and snuggles up to him all day (no grudge my ass). Luke flushes red, yells at Mammon to shut up and says he doesn’t understand why Michael still cares about the brothers before running away. Mammon loses his smile for a second before he laughs at Luke for running away without eating his dessert and he really does look like a chihuahua when he’s mad. He asks MC if they agree and they can either say Mammon in their Lucifer imitation (he freaks out but doesn’t seem to understand why MC’s pissed) or say “You know what? I hate this side of you, Mammon.” (which wow…He gets really upset about that, stuttering and saying he was just teasing and MC didn’t have to say they hated him)

MC goes to see Luke in his room, he only lets them in after making sure Mammon isn’t there. He apologizes for walking out and MC says it was understandable and that Mammon was in the wrong, Luke says he shouldn’t have let Mammon get to him, specially when he knew Mammon seeing him upset will make him happy. Luke says he’s been wondering about why Michael still cares about the brothers and that they may have been angels once but they did something awful enough that they were cast out and turned to demons (and he doesn’t know!!!!! Is it awful that I want MC to tell him about Lilith and the human she fell in love with?). He says if Michael loved them so much he should have just forgiven them without casting them away (also that’s a thing – were they cast away? Or did they run? We know they fought against the angels before they left and that the angels and presumably, they themselves were aiming to kill the other side, so at the height of all that anger, hurt, death and pain would Michael have just cast them away if they got captured, specially to the Devildom where he knew Lucifer had been meeting up with Diavolo? I always thought that after Lilith fell Lucifer just gathered up his remaining family and fled to the one outside ally they had. I also had a HC that maybe Simeon helped them escape and that’s why he got such a large demotion. They’ve never really cleared up what happened after Lilith was hit, but it would also make sense for the angels to say they were cast away specially if they’re not publicising the reasons behind the war/fight). Luke says he needs to stop and shouldn’t second guess Michael’s judgment and that sounds a lot like what Lucifer kept saying to himself about his Father’s judgment during the Devilgram where he first met Diavolo and the celestial realm is so shady guyyyyyssssss I love morally grey characters who see themselves as being wholly in the right. Luke asks MC as the person closest to the brothers if they think the brothers still love Michael cause he doesn’t want Michael’s love to be in vain. They say sometimes love is one-sided and Michael is still going to feel the way he does. Luke is upset and says he knows that Michael will still love them the way he always has. they ask if Luke hates the brothers (he turns red and said he used to but thanks to MC he can see some of the good in them and doesn’t dislike them as much anymore) and if he finds it hard to forgive them (he says it’s not his place to forgive them and his opinion won’t change Michael’s and that when it comes down to it he understands they aren’t a bad group). He thanks them for coming to check on him. In the corridor Mammon asks if Luke finally cried himself to sleep and calls him a baby (Mammon you cry over nature documentaries…). Mammon insists he didn’t come looking for Luke cause he was worried and was instead wondering where MC went cause they were taking long. He asks them to come back to the lounge for coffee which they missed cause of “Luke’s tantrum”

Back in the lounge Mammon says Simeon needs to teach Luke to relax cause he’s too uptight & that he can’t take a joke. MC asks him to stop making fun of Luke (he tells them to stop lecturing him like Lucifer) and asks if he hates him (he says it should be obvious he doesn’t). He says Luke lives in an extremely small world (which yeah) and he can’t help but to tease him and how once upon a time he was like that too (does…does Luke remind Mammon of himself…?) and MC asks how he ended up like he is now. He says that he ended up awesome, self-assured and sexy after being through both highs and lows. Mammon then gets all serious, saying Luke’s the lowest of the low ranking and yet he’s getting sent to the Devildom and Human Realm, meaning someone behind the scenes is pulling the strings cause they think he needs to see what the real world is like, hoping that he’ll learn that there’s more out there than the world of angels. He says that even after all this time Luke hasn’t learnt anything and that he still sees that the angels’ way of doing things is always right and that he doesn’t even want to imagine that sometimes they may be wrong. And Mammon says if he’s not gonna learn on his own then Mammon’s gonna have to show him by force that things don’t revolve around the celestial realm and the angels and that there’s more to the world. Then finally more light-hearted he says that sometimes someone’s gonna come along and scam you outta your dessert and that’s life. MC summarises it as Mammon trying to teach him that life’s not fair (I mean it’s a pretty mean lesson, specially for a 10yr old but I get that the circumstances are different and more complicated than in the real world/with an actual 10yr old and that “everything will always be okay because Michael will always look after me and Michael is always right” isn’t the best mindset to function on). Getting serious again Mammon says Simeon is making a mistake by standing back and letting Luke discover the world on his own specially when he still hasn’t figured things out at all even after so much exposure during the last few yrs. And that sometimes you gotta force them to see things whether they like it or not, and that he’s just being a mentor. MC asks “like Lucifer was to you?”. He agrees and says he’s not messing with Luke just for the fun of it THOUGH it is fun. So basically Mammon’s parenting style is just a tamer version of Lucifer’s.

By night they meet up with a red face Luke in the corridor. Mammon greets him as usual, calling him sleepyhead and then asking why he’s looking at Mammon like that with sweat beading on his forehead when Luke doesn’t reply. He asks if Luke’s realised how amazing Mammon looks/is and now can’t help staring. Luke, with a red face and looking to the side, apologises to Mammon about what happened/the things he said and Mammon says it’s good he said so and calls him a good doggy and Luke frowns. MC says it was Mammon’s fault to begin with. Mammon tells MC not to come at him with the truth with such a serious, scary look on their face but he flushes red, admits his fault and apologizes too. Then asks Luke if he’s hungry and if he wants to go get food, Luke, still red, says he isn’t. Mammon says whatever and goes to leave till MC starts silently glaring at him. He yelps but understands that MC wants him to fix Luke’s sad/subdued mood. So he asks Luke to come with him. When Luke’s shocked and starts to question him Mammon turns red, snaps at him to come along and then picks Luke up again and hoists him over his shoulder while Luke screams and protests. Mammon carries him all the way to the roof of the train, laughing and saying he might actually drop Luke by accident if he keeps squirming. Luke snaps and asks if Mammon is trying to kill him and Mammon says that Luke’s pamphlets said that the train would be travelling through a slower speed through this area which means it was a good chance to take in the view and stargaze at night and the sky behind them looks really pretty and this is so sweet and he really was listening to Luke the whole time and I have this image of Mammon dragging MC along with him as he stomps into the Angel’s Halo, kidnaps Luke by picking him up and carrying him over his shoulder as he yells at Simeon about the three of them going off to hunt some other rare creature or plant and I want this to be a regular routine for them pls. Luke says the pamphlet didn’t tell them to climb the roof but Mammon says it’s better this way, Luke tries to get MC to talk sense into Mammon but really he should know by now that MC’s always ready to go along with Mammon’s crazy plans so they just say that this is Mammon’s way of making it up to Luke and that there’s no harm in it and that it’s fun. Luke calls MC out, telling if they don’t put their foot down with Mammon he’ll take advantage and things like this will happen. Luke then says enough and asks Mammon to put him down before gasping. Mammon laughs and asks if Luke really wants to be put down when he’s clinging so hard to Mammon (from what I’m getting I think Mammon shifted Luke to his hip? And that’s what the gasp was for) and then he tells Luke to go ahead and look at the sky cause the stars really are beautiful. Mammon points out cygnus and Luke says it’s weird that he knows about constellations and Mammon asks why that would be weird. Luke says it’s weird cause they’re human world stars. And Mammon looks sad and says Michael taught him a long time ago and Luke is surprised (pretty sure before Lucifer took Mammon, Michael was his official guardian? I feel like they said that in one of the earlier S3 lessons) Mammon says that Michael likes that sort of thing and Luke said Michael taught him about the constellations too. Mammon guesses it was in the Celestial Realm observatory and that Michael heads there any chance he got. Luke is surprised that Mammon still remembers these kinda things about Michael. Mammon says that even if you want to you can’t forget a guy as weird as Michael and that he sticks in your memory. Luke says Mammon’s in no place to talk considering he’s pretty weird too. Mammon snaps at him but Luke ignores him saying he got his constellations mixed up and that he was pointing at orion not cygnus and just I love the idea that Michael loved the stars and the constellations and the stories behind them but he also didn’t know shit about identifying them so each set of young angels he showed and taught the human world constellations to have a completely different set of information and none of them are right. I also love how casual Mammon and Luke’s conversation is but the whole thing probably takes place while Mammon was still carrying Luke. And ugh I have such a pretty image in my head for this whole scene and I’d give anything to be able to draw rn

The next morning, Luke is cheerful about getting off the train and Mammon complains about him being too happy when Mammon’s still tired. Luke says he’s tired too cause the 3 of them played cards till dawn and dfnkjefjiwqeji this is so cute? Did Mammon teach Luke to play? Did they all fall asleep in bed together? I like to imagine Luke wasn’t able to fall asleep in his own room so he came to MC and Mammon’s room looking for MC only for it to be Mammon who opened up the door. When MC comes back to the room after washing up for the night and changing clothes the two of them are sitting cross legged in bed across from each other in their night clothes with Mammon trying to teach Luke a card game as they play it. MC and Mammon don’t get that alone time they were hoping for but neither of them mind because sometimes a family is a demon, a human and an angel playing cards during the witching hour on a night train heading towards an isolated lake and hidden fairies. Luke says he couldn’t win though cause SOMEONE kept cheating Mammon says lol yeah I cheated against you for the first two times but then I realised how much you sucked so I stopped after that I only cheated against MC :D MC gives him a look and he tries to placate them by saying he only cheated sometimes. Luke says it doesn’t matter cause they need to get going since they need to get through a forest to get to the lake. The forest, despite it being midday, is foggy and creep, and is rumoured to be them home of a vampire, a witch who eats children and a goblin who imprisons travellers. Mammon & Luke are both freaked out by the witch (…for two very different reasons) & MC dismisses them as just stories (YOU WERE KIDNAPPED AND TAKEN TO HELL???? Your closest friends/family are demons, angels and a sorcerer??? You’re out here looking for fairies????). The boys both get startled by a bird and cling onto MC, Luke then gives MC a blessing to protect them. It suddenly gets darker and it starts raining and Luke spots something.

They end up in front of the house of lamentation (and holy fuck I missed it so much?? It has character! The house in the human world is just sparkling clean, white and empty. The only rooms in it that have character are the bedrooms which are just portals to the house of lamentation.) The boys are both shocked and stuttering until Luke remembers the pamphlet mentioning an old manor hidden deep in the forest. MC remembers the story of the house in the human world about the servant apparently killed off the couple and 6 of their kids before killing himself, leaving only the oldest alive, though later there was evidence that the oldest was the killer but nothing came of it. He died of old age in the house but rumours spread that it was haunted and you were able to see people moving around inside and hear people arguing and screaming (and okay so if the brothers are the seven children and MC is the servant… are Diavolo and Barbatos the parents?). Mammon says it can’t be the HoL cause Lucifer had it disassembled and brought to the devildom (and do you think Lucifer was trying to make a statement? “Six people were killed by their oldest brother in this house, DO NOT test me.”) MC says maybe it’s an imitation, Luke agrees saying they may have built another one as a tourist attraction over where the first one stood. (I like to think that the massacre in the original HoL was so dreadful that it permanently bound the original with its land in the human realm and that when it was brought to the devildom the natural magic all around it strengthened that bond to the point that it encompassed the imitation HoL as well. So now even though the HoL in the human realm is just a tourist trap you can still see 7, occasionally 8, sometimes 10 shadows walking around, You can still hear people arguing and shouting and screaming. But these are not ghosts and are instead the shadows of the real lives that currently inhabit the original house of lamentation, being filtered through the bond up to the human world. Tourists will swear they hear voices yelling for Lucifer or Satan and other demonic names, screams of terror, hauntingly beautiful singing that continues for hours or monstrous growling but this is just Lucifer & Satan arguing about why Satan can’t adopt a pet cat, Mammon being strung up and hung from the chandelier, Asmo singing in the bathroom and Beel’s stomach growling). They all head in and Mammon says it doesn’t feel right, that they’ve all been in the actual HoL and are comfortable in it but that this place was eerie, Luke agrees (ironic that the real murder house is comfortable and homey while the tourist trap is spooky). Both the boys then suddenly disappear, not even answering when MC calls for them.

#obey me spoilers #my posts #my theories #obey me #obey me!#swd obey me #shall we date? obey me!#obey me shall we date

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

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Family Dinner

Requested?: Yes! Anon requested an age-gap Spencer x Reader fluff where Y/N’s older sister starts flirting with Reid.

Word Count: 4.9K+

Author’s Note: I want to preface this and say I am getting back into writing, and the style of this is not my best work, but I liked writing it and I felt like I did the prompt justice, so I hope y’all enjoy.

Warning: Age Gap (24 and 35). Otheriwse, floof.

Being a Technical Analyst for the FBI had always been your dream job. You were a whiz with computers, and it didn’t hurt that your dark web connection Penelope Garcia was working there anyway. So, when, two years ago, you finished your Master’s and Penelope took you out for drinks to celebrate, you couldn’t refuse when she offered you the job. And just like that, you were an FBI Analyst. You were a part of a selected group of intellectuals tasked with aiding agents in whatever research they may require.

The job came with definite perks, you really couldn’t complain. Especially when, after your training and orientation, Garcia brought you on as her second in command for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. You would never forget your first day on the job, walking into the office and coming face to face with the man Garcia often referred to as Chocolate Thunder.

“So, you’re the new team member then?” Derek Morgan asked you with a wink, leaving you frozen on the spot with shock. Garcia had not downplayed his handsomeness at all.

“Leave her alone, Morgan. Poor thing looks like a rabbit in headlights.” A female scolded Morgan from behind you. A few clicks of her heels later, Emily Prentiss walked by your left shoulder into view, coffees in hand. She offered one to you with a smile, and you managed your first words of the day.

“It’s really nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N.” You offered a hand, and Prentiss shook it firmly. Why was everyone so attractive?

“So, darlin’, let me give you the rundown.” Morgan started, and you shook off the nerves. Everything would be fine, right? “This is the BAU. You are now a part of the Special Agents Unit of the BAU. Along with Garcia, you send us information while on the job to keep us informed, up-to-date and ready to catch serial killers, predators, rapists, you name it.” Morgan was friendly, confident in his words and walk as he led you around the office space. You had to walk double time to keep up.

“You’ve met me, and Prentiss, and obviously Garcia-“

“I met Agent Hotchner too. He interviewed me last week.” You added, nodding a hello to the Unit Chief as he exited his office. He sent one back, disappearing into a door to the left of his own.

“At the morning briefing you’ll meet the rest of the team. Rossi is in the office up there, our senior agent.” Morgan gestured to the door Hotch had just disappeared through. “Agent Jareau, we call her JJ, is our former correspondent turned agent. She has a son named Henry, that’s her desk there.” Morgan pointed it out, a clean and organised desk to your right sporting photos of a very happy family. “And Reid.” Morgan stopped at the most cluttered desk in the room, covered in stacks of books and files.

“Agent Reid?” You clarified, trying to commit all the names and general descriptions to memory. You glanced over his desk, one of the books catching your eye and causing you to smile. “He has good taste in philosophers.” You commented, picking up ‘Critique of Pure Reason’ by Immanuel Kant from the stack and flipping through a few pages of the title before setting it back down. Your eyes drifted back to Agent Morgan, who had a smirk on his face.

“Doctor Reid, our resident genius… I think you two will get along just fine.”

“What do you me-“ Before you could finish, the doors at the far end of the room opened to reveal a man maybe a decade older than yourself, though he didn’t look it, with messy hair and a bright smile to accompany his rather dishevelled appearance. A satchel hung from his right shoulder, a coffee cup in one hand and a case file in the other. Even from across the room, you could see the honey tones in his brown eyes, could see the creases around his mouth from smiling.

Why was everyone so attractive?

“Derek, I swear to God if you’ve messed with my filing system again.” The doctor marched his way over, seemingly not taking notice of you to be sure Agent Morgan hadn’t tampered with the chaos on his desk.

“Reid, be friendly. We have a new team member.” Morgan scolded, and Reid picked up the book you had looked at only moments before, setting it in the correct place before looking at Morgan. Then looking at you.

“Oh.” Was all he could manage, a flush coming onto his cheeks. “Sorry. I’m Dr Spencer Reid.” He introduced himself with a wave, and you waved right back with a small smile, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Y/N… You know, Kant was fairly inspired by the philosophy of David Hume when writing Critique of Pure Reason? Hume’s Treatise on Human Nature was insightful for Kant, compelling him to rethink his own views around religious and natural philosophy.” You offered the information with a nervous tap of your foot and a pull at the collar of your itchy dress shirt. You had bought it a few days ago with the hope of impressing, but it just made your nerves more apparent you thought.

“You like philosophy?” Spencer’s eyes lit up at that, and Morgan walked away with a smile and his arm folded. While you continued to discuss with the resident genius your opinions of the two western philosophers, Morgan had sat himself on Prentiss’ desk, holding up a twenty-dollar bill.

“Twenty bucks says those two are dating by the New Year.” Morgan offered the bet, gesturing to you and Reid as he spoke. Prentiss just grinned, pulling out her own cash to match Derek.

“I say Easter. Whoever’s closest?” She countered, the pair shaking hands just as Garcia called the team into the meeting room.

Two years later, you and Spencer had been together for a year and 3 months of that time. JJ ended up winning the bet, since after you established yourself as a long-term and useful member of the BAU the entire team got in on the betting action Derek and Emily had began on your first day.

You had all been out on the case this time round, flying out to Michigan for a serial killer case, and Hotch rewarded the team’s good work with a few days off. Cuddled into Spencer on the plane home, with your work family around you, it felt nice to know you’d get a few days with your favourite person to relax.

“So, what do you two lovebirds plan on doing?” Rossi asked with a raised eyebrow, forcing you to blush and lift your head from Spencer’s shoulder. The group had been going around, proposing ideas for their own time off: JJ was heading to a resort with the kids and Will, Prentiss was doing something called ‘Sin to Win’ in Atlanta, Morgan was planning to work out, Hotch was spending time at home with Jack, Garcia was looking forward to cuddling with Sergio on her couch. Now, the question rested on you and Spence. As you glanced out the window at the mid-day sun, the plane starting its descent into Virginia, your boyfriend spoke up with a glint in his eye and a smile on his face.

“Well, with Y/N’s birthday coming up, her mom and I talked, planned a birthday dinner so I could finally meet the family.” He admitted, and you looked up in surprise.

You and Spencer were very much meant-to-be, but when you first told your family you were seeing someone, they were a little worried, Spence being older and all. You were 24 and Spencer was 35, it made sense for them to be a little nervous.

Of course, you mom saw a photo of you together last Christmas and fell in love with him right away, all her doubts diminished. She had been demanding you bring him over for months now, and you had been hesitant. What if your family scared him off?

The fact that Spencer had taken it upon himself to reach out made your heart swell, and you squeezed his hand in your own.

“I probably should have run it by you first, right?” He said with a chuckle, and you smiled even wider.

“Not at all, it’s a wonderful idea.” You responded, followed by a chorus of coos from Garcia and JJ, and rolls of the eyes from Morgan and Prentiss.

Dinner with the family, what could go wrong?

“You look… Stunning.” The voice caused you to spin round and face your boyfriend, who was slack jawed by the dress you had decided to wear, consequently making you blush. You had chosen a navy satin slip dress; one you had bought a few months ago and never had the chance to wear because of work. It accentuated your features nicely, without hugging anything too tightly. You had let a few hairs fall loos from your bun in curls, chosen some simple jewellery that complimented your skin tone.

He had a reason to be slack jawed, and while you may not have admitted that two years ago, you could now.

“Guess we’re matching then.” You complimented back, slipping on some navy heels to finish your look before walking over to Spencer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He had dressed up too, in a light blue button down and black dress pants, a blazer to match. Your destination for the birthday dinner was one of the nicest restaurants around, and Spencer had refused to let your parents pay for anything.

“Before we go, I have something for you.” Spence grinned, and grabbed your hand, leading you out to the living room of his cozy apartment. You had practically moved into his apartment in the last month, whenever he was home you were here. Spencer had paced ahead, pulling a present off the bookshelf and walking back over to you with a smile that could melt hearts.

“Spence, I’m not 25 for a couple of days.” You tried to counter the offer, feeling bad for taking a present early, but Spencer pressed it into your hands.

“Please?” He pleaded, and you smirked, reaching for your handbag and slipping it inside. He raised an eyebrow as you walked for the front door, waiting for an explanation.

“We’re already ten minutes behind. I’ll open it at the restaurant?” You suggested, and the doctor grinned after a moment, thinking over the idea.

“Deal.” He agreed, moving into the hallway outside the apartment and locking his door before offering you an arm, the pair of you walking down to his car.

On the car ride over, you really couldn’t contain your excitement. The last time you had done something so fancy was dinner with your family to celebrate your bachelor’s degree, and you were 20 then. It was almost 5 years since you had donned a dress so pretty to go somewhere so expensive, and it felt nice. Spencer just smiled to himself in the driver’s seat as you jabbered on, the sound of your voice making him feel warm inside and light-headed.

How had he managed to get someone like you to love him, he would never know, but he wasn’t about to remind you that he was nowhere near your league. He wouldn’t risk letting you go.

You pulled up to the restaurant about an hour later, the car slowing to a stop being what stopped your spiel about new coding languages you and Garcia had begun using to boost efficiency in the tech cave you shared with your mentor. Suddenly, there was a lump in your throat.

“You ready?” Spencer asked as he turned the ignition off, a hand quickly coming over to hold the ones you had clasped on your lap.

“I just really want this to go well.” You admitted. Your family was great, your boyfriend amazing, but something was nagging at the back of your mind. Why were you so worried?

“Hey, look at me.” Spence said gently, turning your chin to look up into his eyes. “Everything is going to be perfect, alright? Your mom already loves me, my mom loves you, we have passed the important checkpoints.” Spencer reminded, and you thought back to when you had met Spencer’s mom Diane for the first time. She was so kind, so clever, you saw where Spencer got it from. The trip had been great and had led to you meeting Diane without Spence when you had the free time. By the way Spence spoke about your mom, even though they had only talked over the phone, reassured you, and gave you the courage to open the car door.

Spence was round your side of the car in an instant, helping you out of the vintage model Volvo and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as you straightened up your dress. The way he smiled, the heat from his lips on your cool skin, it amazed you. He was the fire to your ice, even if he didn’t know it. With a final kiss on the forehead for good luck, Spence led you into the dining establishment, a hotel and restaurant just outside of Baltimore named ‘Lotus’, and as you headed for the front door you noticed your parents’ car parked nearby, Pennsylvania license plates and all.

Spence’s hand didn’t let go of yours until you were at the reception desk, where he let go only to pull out a business card with the reservation information printed on it. The receptionist tapped away for a few moments, humming as he did, then smiled.

“Ah, Dr Reid and Miss Y/L/N, the rest of your party just arrived, they’ve ordered some cocktails on your behalf, we’ll be bringing them through now. If you would follow me.” The receptionist, who you quickly figured out was called Frank by the shiny nametag on his chest, ushered you both into a private dining area, equipped with a private bar and a fairly large table, your family sat around it.

“Sweetie!” Your mother squealed and pulled you into a hug before you had even taken the chance to say hello to everyone. “Aren’t you looking lovely? Have you lost more weight? You know you’ll be lighter than feathers if you don’t eat enough.” Your mom, in her fashion, complimented you with worry laced in her questioning before turning to Spence, who was grinning from ear to ear. He was finally seeing the person behind the voice and knew his mental image of your mom had been correct. She had a rounder face than you did, was around the same height, dressed like the typical middle-aged woman, with rosy cheeks and a flare for patterned shoes. “And you!” She moved from you to embrace Spencer, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. Spence was always a bit of a germaphobe, but he had no problem having the air squeezed from his lungs by a woman half his size.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs Y/L/N.” Spencer responded, the rest of your family making their way over.

Pleasantries were passed around, your father giving Spence the once over before extending a hand, your grandparents asking far too many questions with sincerity, your aunt and uncle thanking Spencer for arranging the whole dinner. Your worry was very quickly blown away by a) how lovely Spencer was being and b) by your family being so welcoming.

Only once the waiters had arrived did everyone sit down, a variety of cocktails on the table. You found yourself sat at the top of the table, Spencer to your right and your mom to your left. But, as everyone filled seats, you noticed an empty chair with a martini in front of it.

“Mom, are we missing someone?” You asked, wondering if your cousin Fiona or Aunt Cathy had flown in for the occasion from Canada. It would be the only logical explanation.

“I wanted to surprise you, but I guess working with the FBI clever clogs has given you a keen eye.” Your mom grinned, and you tried to stop your face from falling.

“V’s here?” You asked, taking a large sip from your drink, only to realise there was no alcohol in it.

“Who’s V?” Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow at your actions from over the menu. Your mother answered on your behalf.

“Veronica is Y/N’s big sister. Flew in from Paris just to see you.” She chimed, and you held back the groan.

“I didn’t know you had a sister, babe.” Spencer sounded rather surprised, but with his profession and aptitude, it didn’t take long for him to see through your smile and determine that Veronica was not someone you particularly liked.

“Yeah, we haven’t talked in years. She’s been in Europe since I was 14?” You suggested, gesturing for the waiter. “Sorry, could I get something stronger?” You asked quietly, trying not to listen to your mom and dad gush about V.

“Veronica is a ballerina, the current Prima Donna for the Paris Ballet. She’s held the title for, oh, almost 3 years now. She is a spectacular dancer…” Your relatives continued on, explaining the successful career of your sister who was probably a room over, listening through the wall.

“Ma’am,” The waiter got your attention again. “Do you have ID, the woman who ordered your drink said you weren’t allowed alcohol.” The waiter said with a weak smile, and you let out a curt laugh before reaching into your bag to find your wallet.

“Unbelievable…” You found yourself muttering and handed over your ID to the waiter. He checked it over, apologised, and went to fetch you a new drink.

“So, you still can’t take a joke then?” the voice you had almost forgotten after years of absence was like an alarm in your head, and you did your best not to scream from shock. Veronica walked towards the table from the far side of the room, dressed in white and looking just as cruel as the day she left home. Beautiful, yes, but cruel.

“Hello V.”

“Hey, baby sis.” The silence that followed was tense, and your relatives seemed confused by why. It was a sister reunion, where was the hugging, the tears?

“We haven’t met yet,” Your boyfriend interrupted the quiet by standing up and pulling out the chair beside his for your sister. “I’m Spencer.”

“Well hello Spencer, I’m Veronica.” She said in a cheery voice, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. She strutted her way along the table, squeezing grandpa’s shoulder as she went, and pressed a kiss to Spencer’s cheek in greeting, staining the tanned skin with red before sitting down and reaching a hand towards you. “I missed you sweetie, we have so much to catch up on.” A look to your left, your mom giving you a warning look, your dad’s face one of pleading, you plastered on a smile to match your outfit and reached over, squeezing V’s hand with a tilt of your head.

“I missed you too.” You lied through your teeth, sitting back in your chair as waiters came by to take orders.

There wasn’t much of a chance for you and Spencer to talk all evening, your mom and dad asking you constant questions about work and Spencer and Penelope, all the while your sister seemed to latch herself on Spencer like a leech. By the time mains were finished and dessert menus were being handed out, you had watched your older sister touch your boyfriend no less than 12 different times, and you heard her giggle at his conversation at least 23 times in the last hour.

“So, Spencer,” Your auntie asked, and you silently thanked her for shutting up Veronica. “How did you and Y/N meet? I mean, do you work in the same department at Quantico?” She sent a wink your way, and you took another sip of your cocktail, having moved from vodka to rum based drinks.

“Well…” Spencer flushed, and took your hand, resting them on top of the table. “Y/N and I work in the same department at the FBI. She’s our eyes and ears when the rest of the team are on the ground. The first day she walked into the office, I remember…” He smiled at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back, the rest of the table falling quiet to listen. “I remember she was getting the tour of the office and had moved one of the books on my desk. I was going to get mad, I’m not a fan of my desk being disturbed, but she smiled at me with these wide eyes and told me all about David Hume and Immanuel Kant and I just knew she was amazing. And we became friends as the job assists people to, but those first nine months she was in the office I was just waiting, just waiting for the right moment to ask her out for coffee.” You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, smudging the stain your sister had left. “The rest is sort of history, to be honest. I never thought I’d get so lucky.” The coos from your mom, aunty and grandparents, along with the nods of approval from your uncle and dad sort of sealed the deal for you that your family were as charmed by Spencer as you were.

“Are we ready to order desserts ladies and gentlemen?” The waiter asked, notepad at the ready. You flashed one last smile at Spencer before dropping his hand so you could both decide on your final course, not noticing the storm cloud that had formed over your older sister’s head.

Now, you would never admit you liked your family better tipsy, but after Spencer paid for dinner without a complaint and your grandparents, of all people, suggested more drinks, who could refuse? The table was cleared as your group sat at the bar, drinking into the late evening. Pair by pair, your grandparents gifted you a new watch before retiring to their room upstairs, then your aunt and uncle presented you with a new book on coding languages for work, until you were just left with your mom, dad, Spencer and V. You had all had quite a few drinks, your sister the most, but with everyone heading up to rooms, it would only be a matter of time before you and Spencer got a cab home as well.

“Y/N, Y/N.” Your dad came over, still sure in his step unlike your mother, who was dancing to the background music in the room’s centre. “25 is a big thing, and we wanted to get you something special. Of course, with your work and all, we weren’t sure what but…” You dad pulled out an envelope and handed it over to you. You placed your drink down on the bar, a smile on your face as you opened the gift, pulling out a slip of paper from inside.

“Dad… New York?” You said, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I know you don’t get a lot of time off and all, so it’s a voucher for a hotel in the city for a few nights, when you and Spence get the chance. I was looking for some stuff that’s happening soon, and I saw a new computer exhibition opened up at the museum, and the university is always hosting philosophy talks and I just…” He smiled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’m really proud of you sweetheart, your mom is too. You’ve grown up into such an accomplished and amazing woman, it’s all we could ever ask for.” You jumped from your chair and wrapped your arms around your dad tight.

“Thank you, I can’t wait to tell Spencer… Spen-” You looked around the room to find Spencer and V had disappeared.

“They went outside my love!” Your mom hollered, beckoning your father to dance with her. You nodded and made your way out, leaving your parents to dance as you left the comfort of the private room for the cool night air.

“… a little young for you…” You caught the tail-end of the conversation as you headed outside, spotting V and Spencer stood just along the road, the former holding a cigarette between manicured fingers. Their faces were lit by the lights inside, shadows cast on the pebble car lot. Most of the cars had left, leaving the few of guests that were staying over that evening.

“I think we need to get you some water Veronica.” Your boyfriend countered, offering her an arm back inside.

“Oh, don’t be stupid Doctor.” V responded with a giggle, and you watched her pull him close. “We both know who the better sister is.” Her words made your face and stomach drop at the same time, and left you frozen in place. Of course, once again, your sister tried to take what was yours. She didn’t just have to outshine you for years, to bully you and mock you, to scare away the boys you liked as a kid, no. No, now she had to return to the US after a decade away and try and steal your boyfriend.

The thing was, you wouldn’t even be mad at Spencer if she succeeded… You had been given countless reminders that V was better looking, more athletic, more charming, just better than you in every way she demanded counted. Your smarts were nothing compared to her beauty, and she let you know it your entire childhood. She was five years older than you and still acting like you were teenagers.

“Actually, I don’t think we agree on that front. You see Veronica, I know people. I study them, that’s my job. And when someone decides to return home unexpectedly to celebrate the birthday of the younger sister they berated for an entire childhood, it says two things. First, that the attention you had in Paris has either disappeared or been removed completely from your life. And secondly, the only way you feel good is tearing other people down. It’s a shame that you can’t be proud of Y/N the way the rest of your family are, the way I am, because it just means you don’t love yourself… I know who the better sister is Veronica, and it’s not the one standing in front of me.” Spencer’s response shocked you from your stupor, and you found yourself walking towards the pair, your heels indicating your presence to the pair.

“Hey V, babe.” You addressed them both, Spencer taking the chance to pull you in for a kiss by the waist, leaving you giggling.

“Let’s head inside, I want your parents to see the gift I got you.” Spencer suggested, not looking at V for a moment once you had entered his vision. With a nod and your hand slipping around his waist the same way his arm held yours, you both headed inside, leaving V to contemplate the words Spencer had dealt her, the hard truth he had laid out.

“I forgot to say,” You grinned up at Spence, who return the expression as the pair of you entered the private room once more. “Mom and dad got us a voucher for a stay in New York. I was thinking we head next time we get a few days off?”

“That sounds amazing…” Spencer pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling out a chair for you at the table then retrieving your handbag. “Close your eyes.”

“Ok, I’m ready for my present.” You followed the order, your eyes fluttering shut, and your hands held out in front of you. Your parents watched on as Spencer placed the gift he had given at his flat into your hands.

“Open.” He directed, and your eyes opened, a smile on your face. Your hands were quick to open the small, slim box, wondering if he had bought you a CD or something similar.

Instead, you found a locket necklace and a small velvet bag in the centre of the present.

“Spence…” You smiled, beckoning him over to help you clasp the necklace on. It had your and Spencer’s initials on it, a more materialistic gift than you would have thought Spencer would get you, but beautiful, nonetheless. “Are these matching earrings?” You questioned, opening the velvet bag in the centre.

“No.” Spencer said softly as you removed the item from within.

A key.

“I found us a place, in DC… With a study and everything, all the books and tech space we could want… Y/N, I know this might be too fast, but you are the person I want to spend my life with. And I know we aren’t at the wedding bells stage quite yet, but I thought this would be a good step to take in our relationship.” Spencer rambled on, and you leaned forward to shut him up with a kiss. It was soft and sweet, Spencer tasted like coffee and chocolate and booze and it made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Yes.” You answered his question before he even asked it to the applause of your rather drunk parents. “Yes, of course I’ll move in with you... I love you, Spencer Reid.”

“I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N… Should I order that taxi to the new apartment then?” Spence asked, and you nodded fast, gathering your things and kissing your parents goodbye.

And, despite whatever V had been up to that night, you left your birthday dinner to your new home, the home you shared with Spencer, the home you would keep with Spencer for many years to come.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #fanfiction #oneshot #fluff #bau #criminal minds

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star-killer-md · 3 years

Text

Happy Hunting 2: Large Game

Part One Here//AO3

Request: From @clumsycopy: Charlie Barber + any of the kinks from October 17th in Kinktober list? 💕

Knife-play | 69 | Bondage

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: mentions of drug use, Kinfe-play, blood kink, blood as lube, knife fighting, violence against both the reader and Charlie, foreign object insertion, oral sex f receiving, afab reader but no pronouns used, dead dove do not eat, dark fic, it’s about to get bloody y’all

Ship: Serial killer!Charlie x Reader

Summary: Charlie Barber is not a man who is easily swayed by failure.

You were dancing again.

He could just make out the familiar movement of your hips, the way they swayed to a song he couldn’t hear. It was the same half-salsa feet-forward, hands beckoning him further into your coils—ready to wind him up in a vice grip and strike.

Charlie hadn’t been back to the bar—your bar, as you’d said. Your bar, your territory. No, he had been good, stayed off your hunting grounds ever since he woke up nearly frozen to a concerned police officer prodding him with a nightstick. So, he kept his distance from that section of the city, but he couldn’t quite manage to keep his distance from you.

It was even colder now with winter in full swing, and the harsh wind, tunneled by the city grids, beat at his back. Your street was small—quiet but not enough that he’d seem out of place leaning on the corner just out of range of the streetlights. Through your third story window he watched as you moved, staying just within the frame like it was a spotlight. Like this was just another performance and the stage notes placed you front and center for the whole of New York to see.

Well, maybe not the whole city, he thought when you pushed the curtains open.

He followed the movement of your hands, cracking the window despite the chill and letting some of the music drift down to him. It was soft, but familiar with a good beat. None of the crap that played when he drank and watched you stalk the small, neon lit dance floor for fresh meat.

“Did you know that prey animals never have forward facing eyes?”

He recalled more of that night than he expected too. And in particularly vivid detail, he remembered your voice. The growl of it, the power, the ‘I’d rip your throat out with my teeth and love every second of it’ snarl in his ear.

God what he wouldn’t give to hear it lilted and pitched high, whining with your hands clawing at his—

Charlie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

It was familiar by now. You usually caught him—or at the very least he usually noticed when you did. A shiver ran through him every time you picked him out of the surroundings and pinned him with that predatory gaze that said ‘I see you.’

And you did.

You did see him, not just lurking in the dark on your corner, but you saw him. Saw the creature that lurked and festered behind his mask and understood it. That is why he had to keep coming back. Had to keep watching you dance from your bedroom window like a one person stage play, and he was the only one in the audience that got it. But really, who could blame him?

It wasn’t often one meets another of their kind and lives through it.

So Charlie came every night he could manage it, ever since you left him drugged and cold in that park with its circle path like a black hole. And he knew you watched him too.

He was your type after all.

It was so obvious once he thought it over, he almost kicked himself for missing it. You’d just been so distracting. All those men, tall with their dark hair and dark eyes and not nearly as handsome as him but close enough. None of them had ever walked away. But you took him to your graveyard, pressed him into the killing floor and…let him go.

There was desire in the way you’d ground yourself against him—a craving he knew all too well would not be shaken.

You slipped once, and you would do it again. He could feel it. And when you did...

The fallout would be delicious.

***

Slipping in was easy enough. Your lovely elderly neighbor was more than willing to buzz in ‘such a nice young man’ as it were, and your name was printed clearly along the mail slots with your unit number conveniently displayed adjacent.

That was quite the oversight.

You were at work, he’d taken off a day last week to trail you into the city center. The office building you worked in was a few train rides away and Charlie knew you wouldn’t be back until late that evening. Which left him plenty of time to get to know you a bit better.

Now, Charlie liked to think of himself as a man of skill. Maybe he’d underestimated you at the start, allowed his judgment to be clouded by fantasies of you, restrained and begging, gushing wet and ready to take him like no one else ever could. But after his last encounter, he’d grown sharper.

Anyway, he’d been right all along.

You would be so much more than a trophy.

But there was only so much he could learn from the few hours between rehearsals, hopping from train to train, and following you like a lost dog. He needed more than that, more than sitting outside your workplace or cafés. He needed you, all of you, and he suspected you needed him as well.

Why else would you have left him breathing?

Gaining back a bit of high ground would be necessary, though. You knew he was watching, and seemed to like it a little too much. All of this was a show to you, a character, a role, but Charlie needed to know about the actor. The hunter. And what better way to do that than to learn how you lived when no one was watching.

Or, when you thought no one was watching.

He climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor and found your door at the end of the hall. The lock was easy enough to pick and these older buildings never had security cameras. So when the door clicked open, he stepped in and shut it behind him without an eye batted in his direction.

Your apartment was neat, but in a lived-in sort of way. There were dishes in the sink and some clothes strewn about the floor of the hall and piled on the small sofa, but overall it looked exceedingly...normal.

To be fair, Charlie’s place was just as unassuming and far less homely than this, so his shock was probably unwarranted.

He wandered through your kitchen first. A mug sat on the counter, still lukewarm and half full from your breakfast he supposed. So you left in a rush. That seemed to suit you, always moving, The clothes on the sofa were separated into piles, lights and darks ready to be laundered.

His hands sifted through the mounds of soft fabric, lifting shirts and such to his face every so often to catch your scent. But it was mostly overpowered by perfume or soap until his hands felt strapy lace and pulled and that oh, that was what you smelled like. Tangy and sweet and making his mouth water. His jeans grew tight as he thought briefly about laying amongst your laundry, enveloped by the heady scent of you.

He could push the lace of your panties between his lips and suck hard, taste the remnants of your slick on his tongue, imagine your thighs were pressed against his ears. Conjure up the feeling of your knees at his back again and let the adrenaline course through him while he stroked himself.

While equal parts enraging, that night was the closest to ecstasy Charlie could recall. The weight of you, settled in his lap and grinding on his cock, while he could barely lift a finger was a rush unlike any other.

Suddenly he understood the allure of big game hunting.

You were his bear, his wolf, his lion, every dangerous thing that could rip him apart and fuck. Even getting close enough to land a shot now was invigorating.

That meant he had to be especially cautious, though. There could be no more mistakes this time. No more strings left untied or your claws would be at his throat again and he doubted his chances of survival the second time around. But, that didn’t mean he couldn’t reward himself just a bit. Just getting this far was quite the accomplishment. So, he tucked the underwear into his back pocket and moved swiftly through the rest of your home.

The bathroom was uneventful and your hall closet held nothing but sheets and towels. There was nothing left then but your bedroom at the end of the hall. He let the door creak open slowly, revealing a sizable bed graced by natural light from the window. The very same one he’d watched you through for weeks. It felt odd to be on the other side of it.

Your drawers yielded nothing of particular interest, though the closet was much less disappointing. On a shelf sat a bin peeking out from in between spare blankets. He tugged it down and cracked the lid, grinning when it finally dawned on him what exactly he’d discovered.

In his hand Charlie held one familiar, hideously neon green sneaker. So that’s what had become of your unfortunate first dance partner. It was intermixed with multitudes of other innocuous items. Some wallets, car keys, rings, and gloves were all folded and stacked with precision. Most were clearly men’s, and all were meticulously organized.

He chuckled, looking down at your trophy case. Keepsakes, he guessed, from all your former conquests. He wondered if you took them all to that park, or if it was new. Wondered if you left them all to freeze and be found by unsuspecting passersby.

Charlie was so entranced by this new information, that he failed to hear the front door drift slowly open. Never heard the soft steps of your feet on the hardwood, nor the drag of the knife from it’s butcher block. In fact, it wasn’t until the chill ran down his spine, gooseflesh erupting across his arms in a wave, did he pause.

“Hello, Charlie,” you mused from behind him.

The sound of your voice was like a cracking stick in the woods at night. A pair of glowing eyes in the glare of a flashlight. Ominous and growing closer. His breath froze in his chest as he rose carefully up from the floor and turned.

***

It was quite the sight:

You—shoulders relaxed and leaned against the doorframe, lips pulled into that mixed drink expression he’d grown to crave. One part grin, three parts wolfish snarl. Your finger was placed gently at the tip of a sizable carving knife, the other hand gripped tightly just below the bolster.

Charlie towered over you, but in that moment he felt dwarfed standing in your bedroom and staring at you down his nose.

He said nothing and you dropped the blade to your side.

“I thought we talked about this,” your voice echoed. “Seems like you did a piss poor job of listening.”

Slowly you took one step then another, until you stood only a foot or so away and your chin was tipped up to maintain your gaze. Charlie’s hands were curled into fists at his sides. You were supposed to be on your way to work, boarding the E train by now seated or standing next to the door so you could make it onto the platform before the incoming crowd. You shouldn’t have returned until late tonight.

Late tonight when you would have undressed and he could have seen the silhouette of your body through the sheer curtains. Could have locked the memory away for later and stroked himself off into the new panties in his pocket.

That was your pattern. Those were your rules.

Why would you break them now?

“Then again, I suppose the stereotypes ring true,” you said and grinned up at him. “Directors aren’t very good at taking orders.”

Charlie’s eyes widened and your smile grew.

“Did you think you were the only one doing research?”

“I’m impressed you found the time,” he mumbled into the closing space between your chests.

“It comes with experience,” you breathed across his lips.

His gaze was locked on you, but he made sure to keep the knife in your hand within view. Charlie was larger and he guessed he’d have little problem restraining you, but now was not the time to be taking chances.

You lifted the weapon slowly, trailing it up his chest and letting it catch on the buttons of his shirt. His hand was fast, moving on instinct and engulfing your wrist so that the tip of the blade rested right in the dip of his collarbone. The cool metal left a trail of tingling skin behind. His cock throbbed in his pants as your tongue flicked out to wet your lips.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Barber,” you brought your empty hand up to pat his cheek once again. “You can always learn from your mistakes.”

He grunted when you wound back suddenly and landed a sharp kick to his shin. In the scrabble you wrenched your wrist from his grip, slicing into his forearm before he could regain his balance.

“Fuck!” he hissed, pressing a hand to the wound. “You—god— you bitch.”

From the corner of his eye Charlie watched your circle to the left, “Now now, I don’t think your son would appreciate that kind of language.”

A sharp, stinging pain was radiating from his arm and his hands shook with the adrenaline and its accompanying rage.

“You need to shut your fucking mouth,” Charlie growled and pounced at you, catching your hand as it brought the knife down in an arch towards his chest.

“What, are you gonna make me?” you jeered and tried to twist your hand away but his thumb dug into the pounding veins just below the skin of your wrist. You cried out and he caught the movement before you could land another kick.

You let out a muffled yell when he gripped your thigh and yanked you off your feet. The blade clattered from your hand as you crashed to the floor as Charlie felt a familiar rush at seeing you, dazed and limp below him. Quickly he snatched the knife and pulled you up by your arm. Your hands were clutching at the back of your head where it had smashed against the hardwood and your eyes were unfocused. He shoved you towards the bed even as you tried to blindly scratch at his face.

His hand wound around your throat as your back hit the mattress and you clawed at his fingers.

“Not so talkative now are you?” he snarled against your lips, bringing the blade up to rest at your throat. “Little whore needs her prey drugged up and half dead before she can strike? Some fucking hunter you are.”

You squirmed as Charlie squeezed just enough to stop the blood flowing in your neck, watching your face contort with the pain and the loss of breath.

“Kiss. My. Ass,” you spat with what little air you could gasp.

He straddled your body easily, so much smaller now that you were pinned under his fist. The knife bit into you, sending pretty beads of scarlet down your bare chest. The tip dug just past the skin. He loved that sight, the way your skin yielded to the metal and parted at just the lightest pressure. The noise that left you when he first breached your flesh was almost as delicious as what he imagined you’d sound like when he sunk his cock into you.

Very nearly moaning at the sight, dragging the blade down leaving a shallow stripe that stopped just between your breasts. You stilled, wincing but licking your lips once again as his eyes trailed up the cut and met yours. The deeper slice on his forearm was dripping a slow, steady stream into the hollow of your throat that spilled out around his fingers and ran down your chest.

Charlie watched, entranced as your blood mingled and his pants tented. He dragged the hand at your neck through the mess. The smell of iron was thick in the air, and his own blood rushed. His ears were ringing, your bedroom fading out until all he could focus on was the pounding of your pulse under his palm and the heaving of your breasts as you gasped for breath.

His grip on your throat loosened. There was something happening, something coming over him as your eyes roamed his face, stuttering at his lips and traveling back to meet his stare. Time had stopped, and he was reminded again of how alluring you were.

How had he forgotten?

The same grace that he’d been drawn to was evident in the slow movement of your arm, moving to softly grip the knife in his hand and gently push it to the side. Charlie let you move the blade from your throat.

It was hours maybe, or just seconds that you both stared, bleeding, at one another. It was a standoff, the tension growing with each passing moment. The rolls had finally been reversed. You were right where he had fantasized you would be for so long, but there was still something in the way you gazed at him.

Head on, eyes forward.

Predator eyes.

And that had to be what all the others were missing.

That spark. That fight. The sharp teeth, eyes locked, ready to tear into his neck stare that made the catch so much more exciting.

The others were nothing compared to this.

This is why he needed you alive, wanted you kicking. Wanted you screaming and crying and moaning for him. On his fingers, on his cock, on his blade. Fuck, he wanted to be buried in you and it didn’t matter which way.

He needed to taste his victory, and it seemed so did you.

“Shit,” he breathed as you lifted the knife from his hand and placed the tip just above his belt, slashing his shirt open by the buttons one at a time until it hung loose around his shoulders.

“You want to hunt, Charlie Barber?” you asked slowly, and—fucking christ—that voice did something to him. His breathing came in pants as you pulled his hand from your throat and wrapped it around the knife handle, placing the tip at the hem of your top. “Let’s hunt.”

Charlie growled, really truly growled as your shirt tore easily in the path of the blade. It fell open, exposing your skin to the cool air as a new trickle of blood leaked down the valley of your breasts and rolled in rivulets down your ribs.

His mouth watered.

Placing his hands on either side of your head, he lowered his head and followed the trail of blood with his tongue. Groaning as the sharp, iron tang of it coated his mouth but the sound caught in his throat as you surged forward. Your teeth dug into the meat of his shoulder, very nearly breaking the skin and laving over the angry red mark you left behind.

“Do you always taste yours?” you asked, nudging his nose with yours.

Charlie leaned back on his heels as you sat up. He rested half his weight in your lap as you tugged the remains of his shirt off and trailed your fingers along the edge of the slice you’d left in him. The sting of it awoke something, some ache, an itch that was never quite satisfied with any of his other prey.

“I asked you a question,” you lifted your hand, two fingers coated red and pressed them to his lips.

When he opened his mouth to answer, your fingers slipped inside and dragged along his tongue.

“Yes,” he muttered

“Hm,” you bit your lip bottom lip and he wanted to replace your teeth with his. “Well then, how do I compare?”

He let you pull him down by his jaw, “I don’t think I’ve had quite enough to tell you.”

The mattress dipped when he pulled away and stood. You watched carefully—eyes flicking between his hands, his face, and the obvious bulge of his arousal—as Charlie brought the knife up and trailed the point along the fabric covering your pussy. The quick breath that left you made him shutter.

He glanced back up at you, and nodded his head to the buckle of your pants. A few seconds past in which the two of you stood your ground—a stalemate between alpha’s—until, shockingly, you relented with a huff.

Charlie kept his eyes on your face until the last of your clothing thumped softly on the floor. Bare and decorated with drying trails of blood, you laid back and let your legs fall open slowly, giving him a full view of your glistening lips.

It was unlike anything he’d seen before or even dared to imagine.

His mind raced through dozens of images just like the scene before him. But when he thought of all those before you, looking down on them was more akin to staring at a piece of meat. They were no more entertaining than a chuck roast, flopping about and whimpering. Even when they begged or screamed it felt nothing like this.

You were a cut steak in the same way that a dream was reality. He could treat it as such, but it would never be true.

It occurred to him then that until now, he had been much like a beast in an empty cage—pacing and yearning for some kind of challenge, something more stimulating than prey that couldn’t bite back. And you were exactly what he’d been waiting for all this time.

Slowly, you drew your fingers through the mess pooling between your breasts and brought them, dripping, down to draw bloody circles over your clit.

“Well, why don’t you taste a little more?”

***

Charlie was uncertain how long he’d been on his knees, your ass sat on the edge of the bed as he sucked and nipped at your clit, drinking down the slick that gushed from you. Regardless, it was long enough to have reduced you to what he assumed was the closest you would ever come to a writhing mess on the mattress above him.

“Fucking Christ,” you groaned and raked your nails harshly against his scalp.

He hummed as the sting intensified with your fingers knotting themselves in his hair and tugging. Your thighs tensed, slamming shut around his ears until he wrenched them open again and continued to run his tongue in slow circles over the nub, pulling it between his teeth every so often just to hear the catch in your breath when he did. Charlie had yet to even delve his fingers inside of you, and he could sense your growing impatience.

But every new gushing of your cunt flooded his mouth mixing with the blood on his tongue and clouding his thoughts in a tangy, metallic haze.

Shit, he’d decided the second he licked his first, long stripe up your pussy that he would never taste anything more delectable. If he ever got caught—which was incredibly unlikely—but if he was, his last meal would be to bury himself between your legs and drink until they took him away.

The only thing that dragged him back into the world outside of his mouth on your lips was the sharp smack of your hand against his temple. You yanked his head back and growled down at him.

“Don’t forget who you’re toying with, Mr. Barber,” you hissed.

Charlie couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his cheeks, “Trust me, I’m well versed in dealing with desperate whores.”

He caught the beginning of your lunge before your back left the bed. His passive palm slammed down onto your chest, smearing a handprint on the bloody skin and effectively pinning you on the bed. God, he had come close to cumming in his pants a few times since the start of your little game, but the sight of his hand encompassing the swell of flesh at the top of your breasts nearly brought him to his breaking point.

“Well,” you gasped and hooked your legs around his waist, rocking his aching cock between your folds, “luckily, so am I.”

Charlie grunted and felt himself start to boil over. Even through the rough fabric of his pants, your pussy was so incredibly warm and wet he had to wrench himself away. And then you were laughing, the chuckle building low in your gut and working its way out to grate his ears, make his face burn and his hands curl into fists.

“I think you would do well not to forget who you’re toying with, either,” he snapped, dragging you again to the edge of the bed and retrieving the knife he’d discarded on the floor.

“What do you think you’re—”

He cut you off, as he flipped the blade into palm and ran the pommel against your entrance, nudging your clit again, “You want something inside this fucking cunt so bad, I’m going to give it to you.”

The sharp metal bit into his hand as he plunged its hilt all the way into the bolster. The cry that left you, half sob, half choked relief at finally being filled seeped into his veins and spread like venom.

“You, son—fuck—son of a bitch,” you moaned as he pumped the knife handle harshly into your soaking cunt.

He couldn’t help himself.

Charlie’s hand dropped to the zipper of his pants, hastily unfastening the clasps and pulling his dick, raging hard and flushed red from the confines of his underwear. It slapped against the skin of his stomach and left a trail of precum behind. As he fucked you on the knife, angling the hooked end so that it stroked your upper walls, he roughly fisted his length. His hips bucked up into his dry palm but the friction was nowhere close to what he needed.

He wanted your hot, wet, pussy to clench around him so he could mark you with his cum and his teeth and make you his.

But he couldn’t give in so quickly.

The second he relented to those base instincts, you would have won, and Charlie couldn’t have you gaining any more leverage than you already had.

So instead, he let his cock go excruciatingly untouched and reached up to knead your breasts. Your nipples peaked under his fingers and he rolled one between them, listening to the whining in your throat as he pinched the stiff flesh. He almost lost himself entirely in the wonder of your softness, the way you yielded and shaped to fit in his palm.

Without much thought he arched up, mouthing across your tits and sucking hungrily at the nipple. When Charlie drew back, your skin was shiny with his spit and the blood still oozing out and collecting in the dip of your chest. Entranced, smeared his palm through the sticky, warm pool and coated his palm. He brought it down, jerking his cock once again and the sweet, hot slide of his blood covered hand was enough.

“You like it?” he mumbled, growing more incoherent by the minute. “Such a fucking slut, I’m going to ruin this pussy, you know that right?”

You kept your mouth shut, but through the haze of pleasure and pain, you managed to fix him with another bone-shattering stare.

“You’re going to take my cock and no one else will ever be good enough when I’m done with you,” he was rambling now, fucking his hand and your cunt with his face in your tits.

Charlie didn’t believe in a god, but right now—he certainly felt like one.

“Admit it,” he snarled, “we’re the same.”

His hips came to a stuttering halt, thumb teasing at his cockhead before letting go completely to press hard at your clit again. “None of those assholes you picked up ever satisfied you, I know they didn’t.”

“You’re right,” your words were so quiet he almost missed them entirely.

He never relented on your clit of the hand driving the knife’s hilt impossibly deep into your cunt, but he did raise his head from your breasts to hover over your face.

“What was that,” he asked in a whisper.

It suddenly felt incredibly wrong to speak any louder.

Your face was twisted in pain of admittance and the release that he’d kept you on the brink of for so long, “You’re right, nothing was ever enough.”

Until him.

You didn’t say it, but he knew that was what you meant.

And then Charlie Barber was kissing you. His lips were on yours in an instant and it was all teeth and tongue and battling for dominance which developed quickly into a truce of sorts.

Neither of you were better than the other.

Just two sides of the same monster.

You moaned, deep and low into his mouth, licking past his lips to trace the crooked edges of his teeth. He hoped you could taste yourself on his tongue.

Below, you were rocking your hips now, meeting each thrust of the knife. He could feel the tension on every backstroke as your walls clenched tighter against the hilt.

He wanted to see you cum so desperately. He needed to know what you looked like in the throes of bliss that only he could bring you. So, he tore his lips from yours and watched as your back arched into his chest and you threw your head back choking as your pussy clamped around the unforgiving handle while the orgasm washed over you.

There was a moment of silence as you both panted and twitched and revealed in the incredible satisfaction of finally, finally finding your equal—your match. But then your eyes were locking onto his face again and he felt the familiar predatory urge to bitesuckpouncepound once more.

The following seconds were a flurry of movement.

Charlie ripped the knife from your cunt and let it clatter to the floor as you latched onto his neck and sucked hard. In the midst of the tangle of arms and limbs his pants were fully abandoned and he crawled over your body, sitting back against the headboard and dragging you into his lap.

You pulled back, foreheads resting together and both looking down to his cock. Coated in a slick of blood and precum that leaked steadily from the tip, it was nestled between your bodies and twitched with every rapid beat of his heart.

Ever so slowly, your eyes drifted back to meet and he swallowed thickly before your mouths were crashing together again. Time was irrelevant as your bodies moved incomprehensibly fast, aching to be joined and satisfied.

“Take me,” he groaned into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and releasing it with a pop.

Thankfully, you just nodded. No smartass quip, no talking back.

The knowledge that you needed this just as much only spurred him forward.

Swiftly, you lifted your hips, guiding Charlie’s length between your folds and sinking down in one sharp thrust that seated your ass comfortably against his thighs. The blood and your first orgasm eased the slide of his dick. Almost immediately you started bouncing in his lap, and he gripped your hips, bursting vessels under the skin.

One hand traveled up to your back, holding your chests together as the other guided you down, spearing you on his dick and you both moaned at the feel of completeness.

Your nipples dragged across his as your bodies frantically moved together and the sweet sensation stung his fraying nerves.

“Charlie,” you sounded just as wrecked as he felt, “Fuck.”

“I know,” he whispered your name in between the sloppy meeting of your lips, “I know.”

The room was filled with the most base of animalistic sounds and the wet slap of your cunt on his cock. You were tightening around him and he felt your fingers bury themselves in his hair, tugging his mouth from yours so he was looking you in the eye. The hand on your hip was digging dark bruises into the pliant flesh as you ground against him, breath fanning over his face.

And this was it.

This was what it had all been leading up to.

The rest had just been practice.

And this was the culmination of everything he’d learned.

So when you came with a shout of his name, looking him straight in both eyes, he knew you really would be his last.

There would be no others after this. As much as he had claimed your cunt, your body, you for himself, you owned this pleasure—his pleasure—just as completely. And that alone had him pulsing, coating your walls in thick, hot ropes of him that mixed with the bloody mess coating your bodies and dripped out around the base of his cock.

The whole time, your eyes never left his for a moment.

Perpetually looking forward.

***

Charlie’s arm throbbed from under the packs of gauze and ace bandages. It was raining again and the train platform was particularly packed considering it was well past midnight.

Performances were set to start next weekend and rehearsals had him working till the early hours of the morning, catching trains at ungodly times and stumbling into bed only to rinse and repeat the next day.

He missed you.

It felt good to admit that. Not shameful or weak. He’d come to terms with the feelings of loss that had formed like a rock in his gut when he slunk from your apartment two weeks ago. Still marked in your blood and tasting you on his lips, Charlie had left you sleeping and stumbled back to his place to shower and make it to the start of dress rehearsals.

And since then, he hadn’t had a free minute to sneak away.

It’s not as though he could just shoot you a text the way his intern did constantly at even the simplest of tasks. But the closing wound concealed behind his cardigan and trench coat was a pleasant, if painful reminder of his final hunt.

He was right, after all.

If the others were lackluster before he met you, he was entirely disinterested now.

So he comforted himself by reliving the events that transpired in your room—your voice that he felt more than heard, the cut of the blade, his name caught between your teeth. He took a calming breath, glancing around to clear his head lest he miss the train while caught up in the fantasy of your bare skin on his.

As the tunnel vibrated and shook with the force of the approaching subway, Charlie gazed across the tracks to the adjacent platform. It was less crowded, not many people taking the southbound lines from this part of the city. He was certain he caught a familiar glimpse of a coat, a wolf’s snarl, two eyes locked on him. But the train blocked his view before he could get a better look.

Frantically, he boarded the compartment and shouldered his way to the opposite doors and looked out the smudged window.

His heart stuttered in his chest when he saw you.

Standing relaxed on the filthy green tile, you grinned at him and very suddenly Charlie was no longer bending under the weight of his work. As the train started up again, rushing faster and faster away, he looked for as long as he could at your figure growing smaller until it was swallowed up by the maze of pitch black tunnels.

With a sigh, Charlie sunk down onto the vacant bench and laid his head in his hands. Though just to hide the sinful smile that graced his lips from any prying eyes.

You really were a perfect trophy.

This hunt might be his last, but something told him it would not be ending anytime soon.

And that was more than enough.

#charlie barber x reader #serial killer!charlie #charlie barber smut #marriage story #serial killer!au #dead dove do not eat #dark fic #blood kink #kinfe play #kinktober #adcu fanfic #mind the tags #dr. b writes

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aestheticaxolotl · 3 years

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Let’s Talk About Neal The Eel

Lets talk about Rat-Daddy, I mean Neal the Eel

Let me start with Neal, using the Carmen Sandiego Wiki to break him down as a whole, starting with appearance and personality (Excluding the comments around his action in the show). I am biased here, Neal is my favorite character in the god damned show. I will stand by this rat till I die.

I may or may not go into ship fodder but that may just have to be a thing for another day.

Neal is a tall man with a thin lanky frame and greasy black hair. He has buck teeth with a slight gap between, usually resting over his bottom lip. His skin is very pale, almost grey, and he has purple bags under his eyes.

All I have to say is this boy is tired, probably anemic, I have reason to believe that Neal the Eel is both anemic and hypermobile ( a heritable connective tissue disorder that affects the joints and ligaments in a person's body. It comes in different degrees of severity, the least being similar to double-jointedness). There is no age stated but I am willing to bet he’s around 30-35, due to his aged face lines and his Faculty audition (NGL I would have loved to see him as Faculty). Not gonna lie, the buck teeth is why I’ve been lovingly calling him a rat. I’ve seen many buck teeth in my day but this is the first time I ever really loved it. I think the greasy detail is just due to the slippery aesthetic. But I can appreciate that.

For personality we do not have a lot to go on, but what we do have is VERY revealing about the depths and flaws of his character.

Neal is described as "conniving and loyal to a fault" by Doctor Bellum. During fights, he has an affinity for making puns and teasing his opponent. Despite his goofy nature, he is a competent operative, having been able to outplay both Shadowsan and Carmen in combat— additionally having been considered a potential faculty member by Bellum. He is later revealed in the fourth season to be extremely laidback and easygoing, since he did not care about getting his mind wiped, getting fish dumped on him, or defecting from V.I.L.E.

As you all know by now, (Unless you are new), I marked the most important details in the bold font. As we do not have much to work with, a lot of details are bolded, I really hope what I put out is up to standard!

Neal is described as "conniving and loyal to a fault”

Now, I’m taking into account that he has a reason to be ‘loyal to a fault’. If you have read my headcanon you will know that I strongly think Neal came from a circus or some form of freak show, we know how flexible this man is and there is no way that it just happened. I imagine that the loyal to a fault is to Dr. Bellum, who wanted him on faculty. But WHY? I’ll touch on that soon. We do see that the man is loyal and is very clever during points in the show. So perhaps there is some connection to Bellum that we as an audience have not yet seen, through technology or something. He seems to enjoy technology, but not on the same level that Bellum does, this really stumps me and I would LOVE to hear what y’all have to say about it!

He has an affinity for making puns and teasing his opponent

Need I remind you all that Neal the eel is a HUG GOOF BALL?!? *Goes to laugh in the corner for a second* Okay, now, he makes a lot of jokes and has fun with his job and I can really respect that. I have not seen a character that has as much FUN at work as Neal does. That’s why he is so fun to watch on the screen, he’s having fun the way that our others are not. He’s poking fun at Carmen and Shadowsan, HE ASKS IF SHADOWSAN JOINS THE SOVIOT UNION. I Mean that was amazing. All his puns are centered around him being slick, and there is a LOT that one can do with that. I also noticed that Neal nicknames the people he is working with, I can only really see him calling Lady Dokuso “Slippy Micky” as being playful banter, that she seems to ENJOY by calling him “ unagi”, which translates to eel. And I love that a character like Neal comes across as enjoyable and annoying at the same time, do I even need to mention that Mimebomb seems to absolutely HATE Neal? He’s slimy and annoying and tells bad puns. It’s amazing that dynamics that one character can have that spices up other characters too!

He is a competent operative, having been able to outplay both Shadowsan and Carmen in combat

Now. This detail does go back to the teasing of the opponent area of this character essay. Neal is able to outplay Carmen and Shadowsan in combat, that shows some major skill, seeing as Shadowsan is older and more experienced while Carmen might be both faster and dare I say stronger. I feel that the level of skill between Shadowsan and Carmen should have made him easy to take down, where as I state, people underestimate Neal and that is why he gets the best of them. If you have seen my previous two posts, you will notice I do not use the intro cards for the character, I look for images that really give a sence to the character. Take a look at the image used for Neal. This mother trucker had a BMI of 2- MAYBE. It would be easy to underestimate him in real life or in show. This allows him to be the competent operative he is, he KNOWS he is underestimated and uses that as a tactical advantage.

Additionally having been considered a potential faculty member by Bellum.

I mentioned that I have no idea why Bellum would want Neal on the Faculty, and even here when I had time to think about it, I still do not! the only think I can think of is that Bellum must OWE him for something. Not he owes her, but SHE owe HIM something. Perhaps Neal stole something for Bellum that put him in great danger, like a computer system or something of great technological advance that put V.I.L.E So far forward in the technology stance that Bellum could not forget and had to repay. But then I look at the whole Brainwipe thing and wonder why she couldn’t repay him by letting him live free? And that’s why Neal’s loyalty is such a hard thing to pin point. SO I put forth that Neal is just skilled That’s it. It’s a little lame, but then I look that I say he is underestimated and think... That’s why they want him. His underestimation is the thing that got him on. They think that they can control him, and he would have shown them, No, they couldn’t.

Extremely laidback and easygoing

Come on, just when I think he can’t get any better. (Insert oh no he’s hot meme) or (Insert hes meeting all of my standards meme). Neal is laid back, relaxed, easy going, and all those other words for chill. I noticed that when he loses he’s not like “AUGGH NOO MY FUTURE IS RUINED” he’s more like “Damn that was a good game, I’ll get you next time.” He’s got good sportsmen ship and I love that. I’ll touch more in the next section too about how being too chill can be a problem. Neal being easygoing also make sense seeing how well he can work with other, I’ll gesture to the partnership with Lady Dokuso where he worked VERY well with her and then the teaming up with Mimebomb who absolutely hated every second of it.

He did not care about getting his mind wiped

Not going to lie, but I screamed when I saw that Bellum was going to wipe Neal’s brain. First thought was ‘OH NO’. Second was “WAit I thought she liked him’, and third was... “Wait... He’s just... Fine with this?’. Neal is TOO chill. I feel like a person should care that their brain is getting wiped, maybe just a little bit? And then I stopped, thought about what I knee of him, and laughed. Like, if he was really worried about getting he mind wiped he would have yeeted out of there a long time ago. He know that Bellum and the Faculty will show mercy to him, give him a second chance. And when that second chance was given to him? He tried and then escaped. Never to be seen again, never heard from again, never even thought of again. I imagine he did care and placed a lot of faith into what he knew of the faculty. And yes, Imagination is the basis of this here, because as previously stated, he is a competent operative and knows what he is doing, he didn’t just allow himself to be walked all over.

Neal is a master of infiltration and specializes in slipping into small spaces. His slick body suit, lanky frame, and skills as an acrobatic-contortionist make him a difficult man to capture and hold.

This is all that is given for the abilities of Neal, its not a lot to work with but I manages to strangle some thing out of it. Neal being a master of infiltration strikes me as very direct, along with the added specialty of slipping into small spaces. I figure the directness is so that the show and tell aspect of the show is less surprising. Along with the slick suit, lengthy frame and obvious gesture to acrobatic-contortionist skills gives me the impression of an escape artist. I figure from this that Neal was often used for the stealth and fast missions.

While Neal the Eel doesn’t have as much to offer Wiki wise, I am so happy with what I was able to offer up to you. Neal is an amazing character, even if I set aside my bias towards him, and an even better study.

Not just as a funny, skinny guy who looks like a rat, but as a deeper character with masks and guards that not even his closest allies could even guess at. A usual, I hope you enjoyed and I will have another one of these out fairly soon. Still doing requests!

Thanks for Reading!

#cs neal the eel #neal the eel #carmen sandeigo 2019 #carmen sandeigo spoilers #where in the world is carmen sandiego #character analysis #im a simp #carmen sandeigo headcanon #disabled headcanon

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wild-flower-art · 4 years

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The Old Guard- Andy x Reader (F/F)

This started off as a weird dream and I had to jot it down...I was inspired and started writing a chapter 2. If y’all like this I might post the 2nd chapter. I’ve never written a fanfic before, so any constructive criticism is welcome! (I’ll probably name this if it gains traction) Enjoy!

The Old Guard- Chapter 1: What the Fuck Did I Just Get Myself Into? (first-person POV-- 1,434 word count)

This isn’t how I pictured my Thursday evening to go. I was supposed to have a chill night at home, with some tequila, take out, and a bad yet so good sci-fi b-movie. With blood caking my shirt, writhing in pain as the synapses shoot off pain between neurons like fireworks, yup, this is DEFINITELY not how I pictured my night to go.

I’m going in and out of consciousness, but all the while I’m aware of a few things going on around me. The sound of bullets leaving barrels and hitting bodies and cement blocks. Blades slicing flesh. The sound of men and women yelling, some in anger, others in pain. But the main thing I keep focusing on is the sight of a woman, crouched down next to me, her hand pressed firmly on my diaphragm, trying in vain to keep my blood inside my body. How is she shooting at these people with such precision?

“Guys a little help here! She’s not gonna make it!” She turns to me with something that looks like concern painted over clear eyes, making her forehead scrunch up. “Why did you do that, you stupid girl?”

Why did I do- oh….right. I jumped in front of her. I heard a fight break out, I was trying to get civilians out of the way of bullets. I saw a goon point a gun at this woman who had been helping me get people out of the way, and I jumped in front without thinking. (Y/N), you fucking idiot. What are you gonna do now that you’re bleeding out on the floor? You sure as hell can’t watch that bad b-movie anymore, that’s what you’re NOT gonna do. Oh fuck, it’s going black again and my hearing is becoming more muffled. Is this it? After all I’ve been through, this is how the universe if getting me to finally die? Could be worse….god she’s stunning.

*everything goes black*

I’m in a basement in my firefighter suit, trying to get to the cries for help I keep hearing. The further into the basement I go, the further away the screams become and the darker and smokier the room becomes until the flames consume me. I can hear myself breathing heavily, shaking….shaking….shaking….

I’m jolted awake, sweat covering my face and neck…where the hell am I? And who’s hands are squeezing my arms? Another beautiful woman? Am I in heaven? I move to speak, but she stops me “Hey hey it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just don’t move.” She gets up to leave and I’m left in this bed by myself. It’s a semi-comfortable bed, the walls around me look like they’re rock? Cement? I don’t know, there’s not much lighting other than a few candles that are lit and a light coming in from under the door from which the woman stepped out of. I see black figures moving underneath…who are they? Are they gonna hurt me? Before I can start trying to answer my own questions, the door opens gently, revealing the woman who was just over me, shaking me awake, with her hair slicked back into cornrows revealing a beautiful young face. Behind her are two men, walking tightly close to each other…are they holding hands? Right behind them is the woman who I jumped in front of, whose hand was covered in my blood. She looks so relieved yet angry….or is that fear I see?

They come rushing in to check on me, but they keep their distance. They look awkwardly at me like they don’t know what to do with themselves. The one who steps up is the youngest looking of the group, the woman who had been over me just a moment ago. “Hey, you’re safe now. My name is Nile. We’re here to help you.” She starts toward the bandages over my diaphragm, but then stops suddenly when she sees my muscles twitch. She looks up at me questioningly, nonverbally asking for permission to touch the bandages. I nod after a beat, bracing myself for the pain I know I’m about to feel. I try to look anywhere but where she’s touching, out of sight out of mind kind of thing. I’m clenching my jaw, probably on the verge of cracking my teeth, and looking up at the ceiling. That starts losing its appeal and my eyes wonder over to the people looking over Nile’s shoulder paying close attention to what she’s doing, taking mental notes. The two who are closest to Nile in proximity are two men; one with curly hair and a darker complexion compared to his counterpart, who is holding him tightly by the hand, his thumb rubbing over the other’s knuckles.

The woman behind them is looking on, quite pale, and with cuts littering her face. She looks uneasy, but also intimidatingly gorgeous and stoic. She’s smaller in stature compared to the other two gentlemen, so just south of 6 ft? Her angular dark haircut only adding to the severeness of her eyes, leaving nothing soft about her. Before I can shift my eyes to avoid being seen gawking at her, she moves her icy blue eyes from the bandages to my (E/C) ones. Something close to sorrow flashes in her eyes. The softness is alarming, but just as quickly as it appears it leaves her face. She turns her attention back towards my bandages, which are just about done being wrapped up. It still hurt, no matter how much I was trying to distract myself. Nile and the two men behind her admire her handy work. I’m trying not to cry from the throbbing, hot pain radiating from my upper abdomen, and I’m trying not to look at the woman behind them so as not to make it awkward. She’s the protector of them, I can tell. How she’s hovering over them like a hawk, wide eyed and alert.

Before I can ask any questions, the two men behind Nile finally realize a person is attached to the bandages and introduce themselves. “I apologize for staring, my name is Joe, and this right here is Nicky.”, he says so lovingly, with his hand lightly squeezing the back of Nicky’s neck. It’s quite beautiful. It makes me feel mushy inside. Nicky nods at me and smiles, I smile back and reply, “I’m (Y/N). Thank you for looking after me…but where am I?” Nicky replies, “No, it is us who should be thanking you for--“, before he can finish his response the woman behind him interjects. “You are at our safe house. We will keep you safe here while you recover, but it would be in your best interest to leave as soon as you are better.” Joe and Nicky look back at her and start speaking in what sounds like Italian, “Non possiamo lasciarla andare senza una spiegazione, Andy.” “Che cosa?...”, she bites back, her voice lowering as she continues. I speak a little Spanish, but in her hushed and rushed biting tone, it was hard to understand her, but I know she was disagreeing with what they had just said.

I sense tension and move to sit up. “I shouldn’t stay here longer than I have to.” Nile moves to get some pillows propped up behind my back. “That’s not necessary, you’ll stay here as long as it takes. We can’t risk you getting hurt or worse if we could’ve prevented it. You need fluids, I’ll be right back.” As she leaves she throws a glance to the other three who are arguing in a hushed tone. I’m too tired to try and eaves drop and understand what they’re saying. It’s obvious I’m not wanted here for too long, so in a day or so when I’m feeling better I’ll just leave in the middle of the night or something. Nile comes back with some water, some slices of bread, and fruit. “I don’t know how hungry you are, but you should try to eat something.” “Thank you”, I nod. “We’ll leave this door closed for some privacy, but open just enough so you can holler if you need anything.” She, Joe, and Nicky all smile at me and turn to walk out. The woman I saved stays behind for a moment and awkwardly hovers over the corner of the bed, her eyebrows furrowing as she’s contemplating on doing or saying something.

Finally, she speaks, “I’m Andromache, but you can call me Andy.”, and with that she moves swiftly out of the room, almost without sound.

What the fuck did I just get myself into?

#the old guard #andy x reader #andromache x reader #andromache the scythian x reader #the old guard imagine

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tbtssstuff · 4 years

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Personnel || jhs

Summary: Working at Hope World Inc. was enjoyable. Especially when the owner, Jung Hoseok, has his eye on you. After you hook up at the company party, Hoseok asks you to be his press girlfriend. What is a ‘press girlfriend’? You were soon to find out.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Reader has such a thing for the way Hoseok smells, dirty talk, hair pulling, sir kink, manhandling, he smacks her in the face like once, oral (m receiving), face fucking, deep throating, Hoseok calls her a slut a lot, the reader is very obedient, loss of virginity with like 0 prep, very rough unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all)

Masterlist

AN: This is like... my 3rd time writing smut??? Please enjoy?? 😅😅 I forgot while writing the smut scene that she was a virgin but even when I tried to re write it to fit it in it didn’t really work. I was so caught up in the smut I forgot a major plot point 🙃 yay me

-TJ/ TacoAdmin 🌮

“Okay see THAT!” You point at the TV screen. “How is that sexy!?”

You and your roommate, Jungkook, were watching Fifty Shades of Grey for probably the umpteenth time. Anastasia was nibbling on the end of a pencil and Christian acted as if it was the sexiest thing on the planet. It wasn’t sexy. It was gross. Who bites pencils?

Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through his freshly dyed hair. “You don’t think a lot of things are sexy, Y/n, but trust me when I say that it IS sexy. Like when Tae-”

“AAHHHH!” You shout, covering your ears trying to block out your best friend talk about his sex life with his boyfriend. It was the last thing you wanted to hear.

Jungkook and Taehyung have been dating for as long as you can remember. Hell they were dating before you met Jungkook in college. Taehyung was apparently a transfer student to Jungkook’s high school and after a science experiment went wrong, they have been inseparable.

Not to say they weren’t cute! They were probably the cutest couple you had ever seen. Taehyung was a hairdresser for one of the best salons in Seoul while Jungkook was a tattoo artist. Jungkook got his hair dyed for free, which he did often hence why it was now cherry red, and Taehyung got free tattoos. Small ones though because he was scared of needles. Poor baby.

Once Jungkook was done laughing at your misfortune, he placed an inked hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’ll get there one day, Virgin Mary.”

“Wow!” You smack his hand away, revealing when it looked like it actually hurt him a little, narrowing your eyes at him. “Way to bring up my 23 years of virginess!”

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook howled with laughter, showing that he was indeed not sorry.

Jungkook knew that you had never been able to find that one guy that made you feel something other than annoyance. The closest you got to finding one was Min Yoongi, your coworker, and Jung Hoseok, your boss at Hope World Inc.

Jung Hoseok was probably the best boss you have ever worked for. Not only was he very easy on the eyes, but he also made you feel very appreciated. Something other boss’ you worked for never did. It made the three years you’ve worked under him the best years of your life.

“Hey.” Jungkook snapped his fingers in front of your face. “You listening?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were going to be home tomorrow night?”

You shrug, reaching for your phone, clicking it on to see what tomorrow was. Your heart dropped a little when you saw that it would be Friday the 20th. The company party was tomorrow.

Hope World Inc. had just gotten a huge contract and the CEO, aka Jung Hoseok himself, thought it would be a good idea to order as much food and alcohol that he could and throw a - mandated - company party.

“I will be here until maybe 6. Why? Special night with Tae?”

“Weren’t you the one that just tried to drown me out when I talked about my sex life?”

“Touché.”

“What’s going on tomorrow night?”

Jungkook was always the curious bug. Always snooping through everything and anything he can. Annoying at times, but when he looks at you with those big doe eyes, how can you say no?

“Do you remember Mono Corp.?”

Jungkook nodded.

“Well Mr. Jung was able to sign the contract that merges the companies by the end of the year, so he decided to throw a company party to celebrate.”

“But you don’t like parties?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you. It was true that you didn’t like BIG parties, but you never said you didn’t hate them in general. It’s just if there is a choice of whether to go to a crowded room with people you didn’t know or stay home curled into a ball and catching up on Friends, you were going to choose staying home.

“It’s mandated.”

Jungkook nodded and just left it at that. There really was nothing else to say about it.

“What are you going to wear?”

Well nothing other than that.

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” You reach for the popcorn and shove it in your mouth.

It was too early in the morning to be looking at these spreadsheets. All the numbers seemed to jumble into one monster number. Jungkook unplugged your alarm in the middle of the night, he claims it was an accident, but you honestly think he likes to sabotage your schedule, so you thought you were running late and didn’t get any coffee. Turns out you were so early that you could have got coffee, but by the time you figured that out you were already at work and your favorite coffee shop was extremely far away.

Fucking thank you Jeon Jungkook. Prick.

Honestly it was good that you were here alone, otherwise you would feel so bad for the person that dared to invade your space right now.

“Oh you’re here early. Good.”

You looked up from your computer to see Jung Hoseok, coffee in one hand, bag in the other, coming into the main office.

God how was it even at 8 am he looked like he came from a vogue photoshoot? Not a strand of hair was out of place, his skin looked so smooth, he didn’t have any dark circles under his eyes, and even his navy blue Burberry suit didn’t have a single wrinkle. He was just perfect.

But even though there was a literal Adonis in front of you, all you saw was the liquid life in his hand.

From the smell of it it was a caramel frappuccino, with 2 shots of espresso, extra whipped cream, and chocolate shavings on top. Not your coffee of choice, but the smell of it just made your mouth water.

You could say you were a bit of a coffee snob, but that's neither here nor there.

Hoseok noticed the drool on your chin before you did. He knew you liked coffee, more than any normal human should, and from the look of desperation in your eyes he figured you hadn’t had your daily dose yet.

Well lucky for you he was an amazing boss.

“Do you… want some coffee?”

“What? No that’s your coffee.”

Hoseok smiles and places the coffee cup down on your desk. The smell was stronger now, even more mouth watering, but you realized it wasn’t the coffee you were now smelling. Whatever cologne Hoseok had decided to put on today smelled better then any coffee you have ever had.

The smell was so strong and smelled so good that all you wanted to do was bury your face in his neck. To kiss up his jaw to his ear, lick the silver hoop earring before you nibble on his ear.

“Don’t worry.” His voice broke you from your imagination and you saw him start towards his office.

“Drink up. I’ll just have someone bring me something later. Besides,” Hoseok stops at his office door, turning to look at you with a kind smile, “You look like you could use it way more than me.”

And with that he disappeared behind his door.

“A frappuccino? Since when do you like cold coffee?”

“Yoongi! Good morning.” You smile at Yoongi who was making his way to his desk, two steaming hot coffees in hand. “Not dressed for work as usual I see.”

Min Yoongi was never the sort of man to wear a suit and tie, so how he got a job here was way beyond you, but here he was - ripped jeans and all - handing you your favorite coffee.

“You avoided my question, Y/n. The cold coffee. What gives? You always said it was inhumane to drink it cold. If you want coffee it has to be hot enough to scold your enemies.”

“Wha! No! I never said that!”

“You say it daily, once you told me it twice. So I ask again.” Yoongi leaned in close. “What. Gives?”

You roll your eyes, pushing his shoulder back. “I needed a life line and Mr. Jung was nice enough to give me his coffee. So why don’t you kindly fuck off and let me drink more caffeine?” Yoongi laughs at your forced smile, but backed off nonetheless.

“Mr. Jung huh? You two seem… close.”

“I wouldn’t say close, more of I was here early and he took pity on me.”

Yoongi nodded but you could see how tense his jaw was, something he did when he was upset about something. You didn’t know why he didn’t like Hoseok, but it was a fact known throughout the company.

“You know he is a nice guy.”

“Some people say broccoli is a nice vegetable, but that doesn’t mean everyone likes it.”

“What? How does that relate to Mr. Jung?”

Yoongi shrugs. “He makes money, which is green, and so is broccoli. There you go.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Not a lot of things do.”

Yoongi sipped his coffee and logged into his computer, effectively cutting off the weird ass conversation you were having.

You shake your head. He was probably the weirdest person you had ever met and you knew Jungkook. Though no matter how much Yoongi jabs at you, you knew he had you back in almost every situation, provided that you were actually right. He would call you out on you bullshit.

Min Yoongi was a great friend and you really wouldn’t trade your friendship for anything in the world.

It was finally time for this company party and at first you were feeling alright to go, but now you were terrified as you tugged down your extremely short dress.

Something Jungkook insisted you wore. Just thinking about what took place just 40 minutes ago pissed you off.

You had come home tired and hungry, but knew you only had a short while before you had to prepare for the party. You quickly ate some leftover Chinese food and went to your room to get ready.

What did people wear to these kinds of functions? Every office party they threw was never mandated, which was why you were confused that this one was, so you just skipped them.

You skimmed through everything you had in your closet. Tight jeans, graphic tee shirts, pantsuits, but your fingers stopped at a party dress Taehyung had gotten you a few years back.

It was a white long sleeve dress that stopped at your upper thighs, the neckline plunged to meet the sash that was sewn into the dress. The reason you never wore this was that that neckline stopped just above your belly button so your breast would be on full display. Plus this was a dress that definitely required no bra so that just made it worse.

Taehyung had gotten it for you to wear to the opening of Jungkook’s tattoo shop, but it was way too fancy for that so you had opted for jeans and a shirt instead. He was so upset that you didn’t wear the dress he bought you and you had to promise him you would wear it someday.

Today was definitely not that day though.

Skipping over the dress, you pull out a tan pantsuit and a simple white plain shirt. ‘Work appropriate’ was really what you were going for. Jungkook had a different word for it.

“Oh my god please tell me you aren’t going to the party wearing that.”

You roll your eyes before going to the front door to get a pair of white sneakers. “Yes?? It’s a work party, Kook. Not a strip joint. I have no reason to dress up.”

“But there is no reason to look extra boring either. Please tell me you have something else. I beg you.”

“Nope, but keep begging. Looks good on you.” You wink and laugh as Jungkook’s face twists in disgust.

“Y/n you wouldn’t know how to dominate in the bedroom even if you tried. Even if you had the most submissive man in the would.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about our sex lives.”

“Well mine yes, but yours is nonexistent so it’s fi- Hey! That could have hit me!”

Jungkook had just dodged out of the way of his shoe you sent flying his way.

“Well then I’ll try to aim better next time.” You hiss.

“Touchy.” Jungkook slumped back onto the couch, accepting defeat and not wanting another shoe thrown at him.

Smiling triumphantly, you slip on your sneakers and open the door, but to only be blocked by Taehyung. By the looks of his raised fist, he had just gotten here. His pink and blond hair was tousled by the wind and he sported his usual Gucci everything. Taehyung always looked so good it was no wonder that he was the gayest man you had ever met in your life.

“Oh my god please tell me you aren’t going to the party wearing that.”

You scowl as Jungkook yells a ‘thank you’ from the living room. Jungkook jumped up from the couch and made his way over to the two of you. Smiling, he immediately places a kiss on Taehyung’s lips. You would be happy to see them so comfortable together if they both hadn’t just said the same thing about your outfit.

“Well just like I told your boyfriend here, yes I am. There is nothing wrong with this outfit! Now if you excuse me I’m going to be late.”

You tried to push past them, but Taehyung grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around and back into the house.

“Then you will just be late. I am not letting you out like that.”

And apparently you didn’t have much of a choice because not long after that Taehyung, with help from Jungkook, had you in that short white party dress with a silver choker around your neck, matching studded earring and necklace set, and a pair of silver heels. He had even taken your hair out of it’s ponytail, letting it fall down your shoulders before he curled it and did your makeup.

Honestly you looked stunning, but always being one to blend in with the crowd, it scared you. You really wanted to turn around and go home, consequences be damned, but you knew that Taekook would just send you back.

Taking a deep breath, you went into the Millennium Hilton where the party was being held, finally accepting - and grateful - that your friends made you dress up a little more since Hoseok had last minute decided to change the venue.

The Millennium Hilton hotel was just beautiful on the inside. Your heels clicked on the floor, which looked like it could be marble. Why did Hoseok decide to hold such a minor party in the fanciest place you had ever seen in your life? It seemed out of place to do so. Maybe closing this deal with Mono Corp. was more important than you realized.

You looked around the grand entrance, confused on where to go. All Hoseok told you was to be here instead of the corporate office. He really should have been more specific or you know not change the venue last second. Who does that? Jung Hoseok apparently.

“You look lost.” A deep voice said from right behind you.

You quickly turned around, losing your balance in the process (stupid fucking heels), but before hitting the floor and completely making a fool out of yourself, not that it could be even possible, a pair of hands found your waist, steadying you. Dark brown eyes met yours as you realized it was Hoseok who had caught you.

With him being so up close you could smell that damned cologne that he was wearing this morning; sandalwood mixed with a natural underlying smell that you assume was just Hoseok.

You vaguely wondered if he would smell just as manly fresh out of the shower. The water glistened down his chest, dripping closer and closer to his towel covered cock.

His fingers dug into your waist, slowly bringing you out of yet another Hoseok daydream, but quickly enough to catch his eyes trail down the open part of your dress. He seemed to appreciate the view by the way he bit his lip.

“Sorry.” You breathe. “I’m not used to heels.”

Hoseok chuckled, his fingers lightly moving to the small of your back, causing a shiver up your spine. “Then allow me to escort you.” You nod as he starts towards the grand ballroom.

It was quiet for a little while, which was almost unbearable, so you had to think of something to say. Anything! The weather? God that was so cliché. How good he looks in his suit? No way that would lead to a very different inappropriate conversation.

“So why the fancy party? It could have just been held at the office.”

Questioning his decisions. Great choice.

Hoseok grins, not offended in the least. “I know it was a last minute change, but I figured if I was going to make this party mandated might as well go big-“

“Or go home.” You finish. Hoseok’s grin grew, seemingly happy that you knew what he was thinking.

“Exactly.”

Hoseok opened a pair of double doors to reveal a gigantic ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hung all over the ceiling, giving off this almost unreal type feeling. Your co-workers were everywhere, wearing fancy dresses and tuxes, but they stopped when the doors opened.

All eyes were on you and Hoseok.

“They’re all staring.” You whisper.

“Yes.” He whispered back. “But they’re all staring at you.”

Before you could even get a response out, Hoseok released his light touch on you back, instantly making you miss his touch, and left to greet all of his guests.

You watched him leave, sad that he was going, but appreciative of how his ass looked in those pants.

Jung Hoseok always did something to you.

“Wipe the drool, y/n. It makes you look desperate.” Yoongi snapped from beside you, caused you to jump a little.

You flushed, checking your mouth for any drool (which there wasn’t, but whatever), before looking at Yoongi. Your eyes widen at the sight before you.

Yoongi’s dark brown hair was combed neatly to the side and he actually wore a suit and tie. Silver hoops hung from both his ears and silver rings adorn his fingers.

“You clean up nicely, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head, smiling nonetheless. “You can’t change the subject. You were drooling.”

“Was not.”

“You look beautiful.”

You expected him to continue bickering with you, but were thrown off by the complement. Yoongi wasn’t one to hand them out lightly which was why your heart clenched. Nothing else. Right?

“Thank you.”

You didn’t know what else to say other than that. Yoongi understood your awkwardness when it comes to compliments, secretly enjoying the way you got flustered. He extended his hand, taking yours in his and led you out to one of the tables.

“Shall we drink?” Yoongi handed you a glass of champagne. It wasn’t often that you drank, but this was a special occasion so you took the glass from his hand, throwing all caution to the wind.

After that first drink you started to loosen up a little. One turned into two and that quickly turned into four glasses. You were enjoying the dance floor with Yoongi, who by this point was almost as hammered as you, considering he found himself talking to the wall on occasions. He soon switched to just drinking water.

You swayed alone on the dance floor, eyes searching the crowd before they landed on Hoseok moving towards you.

His eyes were even darker than they usually were, they trailed down your figure causing you to flush. Hoseok was so blatantly checking you out and you were enjoying the attention.

“Enjoying the party?” He asked when he reached you, the smell of his cologne starting to over power you again.

All you could do was nod, paralyzed by his gaze and dazzling smile. “May I have this dance?”

While the sober part of you was screaming how inappropriate this was and how you should run the other way, the more intoxicated part of you that wanted to feel his hands on your body again was stronger.

Hoseok took your hand into his, placing his hand around your waist, and began dancing. His fingers burned your skin and the feel of him ignited a flame in your belly. Just being this close to him, no matter how inappropriate it may be and no matter how many people were staring at you, was intoxicating.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you how stunning you look in that dress.” Hoseok whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Something he didn’t miss.

He pulled you closer to his body, his half hard cock pressing into your stomach causing you to gasp lightly. “And seeing you with all that exposed skin, y/n. You don’t know what you do to me.”

God of the alcohol wasn’t already clouding your judgment than Hoseok’s words and sent was. You lick your lips, feeling the excitement of his eyes following it. “What do you mean, Sir?”

Hoseok groaned. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you?”

“Yes sir.” You answer obediently.

Hoseok grabs your hand and quickly leads you out of the ballroom. He heads straight to the elevator, pushing the button. Soon the doors slid open and the two of you were hidden inside.

The moment they closed you were on him, unable to hold back the need to feel his lips on yours. At first it was just all tongue and teeth, but Hoseok soon took charge by placing his hands in your hair, tugging it back so you could look at his lust blown eyes.

They held a fire that you had never seen before and honestly it turned you on. Just thinking about what this man was going to do made you ooze arousal.

“We aren’t even out of the elevator yet.” Hoseok tsks. “Such a desperate little slut aren’t you?” His fingers grip your hair harder, the action starting to hurt a little.

“Please. Please I’m so sorry.” You whimper.

Hoseok smirks, releasing you as the door opens to a penthouse. You didn’t even stop to think about how he rented this room out so quickly. You didn’t want to think about if he had planned to take another woman up here tonight.

He walked over to the couch, turning when he realized you weren’t following him.

“Y/n. Do you want this?”

You nod, almost too afraid to make a sound, but Hoseok shook his head.

“I need to hear it baby girl. Do you want this?” He repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then come here. Now.”

The tone in his voice had you obeying him immediately, rushing to his side. Hoseok loosened his tie before looking at you expectantly, smiling as you turn around, your wrist criss crossed behind your back.

It was like the two of you were in sync. Had been since the day you met, but now it was so intense yet comforting at the same time.

Hoseok ties the tie securely around your wrists, tugging them for good measure, before turning you around.

“On your knees.” He growled.

The wood floor was cold as you dropped to your knees before him. You press your thighs together, praying for some kind of relief, the throbbing of your pussy was too much for you as you whimper again.

“My little cock slut. Look at you, so willing to do anything I tell you. I bet your cunt is just soaking isn’t it.”

You didn’t say anything, only stared at him with wide and pleading eyes. Hoseok raises his hand only to bring it down harshly against your cheek, the force knocking you to the ground.

“I asked you a fucking question, slut.”

“Yes sir.” You whine, the ache in your cheek and the power he extrudes only intensifying your arousal.

“‘Yes sir’ what.” Hoseok hisses, bending down to grab you by your hair, yanking you up to meet his face, pulling a moan out of your throat.

“Yes sir, my cunt is soaked for you.”

Hoseok releases you before standing at full height and unzipping the fly on his suit, pulling down his pants and boxers just enough for his now fully hard cock to spring free. Precum leaked from the tip, your mouth just watering at the sight. You never before thought a dick could look this appetizing, but here you were just hoping he would allow you to suck him off.

Hoseok chuckled darkly at the hopeful look in your eyes, equally as excited at the thought of your pretty lips wrapped around him. “Go on then, slut. I’m sure you know what to do with a cock. I’ve heard all the stories about you.”

You wanted to question him about that, but right now you had a much bigger thing on your mind.

You got back up onto your knees, regaining some kind of balance before wrapping your hand around the base of Hoseok’s cock, loving the way he hissed at the sudden contact. He felt so hot and heavy in your hand.

You begin to pump one hand up and down his shaft, making sure to gather some of his precum to make your hand slide smoother and paying attention to certain things that made Hoseok’s face twist in pleasure.

Hoseok groaned the moment you leaned down and swirled your tongue on his sensitive tip, slowly pushing your head down to engulf his cock. The salty taste of him was something you found yourself growing addicted to.

Slowly you bobbed your head, your tongue tracing the vain on the underside of his cock. You got into a good rhythm, enjoying sucking Hoseok’s cock for all that it’s worth, but of course he had to show you that he was still the one in charge here.

Hoseok gripped your hair once more, one hand on each side of your hair, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Deep breaths, baby.”

Before you could even think to take said breath, Hoseok plunges his cock straight into the back of your throat, your face meeting his pelvis.

Uncomfortable at first, but after a few shallow thrusts and you relaxing your jaw, it got a bit more tolerable.

Hoseok grunts and groans as he continued to face fuck you to oblivion. He enjoyed watching the tears in your eyes and the spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you took his cock. His good little cock slut.

After a few thrusts, he felt himself getting close, his balls tightening in anticipation, but he wanted to come inside of your cunt not your mouth as tempting as it was.

Just as you were getting used to being a human flesh light the next thing you knew Hoseok had pulled you off his cock - thankfully allowing you to catch your breath, which the air burned your lungs from how hard you were trying to suck it in - and thrown over his shoulder, his hand pushing your already short dress up your ass and your lacy black panties down your legs.

You gasp as the sudden cold air from the room hit your hot cunt, a shiver running up your spine, but you didn’t know if that was because of the cold or all the possibilities of what was about to happen.

Hoseok tossed you onto the bed. Thankfully it was really soft, but the look he fixed you with was not.

“Strip.” He commanded and you were once again quick to obey him, taking everything off, starting with those damned heels and finally your dress, which luckily had a hidden zip in the front. You were extremely happy that this dress didn’t require a bra.

All while you were early stripping, Hoseok was as well. He had quickly taken off his entire suite along with his boxers. Now there was nothing stopping you from seeing him and all his glory.

You knew he was built well, but he usually wore bulkier suits so you couldn’t see the outline of his hard body.

You bit your lip, praying he would come and fuck you already.

Hoseok crawled onto the bed - a predator stalking its prey. His hungry eyes raking over your entire body, hands trailing up your legs until they were at your waist where he gripped them, pulling you closer to him.

You moan as his hard cock comes into contact with your pussy. You could just feel the head poking your entrance.

You wiggle your hips, trying to get him to just slip in already, desperate to feel him stretch your walls, but Hoseok digs his fingers into your hips causing you to whimper.

“Patience my little cock slut. You’ll get your reward for being so good.” He teasingly pushes his tip just in a little bit, enjoying the way you squirm and whine.

“Please sir! I've been good! You said so yourself! So please plea-“

Your words turn into a scream as Hoseok pushes into you, the pain was almost excruciating, but thankfully you were wet enough to help. You had forgotten to warn him that you were a virgin, so he had no way of knowing. You didn’t blame him, you blamed yourself and the alcohol.

Hoseok stilled while you adjusted to his size, but that was difficult for him because you were so tight and warm around him. He just wanted to ruin you. Pound you into the bed until you didn’t know anyone else’s name but his.

After a while all of that pain turned into euphoric pleasure. You squeezed your walls around Hoseok, pulling a hiss from his lips.

“Don’t test me baby.” He growls.

You moan, back arching into him. “Please Hoseok. Move. Fuck me!”

“With pleasure.” Hoseok smirks before gripping your hips harder and thrusting into you, you cry out at the feeling of him. Never in your life did you ever think you would experience this kind of pleasure before.

Hoseok repeatedly pounds into you, his own low grunts fueling your fire. You mewl and moan, raising your hips to meet each thrust. Soon the sound of skin against skin and your moans filled the room, Hoseok’s name seeming to be the only thing you could call out.

Hoseok lifted your hips at the perfect angle to that spot that just made you see stars. You moan loudly, encouraging him to hit there again and to not stop.

“Fuck baby girl, I’m close.” Hoseok groans, thrusting harder.

“M me too.” You moan, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten and tighten until it finally gave way, pushing you over the edge.

You scream Hoseok’s name, wrapping your arms around his shoulder, clawing into them as if they were the only thing grounding you to reality.

Hoseok hissed at the feeling of your nails scraping hair back and your cunt tightening around him, but he continued to thrust, helping you through your orgasm before succumbing to his own pleasure. He groans loudly as he cums, thick white ropes shooting inside of you, filling you up.

You both just stay like that for a little bit, all sweaty and panting. Hoseok eventually pulled out of you and you imminently missed the feel of him inside you, missing the feeling of being so full.

He flops down beside you on the bed, his eyes already starting to drop, slowly slipping into the sweet temptation of sleep. You chuckle watching him drift off, yourself not far behind him.

In the back of your head you had a nagging feeling something bad was going to happen, you had just slept with your boss, but that was a problem for tomorrow’s you. For now, sleep was calling your name and you followed it.

Tag List: @sunshine-procrastinate @sugalarity

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