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ddejavvu · 5 months

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Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side.

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

“God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts.

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for.

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips.

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors.

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue.

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds.

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of.

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?”

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss.

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard.

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly.

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling.

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss.

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other.

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all.

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him.

It’s too meticulous.

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock.

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface.

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance.

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer.

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans.

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does.

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring.

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety. “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like.

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod,

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in.

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle.

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

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silverstonesainz · 9 months

Text

august

─── august slipped away into a moment in time... 'cause it was never mine

daniel ricciardo x fem!reader warnings; just sad. 17.8 k words

Everything with Daniel came easy. It came naturally, beautifully, and all at once. It was a good thing.

You met him in August, under the scorching summer sun and bottomless margaritas. Between glasses of mango and lime, you bumped into him. He smiled, you smiled too, and the rest wrote itself. You were drunk– a little too drunk for three in the afternoon, but what was summer for? You stumbled on your feet, toes slipping through the straps of your flimsy shoes as you staggered for your own balance. And in a failed attempt to keep yourself upright, you reached out for a chair but instead found your fingers gripping onto the white linen of his shirt. His hands were quick to find their place on your torso, like it was always meant to be there, like he’d done this a million times before. Daniel helped you find your balance, knees bent so that he’s at your eye level. His smile was sobering, knocking the air right out of your lungs. Thank you was caught in your throat, even if your lips were parted to give them way. But you were rendered speechless.

“You alright?” He asked, the warmth of his hands seeping through the thin material of your sundress.

“Y-yeah.” You finally managed, putting your weight back onto your feet. “I’m alright.”

“Good. I’m Daniel, by the way.”

He let you go, and you missed him. He held his hand out of you to shake, one you gladly take as you tell him your name. He repeated with a smile. You were the first to pull your hand from his. “Could I buy you a drink? As a thank you, for saving me?”

He obliged. And after another strawberry– or was it watermelon? You couldn’t distinguish the details by then. All you could remember is that Daniel sat at the bar with you and laughed at jokes you’re sure made no sense. You have a vague memory of the party ending, of having to bid adieu even if you weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to your new friend. But that’s when your memory goes spotty and the next thing you know you’re waking up in yesterday’s clothes with a pounding in your head. The sun beckons a new day, your last day in Mykonos begs you to fight through your hangover to enjoy your last twenty-something hours in paradise. So you do. You rinsed all your mistakes under the cool water, flashes of honey brown eyes and a smile so wide it hurt your cheeks thinking about it.

Two texts sat waiting for you when you stepped out of the shower.

Unknown 9:19 AM Hey, it’s Daniel. Care to join me for breakfast?

You weren’t sure when you had given him your number, but you silently thanked your drunk-self for doing something sober-you could never muster the courage to do. By then, your friends had already gone on their final adventure, leaving you to recover in the hotel room. You had no plans for your last day, so you replied with a quick sure, and got ready.

Daniel is already sitting at the table when you make it down. He’s seated at the far corner of the hotel restaurant, nursing a cup of coffee as he read something on his phone. The nerves rattled your chest with every step you take, hoping silently that he would look up at you so you wouldn’t have to awkwardly announce your presence. And he did, setting his cup and phone down the closer you got. Hey you he says softly, standing from his chair to greet you with a hug.

He was warm, smelled of rain in the spring, of the happy earth after a downpour. He smelled like a backyard of freshly watered flowers, of home and comfort. You tried not to let yourself drown in it, but you know it would be something you’ll be chasing for the rest of your days.

You sat across from him, allowing small talk of the weather to unravel into a two hour conversation. You talked about work, about your best friend’s bachelorette party– the reason you were in Mykonos in the first place. You told him about your hopes and dreams, the silly ones and the serious ones. And he spoke of the world, of the places he’s traveled, the people he’s met. He made life sound so exciting, He speaks of life so happily, you were almost envious of him. His eyes glistened with every word, every laugh, every ounce of hope you could ever wish for yourself.

“So when do you leave?” Daniel asked, sipping on his water.

You blew out a sigh, “Tomorrow morning.”

It was the first time you saw him frown. A deep frown that had his lips curved down and brows furrowed. That’s too soon he complained. It was. It was far too soon, but you didn’t have the heart to admit it outloud. So you nodded, a soft hum buzzing past your closed lips as you brought your hot tea up to your mouth.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” You shook your head. “Would you let me take up your time then?”

You could feel your cheeks turn red, heat rising to the tips of your ears. Daniel smiled, eyes wide and bright like they knew what your answer was going to be. How could you deny him?

Daniel didn’t have much of a plan, but it didn’t matter. You enjoyed his company, you enjoyed the laughter and the way he looked at you. You walked the streets, played tourist with him. You walked in and out of shops, convincing each other you needed this little knickknack and that tacky magnet. And by the end of it, you had handfuls of cheesy souvenirs to remember the day by.

The last stop was the gift shop in the hotel lobby. You followed each other up and down the aisles of the little store, past overpriced snacks and toiletries. Sneaky glances and smiles after catching the other, you and Daniel play cat and mouse throughout the store till you part ways. You found yourself spinning the display of touristy jewelry. Leather straps, tarnishable chains, with beachy charms attached. Flowers, a turtle, even a single wave. You stole a glance at Daniel who looked up at the shirt selections, flipping through the sizes in search of his own. A bit of sadness settled in your chest as you came to realize that the end of your day– of your time– with Daniel was coming slow & torturous. You ached at the thought, biting on the inside of your cheek as you crouch down to get a better view of the adjustable bracelets.

You met him at the register with an exchange of sad smiles. You paid for your stuff, he paid for his. And as you stepped out of the gift shop, your heart lacked a heaviness you had been expecting. The sadness was there, but no dread. You stopped with a soft stomp, turning on your heel to look up at Daniel. He stared down at you with a certain kind of softness, the smile maybe a bit dampened by the incoming goodbyes that you were yet to exchange, but you had an inkling that it wouldn’t be the last time you were going to see him.

“Thank you for today,” You said softly, “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.”

Silence. Shifty feet. An unwillingness to say farewell.

You looked down at your small gift bag, pushing around the crumpled receipts to pull out a bracelet. It had black, adjustable straps, looped through dark blue beads. You held it out to him, “For you. Something to remember…”

Remember what? You couldn’t say. But Daniel understood. He took it, ripped apart the plastic and slipped it on. He shook it on his wrist, smiling up at you like a kid who did something right. Then he was fishing his bags until he pulled out his own little gift to you. He held it out in his palm, a silver keychain with a photo of the windmills in the middle of it, uttering the same words you had moments before. Something to remember. You took it with a soft thank you, holding it tight in your fist.

This was it, the impending goodbye, the inevitable end to it all. Neither of you wanted to say it, to end the chapter– close the book.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He asked hopefully, the grip on his bags suddenly tighter.

You smiled. “I’ll visit you in Monaco.”

“I’ll visit you in London.”

“Okay.”

One breath. Inhale. Exhale.

You threw your arms around him, savored the way his own found solace around your middle. You tried to memorize the way it felt to be in his arms, the smell of the fresh rain– the feeling of home. You’d known the man for twenty-four hours and yet, all this came easy. Melting into him, picturing the rain, promises of flying country to country, it all came so easy.

His hands rubbed your sides as you pulled away from him. Safe travels, doll.

You too Danny.

Maybe walking away wasn’t the easiest thing, to turn your back on him while silently wishing he would stop you. You wished you lived in a movie where the guy impeded your travel plans. Because truth be told, if Daniel asked you to stay a little longer, you might’ve done it. But you made it to the elevator all by yourself, turned to catch a final glimpse of Daniel, who stood in the same place you left him. He lifted his hand, waved one more time before the doors shut. You huffed a sigh, tried to turn your focus to repacking your luggage. Your friends were all back in the room, pestering you on your whereabouts. But you smiled, shrugged your shoulders as you let the day behind you play in the back of your mind.

You finished packing most of your things by ten that evening, promptly falling asleep as the exhaustion from walking all day swallowed you whole. Your dreams were filled with fantasies of a boy with curly hair and honey brown eyes, and his warmth engulfing you. It was pleasant, comforting, homey.

And in the middle of all that good, your eyes sprung open. You had a sudden burst of energy, unable to fall back asleep even if your flight wasn’t for another five hours. You tossed and turned, trying to find a sweet spot that would allow you to slip back into a slumber. But to no avail, it’s three-thirty and there was no hope in falling asleep. You sighed, sitting up and reaching over to grab your phone off the nightstand. Your phone pinged. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Daniel 3:32 AM Are you awake? Please say you’re awake

You smiled, biting down on your bottom lip.

You 3:33 AM I’m awake.

Daniel 3:33 AM Good. Meet in the lobby. PJs mandatory.

You’re giddy, slipping out of bed as quickly and quietly as you can. You grabbed your room key and cellphone, slipped on your slippers, before taking the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing Daniel standing in the same place you left him. His smile was contagious, making your cheeks hurt as you took quick steps over to him. He held his hand out, palm facing up as he mocked a bow while whispering a soft m’lady.

You grinned, taking his hand and letting him whisk you away. You walked the length of the hotel beach, up and down, chasing your shadows given by the warm lamps that illuminate your path. Your toes dug into the wet sand, leaving an imprint of yourself with every step. You bumped shoulders with Daniel, exchanged sleepy smiles, all too happy to bask in the other’s company for a moment longer. Finally, Daniel pulled you down on the sand by him, higher up the property, but still close enough to the threat of the tide. The stars glimmered, twinkled down at you.

“Why were you up?” You asked, turning to look at him. You traced the arch of his nose as he stared up at the sky, traced the curls that lay on his forehead. Daniel blew out a breath through puckered lips, shrugging.

“Why were you?”

The question rested in the air above them, leaving the other to assume the answer. Another comfortable silence, accompanied by the ocean coming and receding. Fingers unknowingly inch closer and closer, begging to be laced between each other. But they danced on the sand, pinkies brushing but never linking.

It’s Daniel’s turn to look at you. His turn to trace the curve of your lips, the curl of your lashes, to commit you to memory. “I want to see you again.”

You smiled, coughed a laugh. “I leave in a couple hours Daniel.”

“Yeah I know. But… we could meet again.”

You turned your head. You searched for the joke, for the punchline, the goofy smile followed by light-hearted laughter. But all Daniel did was smile. Lips touching, dimples deep. His eyes read with so much hope, it sent your heart into a frenzy.

“We could.”

He grinned. “We could.”

You nodded, teeth digging into your bottom lip to hide the dopey smile that threatened to peek through.

There weren’t many words exchanged for the remainder of the hour. You memorized the placement of the stars in the night sky, the sound of the tide rolling to and fro. You remembered the night exactly as it was: just you, Daniel, and the world quietly watching.

The fifth hour rolled around, forcing you on your feet. Your hands found themselves in Daniel’s, giggling as you tried to pull him up onto his feet with you. You brushed away the sand, shook out your hair. You looked up at Daniel as he did the same, smiling over at him when he looked at you. The walk back to the lobby was slow, filled with small talk about the weather and travel plans. He rode the elevator up to your floor, walked you to your door, just as a gentleman does. He tucks your hair back, chuckles softly.

“I’ll text you.”

“And I’ll respond.”

He smiled, taking a step backwards, “I’ll see you soon.”

Another step back, and another, and another until he’s at the end of the hall and waving at you. You stood at your door, watching him leave, waving back before he turned the corner and disappeared. You tapped your key against the door, unlocking it and shut it softly. With your back pressed against the hardwood, you exhaled softly. Head in your hands and a hole in your chest in the shape of Daniel. You felt crazy, maybe a little delirious. Another huff, another hopeful sigh as you pushed yourself off the door and got ready to fly home.

The morning flew past you. Between security lines and scrambling to buy some coffee, you barely had a moment to breathe. And when you finally did find the time, all you could think of was Daniel. Of his laughter, the smell of his cologne, the sweet promise to see each other soon. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, a bit disappointed at the lack of a text. But it was half-past seven in the morning, the man must’ve been asleep… right?

You boarded the plane, buckled yourself into your seat minutes before eight. Still not a single text from the Australian. Your fingers hovered above your keyboard, thumbs shaking as you searched for the words to say to him.

You 7:56 AM Don’t forget about me.

And after four hours, when the plane touched down in Heathrow, you took your phone off airplane mode. Notifications come rolling through, emails from work, a missed call from mom, and one text from the man himself.

Daniel 10:05 AM Never

You learned how much Daniel loved Monza in September. He found victory in his despair there, saw the triumphs and falls of so many racers before him. Daniel loved Monza.

Daniel 11:03 AM The energy is great, you should’ve come out.

The invite was on the table, he had asked you two weeks ago if it was something you’d be interested in attending. You should’ve said yes– any sane person would’ve. But you couldn’t, as much as you wanted to see him again, to be able to talk to him in person and just be with him, you couldn’t say yes. You’d never be able to explain it, other than the fact that you were shy, and holding onto a bit of your Mykonos fantasy. You liked living in a world where your friendship was only something between you and Daniel. You liked the bit of distance, found comfortability in it. At least for now.

So you opted to keep up with him through text and the telly. You exchanged messages until he had to set his phone down, then watched each session, each day. Practice. Qualifying. Race Day.

You 12:01 PM Good luck. I’ll be here for the debrief.

The debrief was a series of texts, mostly from Daniel. It’s every broken hope, every could’ve, should’ve, would’ve that ever crossed his mind. It was you trying to console a broken spirit, to reignite something in him that was already dead. He took your words with grace every time, even if you both knew he didn’t believe a single letter of it.

You 12:02 PM You’re gonna do great.

Daniel 12:04 PM It’s gonna be great.

You smiled at the optimism, at least you hoped that’s what it was. You sat back on race day, watched every second of coverage– from the driver’s parade to the pre-race talk. You saw glimpses of Daniel, of the beloved honey badger. And oh how everyone loved Daniel. Everyone rooted for Daniel, to bring glory to a gloriless team like he had just one year prior. Oh how everyone believed in Daniel too, even if he didn’t quite believe in himself.

Daniel loved Monza, even if Monza didn’t love him back.

It was a painful watch, the final lap of the race was coming into view… and then his car sprung a leak. And that was it, that was the end. Goodbye to the glory, goodbye to the hope.

You didn’t expect to hear from him that night, so it was to your surprise when your phone pinged as his name appeared on your screen. You set your little late-night snack aside, leaning back into the couch as you open the message.

Daniel 9:00 PM Wish you came anyways. Would’ve made the weekend worth its while

You smiled.

You 9:01 PM Next time. Promise.

Daniel 9:03 PM Next time <3

Daniel facetimed you for the first time in October. It caught you off guard. You had been exchanging texts with him since you had seen him last, an occasional voice note from you or him, but it was never anything more than that.

You were cooking dinner. Your hair was up in a disarray, looped carelessly through an elastic in hopes to cool your body down from the heat in your kitchen. You had marinara sauce on the collar of your old high school t-shirt, and you looked less than flattering in the maroon basketball shorts from an ex-boyfriend long long ago. But he was calling, his name and face occupying your screen. He was interrupting a video you were watching because he was calling.

You swiped your phone across the screen, holding it up to give a view of your shoulders to the top of your head. Daniel smiled, wet curls stuck to his forehead. He was clad in black hoodie, airpods tucked into his ears. You hadn’t seen him so happy post-race, the string of bad results and over all bad luck had been wearing him down. You knew it, he knew it, hell the whole world knew it. But here he was, smiling like he had won the whole damn thing.

He said your name like it tasted sweet, dripping like honey from his lips. “Did you watch?”

You propped your phone against the towel holder, shaking your head as you do. “No, I was working on a project. I meant to watch the highlights while I ate dinner.”

“What are you cooking?”

“Pasta.” You felt your cheeks heat up. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“This is the third night in a row.”

“I just need something quick. Pasta’s always quick!” You defended.

He rolled his eyes playfully, biting back a smile. You saw it in the way his cheeks began to round, lips pursed. “Well hurry up. I’ll be your highlight reel for dinner.”

True to his word, Daniel gave you the brief play-by-play of his race in Singapore, the whopping fifth-place finish– best finish he’s had all year. You listened intently, shoveling penne pasta and red sauce into your mouth. You listened and listened, even if he repeated the same moment over and over, with the same excitement, same enthusiasm like he was back in the moment. There was a twinkle in his eyes, the slight inflection in his tone as the words spilled from his mouth. It made your heart soar for him, it made you happy to see him.

But then someone flipped a switch, the mood suddenly dampened as his eyes trailed off camera and his smile slowly began to fade. You pushed your empty bowl aside, pulling your phone closer to you. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “I just wish it was always like this, you know? Miss feeling this… this good after a race. God and it’s almost ridiculous how happy I am for P5. P-fucking-5. But it feels like I’m on the podium. I just wish I had felt this all year.”

You didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? You couldn’t exactly relate or empathize, and you know that the last thing he needed was your sympathy. He’d been getting sympathy since he had lost his seat, and the last thing he needed was to hear it from you. So you hum, pulling his gaze back to you.

“I’m proud of you.”

“You say that all that time.” He scrunched his nose, a teasing expression almost as if he didn't believe you. .

“Maybe because it’s true.” You snarked back, biting back a smile.

A brief pause. You watched his honey brown eyes dart around the screen, staring at you. At every freckle and beauty mark, surely the smeared mascara under your eyes or the faded color that stained your lips. But he wore a smile, wore a bit of adoration and… god you couldn’t identify what that ‘and’ was, but it was nice.

“Thanks.”

He kept you company for the rest of the evening, even sat on the phone staring at your bedroom ceiling while you showered and got ready for bed. And when you finally rolled into your duvet, hair brushed and skincare, Daniel was snoring softly on the phone. It was four in the morning in Singapore, the weekend had finally worn him down. You only indulged in the serenity for a moment, before whispering a quick goodnight Daniel and hanging up.

He called again when he got to Japan, showed you the tiny hotel room he had in Tokyo, gave you a list of places he and Lando planned to visit.

He called before he flew out to L.A. When he landed. When he traveled to and from and across the States until COTA weekend came around.

Daniel never stopped calling, and you never hesitated to answer.

Daniel gave you a nickname in November. You argued about it over the phone, while you packed your work bag for the following Monday. You had him propped up on your nightstand, phone leant up against your lamp. He laughed at your reaction, the grimace on your face as he called you again.

“Oh come on toots, I think it’s cute.” You shook your head, “Why not?”

“I’m not toots Daniel.” You slipped your new pens into the little pocket in your purse, “Look at me, do I look like a toots?”

He laughed. It’s the kind of laughter that’s from deep in his belly, the kind that fades out a bit with every syllable. He fell back into his bed, sinking into his gray pillow case as he held his phone over his head. He watched you pack the rest of your bag before slipping into bed yourself. It was the first time since meeting him that you were in the same time zone. He was back in Monaco, and you in London where you had always been. There were only two races left in the season. Two weekends left of Daniel in the car.

He was calling more often than not. And maybe you could blame the short break before Brazil and Abu Dhabi, but you knew Daniel a little more than that. You didn’t make a comment about it though, just accepted the opportunity to talk to him more.

You turn in your bed, setting Daniel up against the pillow by you. It was a good kind of quiet, a comfortable silence. The kind that brings about a certain… domesticity to the feel of your home, even if he was just on your phone. You liked having him there, even if really wasn’t there.

“How ya feeling?” You asked softly, pulling the covers under your chin.

He huffed a breath, “It just doesn’t feel quite real, if I’m being honest. My brain knows it’s happening but my heart… I don’t know. It’s cheesy. It’s weird.” You hummed in acknowledgement, shifting a bit in your place. “But it’ll be good. It’ll be fine.”

“It will. It will. You will.”

He smiled, nodded. “But you know what’ll make it better?” You raised your brow, a soft hm buzzing from behind your lips. He grinned cheekily, “If you came and watched me in Abu Dhabi, toots.”

Your heart swelled even if you scowled. Daniel hadn’t bothered to invite you to a race since Monza, which is fine. You were busy with work, and there really wasn’t a break long enough for Daniel to get an invite together for you. And plus, you had already declined him once.

“My family is coming out, close friends too. But the entourage wouldn't be complete if I didn’t have you in the garage.”

You pulled the blanket over your face to hide the way it turned red. And much to your surprise, he didn’t tease. No playful comments or layers of compliments to make your cheeks tinge red. No knowing laughter, or gentle chuckle. Just soft, patient breathing, waiting quietly for your answer. Your heart, however, was beating out of your chest. It was so loud you could hear it in your head. It echoed, bounced off the curve of your skull. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to ease the uneasiness that resides in your chest. It was the nerves, the threat– a mere opportunity to make all this real.

Three months and some days had passed since you met Daniel. Three months and some days had passed since you said goodbye. Three months and some days spent dreaming of the smell of fresh rain, warm hugs, and honey brown eyes. Three months and some days.

“Absolutely no pressure. But it would mean the world to me if you did.”

Seeing Daniel in person would mean that you are more to him than some girl on the phone. It would mean that all this was more than the twenty or thirty something hours together in Mykonos three months ago. Flying out to Abu Dhabi would mean the world to him, and a galaxy to you.

You pulled the covers off your face just in time to see Daniel run his fingers through his frizzy curls. He works his fingers over his head, stuffing it between him and the pillow behind him. The muscles in his arms bulge, stretch the sleeve of his athletic t shirt. You wondered if your cheeks got redder. His eyes move off screen, humming a soft tune that barely makes the airwaves to you, but you can hear it just under his shuffling about. He pulls up the covers, you see the edge of his gray sheet come into view. You watched for a few seconds more, watched him settle into his space, snuggled under the covers, before his eyes come back up to meet your gaze.

He smiled. You smiled. It was nice. It was good.

“So… when do I fly out?”

Abu Dhabi was a spectacle, buzzing with energy for the final race of the season. It was impossible to escape that kind of excitement, even outside of the paddock. You heard the buzz, the excitement of who was going to win the race, even if the winner was already spoken for. You enjoyed the optimism, the smiling faces, the feeling of being there in that moment. It was a last for Daniel for the foreseeable future. You were privy to the toll the last couple of years have been on him, the stress, the sadness, the disappointment at the results he continued to produce. But the end was finally here, his final race in orange before a much needed break. It was sad, but it was good.

The hotel was swarmed with fans, waiting for the opportunity to meet their favorite driver. There were heads of bright orange and red, contrasting against the black and navy. The entrance was crowded with people, it was damn near impossible to get through and check in. But you managed with the help of a young busboy, who complained and pushed through a group of crazed fans. It wasn’t long from there, and soon you were flopping onto the queen bed of your hotel room with a loud sigh. Nearly seven hours on the plane had wiped you out, and if it weren’t for the fact you promised to meet Daniel, you would’ve fallen asleep right there.

But alas, you forced yourself out of bed, stood in the hot shower to wash away the dirty air. You were cleaner, and in turn much more nervous. Have you scrubbed enough? Did the scent of your shampoo stick? Oh god how did you have enough time to do your hair? Will it dry in time?

You couldn’t stomach finding out the answer.

You pocketed air in your cheeks as you paced to and from the mirror to your unzipped luggage. You had overpacked– of course you did– and had about half the items strewn across the floor as you tried and failed to find an outfit worth meeting Daniel in again. A dress seemed a bit much and somehow every single pair of jeans you packed squeezed on your stomach a little more than you’d like. You huffed after the fourth outfit, soured mood as you stepped into sweat shorts and an old sweatshirt from college. You were meant to meet Daniel in less than an hour and you were stuck at square one: your hair a ratty mess, make-up strewn across the bathroom sink (untouched), and your luggage exploding with clothes you suddenly hated.

You stood, stared at yourself in the mirror as you gripped on your hairbrush, running it through tangles and an otherwise unruly mess. You dragged and pulled until your hair was smooth. But even then it wasn’t smooth enough, you just didn’t have it in you to care. Your makeup was dragged across your face. You went through the motions, all muscle memory and not a thought about the colors and products. And even at the end of all that, after getting yourself to look less haggard and have your hair somewhat presentable, you still couldn’t stand to look at the mess you’ve made in your room.

You went back over your options, moving through the motions of retrying combinations, mixing and matching, and then putting them away when you concluded you didn’t like the choice. By the end of the hour, you had gotten your room semi-presentable but were still stuck in your loungewear.

And then there’s a knock.

You scratched the back of your head, a little more nervous and a little more irritated. A soft whine escapes you as you stomped your way to the front door. You yanked it open without even bothering to look through the peephole, mind far from any clue as to who it might even be.

But who else could it be?

Daniel smiled with his hands stuffed into his pockets, Enchante hoodie hanging loosely on his shoulders. His curls sit atop his head, messy, flopped over his forehead. His stubble has grown, or maybe it just appears thicker in person. But he stood there, smiling in the hallway, lips parted and ready to greet you if you had given him a chance.

You jumped into his arms like you belonged there, like a magnet pulled to metal. You held on for dear life, arms wrapped tightly as you stuffed your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled just as you remembered– smelled just like home. Slowly, one arm finds its rightful place around your torso while the other comes up so that his free hand could hold your head securely against him. His hold is firm as he lifts you off your feet, squeezes you so nicely you never wanted him to stop. You could’ve stood in that hallway like that forever, if it was ever an option.

Daniel inhaled deeply. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you more.” Your voice seeped into his skin– hot, meaningful, and everything else left in you to give.

He put you down, but you didn’t want him to. His hands come up to hold your face in his hands while his eyes scanned every bit of you. No words, just a gentle hold. You stood there, head heavy in his hands as you stared right back up at him. His tan had faded a bit, his hair much more kempt than you remember. And his hands, oh his hands are rough, loved so well by the life he’s led and yet they move with so much care, so much tenderness. The dim hallway light reflected off his wrist, off blue beads tied together by a black straps. Your heart jumped, warmed at the bracelet you bought him all those months ago around his wrist.

“Looking good toots.”

He laughed loudly as your face contorted into a grimace. Your hands come up to his chest to shove him off, a blow he takes with a grin as he takes a step back. And in succession, his slender fingers wrap around your wrist to pull you back into him.

“I don’t like that nickname.” You swatted his chest, palm and the back of your hand colliding with the soft material of his hoodie, over and over until he’s holding your wrist still while muttering I’m kidding over and over.

You rolled your eyes as you removed yourself from his hold. You invited him into your room, taking quick steps to shut your open luggage before he had a chance to see the carnage of it all. Daniel closed the door behind him for you before he followed your lead into the small hotel room. He plopped himself onto your bed, kicking off his shoes before pushing himself further up. He watched as you folded up the bit of clothes that you had left out sitting on top of your closed luggage before sitting across from him. You smiled, he smiled. Just how it’s always been.

Things sort of unraveled from there. Plans were canceled, phones tossed aside– nothing really mattered anymore. He asked about your flight, you asked about his. He asked about your work, you asked about his. It was back and forth, back and forth, jumping from one bit to the next until three hours had rolled by and Daniel had taken notice. By then you rolled onto your back, hair handing off the bed and legs lounging on top of Danny’s. He’s leant up against the headboard, arms crossed across his middle as he hum contentedly. You looked over at him, reaching over to squeeze his arm.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

His hand removed itself from underneath his arm, placing it over yours. “Thank you for coming.”

November in Abu Dhabi was not as hot as you expected it to be. For once you were grateful for over packing because otherwise you would’ve been miserable and slightly embarrassed by the initial four outfits you deemed as enough for the trip.

You met Daniel’s family on Friday. They were just finishing breakfast when you walked up to the McLaren building. Daniel was quick to stand on his feet, hand resting on the small of your back as he gestured to each family member with his free hand. You were introduced as a friend, shook the hands of his relatives with a tight smile as you went down the line. They were sweet, offered to sit with you while you ate breakfast. But you were quick to decline, having already eaten before getting to the paddock.

There were a few familiar faces amongst Daniel’s friends, if your drunken memory serves you correctly. You were greeted with enthusiastic hellos and semi-awkward side hugs. You stood with them in the garage, arms crossed tightly around yourself as you stood around waiting for the man himself. The garage was chaotic, multiple bodies moving too and from and all at once, trying to ready for the two practice sessions of the day. Your headphones were tuned to the live broadcast, so you spent the next fifteen or so minutes of commentary about Red Bull this and Ferrari that, Max this, Charles that. But then you hear it. Here comes the Honey Badger, about to hop into the car for the first Practice session of his last weekend with McLaren– his last weekend in Formula 1.

Your head turned to look up at the screen just in time to see Daniel smiling at the camera, tuning out the conversation about Daniel between commentators. He waved into the lens before turning to Michael. They exchange a few words, the camera just zooming in before switching back to the Ferrari garage. You avert your gaze back to the present, the bodies clearing to make way for Daniel to climb into his car. The loved driver walks down the line of his friends, exchanging fistbumps and a bit of laughter before finally standing up before you.

You could feel the stares, the careful watching to see what you two were about to exchange? A couple of light hearted jokes? A fistbump? Maybe even a hug?

You tried to ignore it, looking up at him with a smile you hoped resembles the bit of faith you had in him. “Have fun out there.” Your hands fiddled with each other, nervous nails picked at the skin of your cuticles.

“Thanks. I’ll see you for the debrief?”

You blew out a breath, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you.”

You didn’t see him until after the round of press after both practice sessions, but of course it was only for a fleeting moment. He had his arm wrapped around your shoulders to give you a gentle squeeze as he asked about you– always you. And then, with much reluctance, he allowed you to return to the hotel while he stayed back for another briefing.

Quali day proved to be even more energetic than the last. People moved faster, time ticked louder, and the cars pushed and pushed. You enjoyed the smell of burnt rubber, of the adrenaline that ran through the track. You held your breath for most of the day, eyes trained on the times put up, jaw clenched as Daniel clawed his way to Q3. The air in the McLaren garage is light, happy, hopeful, as the boys stroll back into the garage. Rough pats to the back and loud words of encouragement roll through. Daniel was followed by a crowd of people. They all spoke atop each other, trying to get the last word in and trying to get a response from the driver before he disappeared. But he was already gone the moment he laid eyes on you. He waved the people away. Later, later he mumbled, offering them a smile before speeding up the pace and leaving the people to wait on later. You stood when Daniel approached, allowing him to wrap one arm around you in a quick squeeze.

“Congratulations Danny,” You looked up at him, smiling widely as you leaned into his hold.

“Thanks sugar.” There was a pause, allowing the nickname to sink in before he scrunched up his nose and shook his head. You burst out in soft giggles and he grinned widely. “Somehow that’s worse than toots.”

“Definitely worse.”

Race day was exhilarating. It was a rush, even if you were only sitting in the garage. You had your legs crossed over each other, muscles tense the entire time. You couldn’t relax, not while you held out for a bit of hope in Daniel’s race. Maybe no one expected much from him these days, but you expected nothing short of greatness. You sat in your chair, silently praying that Daniel would find that sweet release, the sweetest satisfaction in that car. You gripped the lanyard of your pass tightly, leant forward towards the screens as if it would make him move faster. You spoke to him, even if he couldn’t hear you through the turns of the circuit.

And then it happened. The checkered flag was waved, the race had been won, the champion continued his reign. The night saw multiple ends, the night closed on the last of the honey badger in McLaren. While everyone jeered for Max, applauded for Sebastian, bid adieu to Nicky and Mick, you held your heart for Daniel. Your eyes watered as he spun the MCL36 in circles, sending smoke and his love to the crowd as they said their goodbyes. Quietly, you slipped back into the McLaren Hospitality, sat around by the door of his driver room as he got done with the last of press. You watched on the screens, like you always do, watched the laughter, the happiness, the adoration exchanged between Daniel and his comrades. All the hugs and see you soons, all the hope every single person held for him and his return.

Daniel was a friend to everyone, beloved by everyone, and that included you. You felt a bit of pride at the thought, but maybe a bit of emptiness at the potential. Daniel was your friend, albeit your best friend. He had become your person, even if you had spent most of your time getting to know him through the screen. But that didn’t negate the fact. It didn’t change the affection you had for him, the adoration and respect you kept for Daniel in your heart. It didn’t change the fact that maybe, just maybe, you felt more for him than you’d ever admit. But that was a little secret between you and your bedroom ceiling.

Daniel returned to you by himself. No crowds of people begging for a second of his attention, no staff reading off his agenda, not even Michael trying (and failing) to make Daniel laugh. He was all by himself, tired, disheveled, shoulders slumped and his face expressionless. You stood at one end of the room of the McLaren Hospitality and Daniel at the other. You stared at each other, unsure what was left to say after everything that happened in the hours behind him.

And then you see it– the water brimming in his eyes, the quiver of his bottom lip. You saw the frown that curved into his lips, the way his chest puffed shakily as he drew a breath. He was stuck in his place, stuck in the sadness that had finally settled in his spirit. So you met him where he stood, arms wrapping around his frame so that he could finally, finally, let go. His hands held you close to his chest, the pads of his fingers pressing into your shoulder blades. He buried his face in your shoulder, squeezing you so tightly that you found it hard to breathe.

“It’s really over.”

You pulled his face from your skin to hold in your hands, pouting as your thumbs collected the sadness that spilled onto his cheeks. Left to right, up and down, you scanned his face– every freckle and wrinkle, the way his bottom lip protrudes in a pout. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s all gonna be okay. It’ll be good. Okay?”

He nodded, head shaking quickly in your grasp as his hands scramble to pull you back into him. He held you like you were going to slip away just as every single good thing in his life had this last year. His hand comes up to the back of your neck, holding firm and warm, as he inhales deeply. “ It’ll be okay. It’ll be good.”

It’ll be good.

Daniel sent you flowers in December.

An arrangement of yellow and orange poppies arrived at your door two days before Christmas. They were waiting for you when you arrived from last minute shopping. You picked up the vase, cradled it in your arms as your keys jingled into the keyhole. The windmill keychain from August twinkled in the dim hallway lighting, reminded you of the day spent with your favorite person.

You set the flowers down on the counter, all other belongings forgotten at your feet. You picked at the small envelope that sat in the middle of the vibrant flowers. Inside, a note– typed, but the sign off was enough to tell you who had sent them.

𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚢.

-𝟹

Your heart swelled. Swelled so big you were sure it was going to burst underneath you. You bite down on your bottom lip, hard, trying to fight the awe-struck– no, lovestruck, smile that creeped onto your face. You tried to swallow those feelings down, just as you had for months now. Forget the butterflies and what they symbolize, or the way you jumped at the sound of your phone pinging or ringing. Forget, forget, forget.

Except that you can’t forget. You can’t forget or ignore or pretend like you haven’t fallen for this… this… for him. It’s not doable, and you had been fooling yourself thinking that if you pretended for long enough, that those feelings would cease to exist. Instead they festered, grew into a monster that held you tightly. In between blue and gray text bubbles, after hour long facetime calls, you found yourself falling for him. It was hard to admit to yourself because you felt silly at the notion that you could feel that way for someone you talked to on the phone. But it wasn’t silly, it was so fucking real. You were consumed by the smell of fresh fallen rain and curly hair, consumed by chasing the feeling of him gnawing at your heart. You were all consumed by Daniel. Him, him, him.

You took a photo of the flowers, sending it as a text.

You 5:24 PM Poppy, huh?

His response was almost immediate.

Daniel 5:24 PM You like it?

You smiled. Smiled so wide your face ached. Daniel was halfway around the world. Fourteen something thousand kilometers away from you. He spent Christmas in the warmth, surrounded by his family while you were bearing it in bitter cold London. Thousands and thousands in distance, and still he makes you smile like he was sitting in the room with you.

You 5:25 PM Love it. Thank you Danny

Christmas came and went as it always does. And in the week between then and the end of the year, Daniel called you. His face occupied your phone screen, that stunning smile plastered on his face. It was ten in the morning on the 27th of December, you were in the middle of a book– one you had been putting off because of work and traveling and enjoying the reality with Daniel in it. So you were reading, but then he called and the passage was forgotten.

He claimed he had no reason to call you, that it was just because. It made your heart do flips, stupidly and erratically beating at the notion just because. You smiled, hummed as a response as you set the book aside. You asked about his holiday, he asked about yours. And just as easily as it has been before, the conversation sprouted into hours on the phone. You had slowly retreated into your bedroom, under the covers, had Daniel propped on the pillow just like he belonged. It was space reserved for him, even if he’s never laid in your bed before. God you left so much room for him in your life, he didn’t even know the half of it. He had become part of your equation, part of every what if that came across your mind– it was truly terrifying.

Daniel quieted around twelve for you. He was sitting back on his couch, phone resting in his palm as he held it up high enough you had a view of his face. His gaze was soft as he stared at you, smiling sweet.

“What?” You asked softly.

“Nothing.”

Another pause in the conversation. A brief moment of silence with an unasked question hanging in the space between you. You almost wanted to pry, but he beat you to the punch– answered the impending what you were about to whine.

“I’m flying back to Monaco for New Years… and I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

You raised a brow. “You miss me?”

“I always do.”

Your heart screeched, cheeks ached with another smile. God you couldn’t stop fucking smiling.

You shook your head, “Silly.”

“Not silly. Just true. Come to Monaco. Please?”

How could you ever say no to him? How could you ever allow yourself to miss an opportunity to see Daniel again?

So on the 29th of December you flew the two something hours to Nice, took the train to Monaco and jumped straight into Daniel’s arms. He held you like it's all he ever knew, arms wrapped so tightly you’re sure you’d be stuck to him even if he let go. Your face is pressed into his sternum, his scent consuming you with a sharp inhale. Fuck, you would never get tired of this.

December 30 was quiet– the calm before the storm. You were glued to the couch, Daniel’s hip attached to yours, while you watched movie after movie. In the first hour your legs were on top of his, then you switched the next hour. After the second movie, you were tucked into his side while his fingers twirled a lock of your hair. Round and round, a semblance to the way your mind circled him. Your thoughts ran in circles around Daniel, about what it would be like to be able to live that reality for longer than the week you were spending with him. You allowed yourself to imagine more Friday’s spent lazily with him.

Daniel looked down at you as the credits rolled. “Thanks for coming out. I haven’t said it, and I should’ve the moment you landed.”

You hummed, leaning into him further. He tightened his hold on you, it made you feel safe. “Anything for you.”

Truly, anything for him. You would do it all, all Daniel had to do was ask.

You woke up later than normal on the last day of the year. You laid in the guest bedroom of Daniel’s Monaco apartment, alone, tangled in sheets that regrettably smell just like him. The sound of glass clinking and heavy footsteps moving about the space travels into your room, muffled by the shut door. And as easily as you fall into a state of bliss at the sound, your mind rolls in daydreams about what it would be like to wake up to it over and over and over again. You were losing yourself, you knew that, but there was nothing stopping you from doing so. You free fall into the imagination of domesticity with Daniel and how easy and good it would all be.

Three soft taps. Are you up?

“Yeah, come in.” You sit up in bed, doing your best to comb down your bed head with the palm of your hands. Daniel poked his head through first before his body followed. You watched quietly as he made his way around the room, rolling into bed right next to you. He laid his head down against the pillow and you fought the urge to lay with him. Instead, you lean against the plush headboard and stare down at him.

“Happy New Year's Eve,” His voice is hoarse, thick with sleep. Surely he’d just woken up.

You rubbed your eyes, smiled all the while. “Happy New Year's Eve.”

He turned over, smiling into the fabric of his pillow case as he threw his arm over your thighs. Like it’s normal, like he’d done it before. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to get breakfast, but I think I could use another hour of sleep.”

Your fingers twirled his curls, round and round, as you nodded. “Sleep then.”

“Wake me in an hour? Then I promise we can go get breakfast.”

“One hour. Gotcha.”

Your fingers grazed his scalp, massaged his head of curls as he quickly fell back asleep. His body was limp next to yours, hot breath beating down on your skin.

True to your words, you shook him awake an hour after he fell asleep. It’s been an hour. He groaned softly, arm tightening around your legs and pulling himself against the soft skin of your flesh. Five more minutes. You didn’t have it in you to pry, so you let him fall back asleep. Soft snores fill the space of the guest bedroom, and you sit there for another five minutes. You shook him once more, but he was a goner, lost in a deep sleep and dreams you could only wish to know.

Slowly, gently, reluctantly, you pulled yourself from Daniel’s hold. You padded your way through his apartment, getting yourself acquainted with where things belong, in search of breakfast because while Daniel was too tired to care, you were hungry and needed food sooner rather than later.

You cooked an omelet, made use of the last of his eggs and the veggies that were in his fridge. You could do without bacon for now– well you had to because he didn’t have it. You allowed the soft sizzle in the pan to lull your nerves to a sort of calmness you haven’t had since being here with Daniel. You tried to find a bit of clarity for yourself as you made breakfast. And right when you think you’re okay, that the daydreams and the yearning mean nothing, he’s in the room with you.

He hadn’t said a word yet, but you knew the sound of his feet shuffling. He leaned up against the counter, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand before watching you expertly flip the cooked egg over. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I promised you breakfast.”

You shook your head, taking a quick glance up at him with a smile. “That’s okay, Danny. Want one?”

He nodded, moving around you as he reached for the cupboard above your head. The kitchen was large, spacious, so clearly put together for a bachelor who didn’t spend too much time there. But despite the space, you found yourself bumping into Daniel, feeling the way his fingers trailed along your back as he moved behind you. You moved in sync, bumping into each other was just part of the dance. That’s what it felt like with him, a dance to music only the two of you seem to hear. It was always a dance, of pushing and pulling, going round and round until your head spun. It was beautiful. It was good.

You didn’t get ready until much later. The sun had just begun to touch the ocean, painting the sky shades of orange. You watched from the guest room, legs crossed while your make-up laid sprawled out on the bed. And while you swiped brush after brush, a pat of a sponge here and there, you grew to envy the ocean. How lucky it is to be kissed, to be loved so badly that the sun returns to it every day. You yearned for the same, to have such warmth sink beneath you and make you feel whole. But most of all, you yearned for Daniel.

You felt a little ridiculous. You felt stupid, insecure, so goddamn undeserving of the way your heart ached for him. You felt crazed, your head was a mess of thoughts of curly hair and the comforting smell of rain after a drought. You felt ridiculous because Daniel seemed to consume you, and you aren’t even sure if you consumed him in the same way. That’s when the fear settled, the need to run in the opposite direction because my god, what were you doing here?

You had to stand from your spot on the bed, make up half done and not set, to pace the room. You tried to shake off the way every nerve ending fizzled with this… you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t admit it. Because how could you? Why should you?

Maybe you hadn’t fallen, maybe this was a misplaced infatuation. Give it a couple more days, maybe even a couple more weeks and he would be nothing more than your friend, nothing more than a person who made life a little easier. Nothing less, nothing more.

But the tears cloud your vision, your hands shook, bile was climbing up the length of your throat. You felt so fucking sick.

You sit back down in the bad, blowing out a breath through pursed lips. Inhale, exhale. Breathe in, breathe out. You flopped onto your back, tubes and compacts of make-up clattering against each other as the bed rippled your movement. Inhale, exhale. Breathe in, breathe out. It was fine, you were fine, everything was okay.

Right?

You aren’t sure how managed to finish getting ready, truth be told the last hour or so were a blur. But you were ready, buckled into the front seat of his McLaren 720s, trying to pace your heart with the heavy bass song playing through the speaker. Daniel was oblivious to your sudden mental turmoil, more than excited to see his friends and celebrate the end of one of the worst years of his life. He had expressed multiple times just how excited he was to let loose, to pretend like his reality isn't real, even if it was just for a couple of hours.

The club was bass heavy, so loud that you could hear it as Daniel’s car slowed to a stop. Valet opened the door for you, stuck his hand out to help you exit the rather low sports car. Daniel grabbed the ticket before resting his hand on the small of your back and led you into the club.

It was packed, filled to the brim with people who were probably so drunk they wouldn’t make it to midnight. You followed the bouncer’s lead, along the perimeter of the club and into the section behind the DJ booth. You recognized a few faces, some who were in the garage with you, others who drove the car. You were introduced, reintroduced, Daniel shouted your name over the blaring music. This is my best friend!

Best friend. Best friend. Best friend.

You smiled, tight lipped and polite, even though the panic had begun to return. You shouldn’t be there, you shouldn’t have come. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed a drink.

You needed several drinks– and several were served to you. Vodka this, vodka that. Oh a round of shots, why not? You had begun to lose yourself to the booze and the music, the nerves and the panic long forgotten. All that mattered was that you were moving along to the bass and that you felt good. You couldn’t feel the way your toes screamed in pain, begging you to sit down, even for a second.

You only stopped because you had taken another shot and the world suddenly tilted to the left. Daniel met you on the sofa, arm resting on the back of it as he leant down to talk into your ear. “Slow down Poppy, we still got an hour til midnight!”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, leaning into him because god you just needed to feel him. His hand fell onto your shoulder, holding you firmly. His lips mouthed something. Water? It must’ve been. You nodded, throat suddenly dry. You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth in a feeble attempt to get rid of the cottonmouth. Daniel handed you a glass, and you sipped. You sipped until the ground leveled and your mind didn’t spin in circles. Sipped on the glass until Lando pushed it out of your hands and replaced it with a flute of champagne. Ten minutes! Fuck had that much time pass you by already?

Slender fingers slipped onto your waist as you stood from the couch, the pads of his digits pressing firmly into your flesh. You felt secure, safe. Your mind still teetered between sobriety and inebriety, but you knew you’d remember the following moments for the rest of your life.

Ten minutes turned into five, turned into one. And then you were counting down the seconds. The club was loud, the excitement building as you ticked closer to one. Daniel’s arm moved from your torso to hang over your shoulder. He pulled you into his side, squeezing tighter and tighter as he counted down. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year! The crowd erupted into a mess of cheers, of heavy bass and the pop of streamers. Lights flickered, and you caught brief glances of hugs and kisses, of happy welcomes and excitement of what 2023 was meant to bring. And oh how you wished that it was you. That you were a person in the crowd being kissed, even if it was some cheesy cliche. You just wished it were you.

You made the mistake of looking up at Daniel, of letting curiosity get the best of you to see if he was seeing what you were. You wanted to know if he had the same desire written on his face as it was on yours. But instead, his gaze was already on you. Your cheeks burned, and you thanked the heavens that the lights distracted from the fact that you were blushed. Daniel smiled widely, removing his hand from your shoulder to rest on the side of your head. He pulled you into him, lips pressing into the soft skin of your temple. Once, twice. Then he craned his neck, pressed a kiss to your cheek before letting his lips hover over your ear.

“Happy New Year, Poppy.”

You smiled, turned your head again so you could selfishly look into his honey eyes again. And maybe you knew that in doing this, your face would only be mere centimeters apart. All it would take is a simple lunge, an accidental shove. So close, so fucking close. You silently wished that he would, that he’d give into the cliche and kiss you. Your brain was screaming, begging. Kiss me! Just fucking kiss me! But all he did was smile. Dimples imprint themselves into the soft skin of his cheeks, his gaze so soft you wanted to vomit. He looked at you in a way that made you dizzier than all the liquor you consumed that night. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, touch just ghosting your skin before planting firmly on the junction of your neck and jaw. Kiss me! Please kiss me! Won’t he do it?

You felt his fingers leave your cheek, creep to the back of your head and once again he’s pulling you in to kiss your forehead.

You sighed, spirit deflated, even as you shut your eyes and leaned into the kiss once more.

He cupped your cheeks again, both hands this time, squishing the soft flesh as he forced your gaze up at him. He couldn’t see the disappointment in your features, too distracted by the lights, the music, by everything else. He smiled. He always smiled. “I love you Poppy, I love you, I do!”

Your heart flipped, rattled your ribs, beat loudly in your fucking head. You bit back a smile even though all you wanted to do was grin. You scrunch your nose, feigned disgust even if you were elated. He loved you, he loved you he did.

You fell in love with Daniel in January.

Though, you’re sure that you had loved him for much longer. January was when you fully admitted it to yourself. No more denying, no more panic. Pure acceptance for the fact that you were in love with Daniel Ricciardo.

You left Monaco on the second, much to your dismay. If you had it your way, you would’ve stayed forever. But work had resumed and your boss only let you take off an extra day and nothing more. So Daniel drove you to the train station, dragged your luggage out of his car and walked you all the way to the gate. Your ticket was clenched tightly in your first as you looked up at him, a bit of wind blowing at the stray hairs that couldn’t be held back by the elastic. He reached out, tucked a hair behind your ear before resting his hand against your cheek. It was warm, reeked of generic hand sanitizer. You leaned into him, smiling even if your chest ached.

“Wish you could stay longer.” He muttered.

“Wish you would just come with,” You countered. With me, you wanted to emphasize but… the statement seemed too intimate. With me. Come with me, please.

He hummed, fingers hooking around the back of your neck to pull you into him. Your face collided with his chest in a soft thump, nose dug deep in the plush material of his t-shirt, just above his sternum. His hands readjust themselves around you, conforming to your frame against his body. Like a puzzle tab finding its perfect nook. He hugged you tightly, planted a kiss to the top of your head before flattening the hair in the same spot. You’d miss this, you thought to yourself, the few kisses given, the plethora of hugs exchanged, you were going to miss this. You were going to miss him.

You’re the first to step out of the embrace, blinking away tears that had just begun to blur your vision. You coughed an awkward laugh, smiled, tried about anything to hide how sad you really were in the moment. But Daniel saw right through you, clicked his tongue as he nudged your chin playfully.

“Don’t do that. Don’t cry.”

His words had the opposite effect, pushed the tears over the brim of your waterline. You tried to laugh it off, mock yourself and the ridiculous splay of emotions. You shook your head and swatted his hands away as he reached out to you again. “I’m fine, I'm fine. If you hug me again, I’m afraid I may just end up staying.”

Daniel’s reflexes were quick, right hand jolting forward to latch onto yours. He easily pulled you into him, quick enough so that you could catch the way his body rumbled with a chuckle beneath your touch. “I don’t see why that’s such a bad thing.” You indulged, melted right back into him, inhaled the sweet sweet smell of his cologne, committed every node to memory.

You wondered what the travelers walking to and fro, squeezing past you without an ounce of politeness, were thinking of the two of you. Could they see it? Could they feel it? Or were you just two losers standing in a train station delaying a needed goodbye?

Daniel pressed a gentle kiss against your cheek, soft lips catching you by surprise. His head dipped into your neck, arms squeezing you tightly. “I’ll miss you my little wildflower.”

You grinned, stifled a little laughter at the cheesy nickname as you inhaled deeply, “You’re getting really good at this nickname thing,” You teased, fingers coming up to play with the short hairs on the nape of his neck. “I like Poppy more.”

His body vibrated in a quiet chuckled, nodding against your shoulder. Noted.

You pulled away again, eyes flickering to the clock for a brief moment before your fingers latched onto the handle of your luggage. Daniel sighed, tilted his head in a sad smile. You caught the way he flexed his fingers at the release of your own, rings glinting in the light.

“So… goodbye?” You shrugged and he grinned, “See you soon?” You bit back a smile, “Arrivederci?”

You giggled, nodding your head, “See you in London.”

His lips part, a playful and breathy ah falling from his mouth as he nodded. London, London, London he says softly. “I’ll see you there Poppy.”

You had a multitude of responsibilities waiting for you in London, your boss made that perfectly clear with the two lengthy emails sent to your inbox as you sat on the train. There were unfulfilled plans with friends, a declutter day penciled in for the following Friday, and dinner with your parents. You had a million and one things that needed your attention, and for whatever reason, the five or so hours of travels back home, you spent in thought of Daniel.

His kiss, his touch, his everything was stamped onto you, it was as if it were all happening in that moment. It made you miss him even more, made your heart ache as you continued to move further and further from him. In the bits of sleep you found in your travels, your mind was consumed by him. Always him. You imagined that this was love, it was the only logical explanation. And so on the plane, while watching your flight path on the screen ahead of you, quietly and honestly, you admitted to yourself that this was love. You were in love.

And you were terrified.

London greeted you coldly, the wind biting at your cheeks as you lugged your luggage from the Uber to the warm lobby of your complex. The doorman greeted you with a smile, wished you a happy new year as you passed him by. Exhaustion had you by the talons, gripped at your body and spirit and forced you into bed. You crawled underneath your covers, pulled a pillow to your chest as you let sleep take over you. And in your slumber, as you drowned in the fantasy of Daniel and all the what ifs, you miss his call. You missed the first, the second, the third, and then finally the soft ping of his text tone.

Daniel 8:53 PM Are you awake? Please say you’re awake.

And another.

Daniel 8:55 PM You should’ve stayed. I wish you stayed.

Daniel flew into London from New York in February. After he had fulfilled every press, interview, tiktok, whatever kind of obligation being a third driver entailed– he hopped on a plane and flew straight to you.

What was meant to be a surprise turned out to be spoiled by his slight recklessness. He accidentally sent his pinned location to you instead of his friend, and in turn showed you that he was standing in the middle of Heathrow Airport. Then half an hour later, with excited text after text sent and a frenzied cleaning of your apartment, he was at your door and you were jumping into his arms. He laughed, walked you back into your home with one hand wrapped around your torso to keep your feet off the ground, and the other dragging his suitcase.

You’re here you mumbled into his hoodie, arms squeezing tight.

I’m here.

Being with Daniel at home felt good. It felt normal. It felt right. And the longer he stayed, the longer you watched him fit himself in your life, the harder you fell. There was a small part of you that wished he didn’t mold into your routines so well, that a bit of awkwardness had struck and maybe even cured you of this hopeless feeling that clenched your heart so tightly. You wished that his place in your life didn’t make sense but it did. Daniel sitting across from you for breakfast, nursing a second bowl of cereal made sense. His fingers looping your hair messily through a scrunchie while you cooked dinner made sense. The smell of fresh rain imprinted in every corner of your home just made sense.

Daniel, walking into your room and sliding into bed next to you while you read a book, made the most sense. You didn’t flinch at the dip in the bed, or the way his shoulder leaned onto you, or the smell of his shampoo in his damp hair. Ignoring your sporadic heartbeat was a challenge, but being here with him was easy. You hummed in acknowledgement, resting your head on his shoulder as you finished out the chapter. You see the glow of his phone screen, the flicker in color as he taps through stories and posts, leaving them all on mute as a courtesy to you. You flipped through a couple more pages before tucking your bookmark in and shutting it. The book falls on your night stand with a soft thud, discarded and forgotten as you turn your attention to Daniel.

“So I was thinking,” He mused, tapping something on his phone before setting it on his lap, “I leave in three days, so I think it’s only right we have a real sleepover.”

Your heart did flips. Back flips, cartwheels, a double back handspring with spin and perfect landing. Danced its way all the way to the top of your throat, supported by the nerves and the intent of his proposal. “You tired of the couch?” You teased, stabbing your index finger into his bicep playfully. He chuckled.

“Only a little. But I’ll gladly sleep on the floor if you’re too chicken to share a bed.”

You swung your pillow over at him, smacking him in the chest. Shut up, you stuttered, sinking deeper into your bed. You try not to let his loud laughter tinge your cheeks red, to make the tips of your ears heat up as you silently wish the world swallowed you whole. You were being dramatic, maybe. He was teasing, of course you knew he was. But fuck the accusation could not be any truer. You were fucking terrified of sharing a bed with Daniel, how it would blur another line of your friendship, confuse you further, and in turn making saying goodbye in three days time infinitely harder. But you were a little dumbstruck when it came to your affections for Daniel, a little self-indulgent and allowed your little heart to take the reins of all your decision making.

So that's how you end up lying dangerously close to the edge of your bed, watching as Daniel moved your pillows around to make a little more room for himself. Daniel. Making room for himself. In your bed.

You were gonna be sick.

He didn’t take too long to settle into his side, pulling on the duvet over his abdomen. Pillows had been thrown to the floor, stuffed animals perched nicely on your desk after you so kindly asked him to. The mattress was bare between the two of you– no pillow wall or some imaginary line established. No claims to a side, or a little jab to remind the other to stay on their side of the bed. Just the plain sheet and a bit of space rests between you.

Daniel clicked the lamp on his side of the bed off, darkness engulfing the space immediately. It took a minute or two for your eyes to adjust to the dark, to finally be able to trace the silhouette of Daniel’s features against the streetlight bleeding through your curtains. You trace the curls resting on his forehead, the bump on the bridge of his nose, down to the curve or each lip, and the point of his chin.

“You’re staring,” He muttered.

“No I’m not.” Yes, you were.

He didn’t comment, just turned onto his side so that he could look at you. Daniel tucked his hand underneath his pillow, pulling it flush against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The space between you was gaping, large and awkward, begging to be occupied by the warmth of a body– maybe yours. He noticed, pulled the covers down before patting the cream sheet softly.

“I’m not gonna bite Poppy.”

You scrunch your nose, reaching out to poke him with your index finger. “How can I be sure?”

A single poke, pushing the tip of his nose inward before he juts his chin upward, catching your index finger between his teeth.

“You can’t.”

You turned your face into the pillow as you flexed your hand open, using the force of your other four fingers to push against his face. His laughter rumbled against your palm, lips wet and leaving a stamp of him in the middle of your hand. You feel his slender fingers come up around your wrist to pull your hand away and push it back into your chest. The warmth that emitted from his skin stayed with you, molded into your skin lest you forget how Daniel felt against you.

You didn’t budge from your position on the bed, and neither did he. Two people with an unreasonable amount of space between them– it was almost laughable. You wondered if he was as scared as you were to cross this line drawn in the sand. You wondered if he was afraid he’d get addicted to holding you, that he might never want to leave. Because you were afraid. You were afraid of losing yourself to a man you had no claim over, and falling so deep into him that you’d never find a way out. So you kept the bit of space, forced a bit of restraint on your heart that seemed to be reaching out to him.

Sometime between hushed whispers and the soft sounds of sheets rubbing together as you adjusted and readjusted yourself in your place, you fell asleep. You dreamt of the rain, the way it kissed your skin, kissed the Earth and all that is in it. You dreamt of a garden filled with poppies, of bright colored petals that poked out of the grass. You dreamt of familiar smiles, the sound of laughter. God, you dreamt of happiness.

The sun seeps through your curtains, golden light flooding the room. It shines the brightest between the curtains, peeking through to pull you from your slumber. You groan softly, burying your face deeper into warm skin, pulling the duvet over your shoulder. Toned arms shift around you, hold you tighter before mumbling incoherencies and drifting back to sleep.

Without the cologne, Daniel smells like citrus scented soap. Bright, sweet, stuck to his skin even after tossing and turning all night. You almost envy the way he never seems to smell bad, how beautiful smells like peeled oranges or rained-on flowers stick to him. You envy the way he snores softly, clutching on to sleep better than you ever could. Because now you’re awake, mind racing against your heart as you wrap your head around how you laid: tangled up with Daniel.

You lay stiff, terrified out of your fucking mind as Daniel holds on to you for dear life. He’s so warm. The kind of warmth that compared to the sun beating down on your skin on a cool spring day. The kind that relieves you of goosebumps, of chilly fingertips and the feeling that the tip of your nose might just fall off. Daniel was like the sun in a lot of ways, you conclude.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force yourself to return back to your dreams. But it burns where your skin meets Daniel’s– hot, sticky, melting together. You can feel the dips of his muscles against you, the firmness to them even if he held you so softly. His arm lays over your torso, curled in towards you to keep you close to him, while his chin rests on the top of your head. Your face is positioned between his collarbones, tip of your nose just ghosting the supple skin there. You try to turn your head, find a place in which you didn’t drown in him, but no matter where you turned, you were comfortably stuck to him.

Daniel groans above you as you try to turn your head again, squeezing you tighter. “You move too much in your sleep.” Sleep weighs down on his voice, makes it heavy and gravely, rough with exhaustion. You smile, humming as you stuff your face back into his chest.

“Sorry.”

He hums, “Morning.”

“Morning.”

You lay with Daniel quietly, stuck in the position you woke up in. No one moves, no one speaks, just enjoying the soft lull of steady breathing and the world starting its day without the two of you. Cars pass by your street and birds converse outside your window– you imagine they were talking about the sun. You lay wrapped in Daniel until he shifts, pulling his arm from your torso to rub his sleep-riddled face. You look up, chin resting in the middle of his chest. You watch his lips stretch into a yawn, the way his index finger and thumb come up to wipe the tears that brim at his eyes. And then he cranes his neck, points his chin downwards so that he can catch a glimpse of you.

And he smiles.

“Told you I don’t bite.”

Daniel leaves in three days. He reminds you over breakfast, biting into a piece of toast like it isn’t a big deal. Three days left of this, of breakfast in the mornings and his face before bed. You smile sadly into your oatmeal, mixing the fruit around the slurry before spooning it into your mouth. Silverware clatters against porcelain, it echoes against the walls of your home. It makes your heart miss him before he’s even gone.

The days blend into the other, no memory seemed to have a cut off. Daniel’s last three days with you were a lump sum of memories, colliding, meshing into each other, dependent on the hours before so that the now made sense. And in every moment, all the laughter and smiles, the almost-touches and almost-kisses, the larger the space in your heart grew for Daniel. Your mind let you wander treacherously through the what-ifs, the maybes, and the could bes. What if we. Maybe we. We could be. We, we, we.

The night before his flight, you took him to a work thing. That’s how you described it as you helped him pick between two polos. You point at the striped one before flopping onto bed. “It’s just this weird game night. It’s supposed to boost morale, help us bond. It’s been a rough couple months in the office so this is corporate’s way of building– well, rebuilding the peace.”

Daniel nods, pulling off his shirt before shrugging on the navy striped button up over his shoulders. “So what is it… like poker? Black Jack maybe?”

You ignore the way his abdomen flexes as he readjust the shirt, the buttons still undone and swaying with his movement. “Maybe. I dunno, I heard someone from accounting was gonna bring scrabble.”

He laughs like you were joking. But low and behold, as he walked into the pub behind you, three people were already seated at a table elbow deep in a game of scrabble. Tiles scattered the board as two of the three players argued about the validity of the word. Cards were thrown around, smacked on the table to show off a good hand. Poker chips clatter as they’re pushed across the tables, and littered in all that mess is booze being bought left and right. Between the bustling of bodies and the sweet buzz of conversation, you can just hear the bass of some EDM mix playing on the loudspeaker.

You and Daniel make your way to the bar, immediately greeted by the people who work in your department. They smile up at Daniel, wide-eyed as they shoved you playfully. You didn’t tell me you were friends with the Daniel Ricciardo! You mouth a quick I’m sorry as phones are thrusted in his direction– all of which he takes gracefully, taking selfie after selfie. And after maybe the tenth one, you reach into the crowd of people, gripping his wrist tightly as you pull him to you.

“Alright guys, he’s meant to be on break, leave him alone now.” You wave your hand in the air, shooing away coworkers who just grin and nod, a sea of thank yous sent his way his wrist slips from your grasp to offer them a wave. Daniel grabs the beer set out for the two of you, before slinging his arm over your shoulder and pulling you to a table top in the far end of the bar. He sets the beers down before pulling your chair out for you, hand out for you to boost yourself up onto the lifted chair– a hand you gladly take.

Daniel sits to your left, fingers snaked around the neck of the amber bottle as he brings it up to his lips to take a sip. You watch quietly, spinning the bottle between your index finger and your thumb, eyes fixated on the way his adam's apple bobs up and down as gulps his beer. He doesn't seem to notice– or maybe he just doesn't care. Instead he leans in towards you, eyes fixated on the crowd ahead of him, the hands reaching over tables and the soft slaps of cards being shuffled. “So, what do you think, Uno or Cards Against Humanity?”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, sucking in a gust of air between your teeth. “I don't know, as appealing as playing Cards Against Humanity with my coworkers and in turn finding out a little too much about their personal life is, I think Uno might just be our safest option.”

Daniel laughs at your sarcasm. Nodding as he slides out from the table, hand out for you to take. C’mon then, he hums as he encloses your fingers in the warm grip of his hands, tugging you between tables and passer-bys, plopping down at a table of five. You recognize one other person at the table, the dealer, who smiles at you as she deals you and Daniel in. It was meant to start as a friendly little game, with lighthearted laughter and maybe a bit of peaking over at the other’s cards. But between the third and fourth deal, people had begun to throw quid on the table, then all of a sudden you’re down twenty and Daniel was happily collecting the bills on his end. You scowl over at him, nudging his leg with the toe of your shoe.

“You don’t need all this money.”

“Not my fault you suck.” He puckers his lips, sends a kiss over to you in the space between you two.

“Bite me,” You sneer, picking up your new set of seven cards, organizing them by color.

You catch a whiff of his cologne as he leans in. You pull your hand close to your chest, pressing the cards flush against your being as he lines his mouth up to your ear to whisper, “Careful what you wish for.”

Your cheeks flush, bright pink though no one at the table seems to catch it under the dim lighting of the pub. Another game, you’re sure you’ve got the upper hand this time around but then Daniel drops a skip… and then another… and then he stacks a draw two… twice. By the end of the game you had about half the deck of cards in your hands and Daniel counting about forty quid in his hands. You’re scowling again, and he laughs at your misfortune.

You excuse yourself from the table, running up to the bar to get yourself another beer. Stacy– you think her name is Stacy anyway– slides next to you, picking up a bit of conversation. It’s small talk, surface level shit until she’s asking about the boy you had been stuck to all night. She teases you, refers to him as the boy, it makes you feel giddy. To one person in this room, Daniel was your little secret. And it felt nice. It felt good. But you shook your head, the blush taking over your face again as you took the beer that was handed to you, mumbling how he’s just a friend. But Stacy– or is it Sarah? She smiles and shrugs, taking her cocktail as she hops off her bar stool, red straw placed between her coco colored lips to take a sip before stepping back.

“All I’m saying… friends don’t look at friends the way you two look at each other.”

She leaves you at the bar with a sentence equivalent to fuel to a fire. It burns, oh it festers. Your mind reels over every moment, every second you’ve spent with Daniel, trying to figure out how he looked at you.

Your eyes scan over the crowd, the mess of chatter tuned out as you look for a mop of curls which you spot towards the front of the bar. He’s laughing– he’s always laughing. You might’ve been meters away, but you could hear him, the joyful ha has over the multitude of conversation. And for a moment, like every cliche written and produced, the room stops. Suddenly the crowd disappears, the music is turned down, and it’s just you and Daniel. The lamp over the table beams, reflects over his golden skin as he deals the cards down on the table. His fingers are quick, counting quietly to himself as he goes around the table. And when he’s done, he sets the left over cards down in the middle of the table in a neat stack. Before he picks up his set, he reaches over to your seat, pulls the cards together neatly and pats it down before picking up his own. You watch as his slender fingers pick at the cards– that one goes at the end, oh and this one between these two. He picks and pulls, slots cards by cards til he’s satisfied with his line up. Then he squeezes the cards into one stack, setting down on his thigh below the table.

His head turns, you see the soft swing of his curls as he looks around the bar. He looks and looks and oh, relief. Daniel’s shoulders drop when he catches sight of you, a smile so wide your cheeks ache for him. His hand goes up in the air, waving at you to return to your seat. Hurry! You aren’t sure if he actually said it, but you know his lips moved that way. He smiles, his eyes are warm and bright, this sultry kind of brown that you could distinguish from miles away. You miss it as he turns away to immerse himself in a conversation you didn’t care to know about. You smile, just enough so that your cheeks round a bit and your eyes squint in just the slightest. You smile in a way that a girl watches a boy she loves from across the way, watches as he melts into her life. And he melts so well, sits so comfortably without you as he awaits your return. He has his arm slung over your chair, nodding over at someone you could care less about. He laughs at jokes, makes some back, and– god you just couldn’t stop staring. You couldn’t stop watching him. Him, him, always him.

You walk back over to the table, setting a hand on Daniel’s shoulder as you lean down to him. His hand comes up to rest over yours, head turning ever so slightly so that he can see you. Your heart is in overdrive, your body overheating. You try to ignore it. You try, try, try.

“I’m gonna go get some air.”

“You okay?” His brows furrow with concern. You nod, and he doesn’t seem to relax. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Daniel. I’m fine. Just stuffy in here.”

“Well, let me come with.”

He goes to get up from his seat, but you push him back down. “No, no no I’ll be fine.” You smile– you think you do. “I’ll be back. Win this round so you can buy me a drink after.”

He looks unconvinced, eyes scanning your face for a morsel of doubt, for a twitch of lip that would beg him to accompany you. But you keep your expression fair, squeeze his shoulder again, and he concedes. He nods, patting your hand again. “Okay okay, deal.”

Your hand comes up to his cheek, and he leans into your touch as it slips away. He turns his head, watches you walk out the door while the game starts. You feel his eyes burning in a hole in the back of your skull and it only makes you walk quicker.

The cool London air blows the door open, bites at your skin and fights against the warmth pooling with the booze. You wrap your arms around yourself, rubbing your palms against your arm, squeezing the flesh there. Your eyes fall shut, inhaling deeply as you try to center yourself, trying to get ahold of your heart, trying to get it to slow down. Tears were threatening you, choking you.

You didn’t want to say bye. You don’t want all this to end, to have Daniel pluck himself out of your company and back to his normal routines. You don’t want to go back to the facetime calls, and debriefs over texts. No you want to smell the rain, you want the cheeky laughter and fighting over who gets the rest of the cereal. You want late night drives to Taco Bell, and early mornings to get coffee because you were too lazy to run your own. But most of all, you want Daniel. You want the good, the bad, all the highs and all the lows. You want every single moment between now and an indefinite future.

And you felt crazy for wanting such a thing.

You hear the door creak behind you, a bit of the conversation escaping with him before he shuts the door with a soft thud.

“Hey, come back inside. You’re missing out on the game.” Daniel bumps his shoulder with yours, a smile so wide it drives fear into your chest. You look up at him, take all the strength left in you to smile– and you hope that you do it well. His smile, bright, excited, so reminiscent of the Daniel you bumped into some time ago. He’s tanned, hair curly, muscles bulky, he’s back to who he was before a string of bad luck wore him down. He was this new Daniel that you had fallen so head over heels for, and it hurt your heart not to say it.

The words sit in your throat, run it dry and make it hard to breathe. You were getting all choked up with a secret you couldn’t bear to keep.

He bumps your shoulder again, “What? Are you scared to lose again?”

God you were so afraid to lose. But maybe you had already lost more than you could ever admit to yourself.

Daniel says your name.

“I’m in love with you.”

You had a dream about this moment. It happened in the rain, colorful poppies potted in a flowerbed by a house, and oh how the world smelled divine. You could still hear the laughter, still see the smile that graced his face. You dreamt about the way he would wrap himself around you, allow you to bury yourself in his warmth and the scent of fresh fallen rain. In every universe, you imagined the way the words would sound coming from his mouth. You imagined the simplicity, the good in the moment.

But then you see his face run pale, lips parted without the words to back him up. You see how he scratches the back of his neck before it comes around to rub his stubble. And then his fingers are running through his hair. He takes a step back, and there’s this space between you that wasn’t there before. Your name rolls off his tongue, sounds so despondent it twists your heart. It sounds so…

“I-I-I-” You stammer like it would mend the situation, “I’m sorry but… I couldn’t keep it in. Couldn’t continue to pretend like my heart didn’t wanna beat out of my chest everytime I see you, so I just had to– I had to say it.”

You see his chest begin to rise with each breath he takes. It’s slow, but deep. His eyes are wide, they’re panicked, they look so fucking afraid.

“Daniel I–” “What are you doing?” Your lips fall shut. What are you doing? You bite down on your bottom lip, palms pressed together as you rub them in front of you to distract from the tears that were already beginning to cloud your vision. Daniel lets out a breath, hands coming up to run through his hair– again. “Why… why would you say that?” His hands rub his beard, again. “Fuck, Poppy why would you say that?”

The air is caught in your throat. The words on your tongue melt away, daydreams dissolve. You were left with your skin and a heart that continues to shatter because Daniel stares at you like you’ve done something wrong. And all you could, all you had the strength to do, is smile. You smile because that’s all you had left to give. A smile that made your lips quiver, cheeks tremble and wet with your sadness. You don’t know what else to do, so you smile.

“I just needed you to know.”

Daniel drops his face into his hands, shaking his head into his palms. You watch him, watch as he mumbles to himself. You watch in tears, your shattered heart at your feet as you wait for the change in tone, wait for a moment you’ll never live to see. He lifts his gaze back up to you, the panic gone and replaced this kind of pity that makes you wish you never said it in the first place.

He says your name with a bit of remorse, and yet it still sounds beautiful. “I… I can’t. Poppy I’m sorry.”

You let out a breath. It’s your turn to turn away, hands coming up to push your hair back as you tried to control the sobs that threatened to take over you. Another shaky breath, another drop of tears onto your cheeks. You couldn’t let him see you so broken, you can’t let him have that. No, you refused.

“Poppy–” “Daniel, please.” “Poppy you mean so much–”

“Daniel,” You turn around, hand out to motion him to stop, “Please don’t. Please.”

“You are the greatest friend–” He continues anyway, torturing you with the right thing to say– the most reasonable thing to say, “–I could ever ask for. You don’t know how much I appreciate that. How much I–”

“I don’t want that Daniel I–” “–How much I appreciate you.”

He reaches out for you. You should’ve pushed him away, you should’ve stepped back, but god you are so weak for him. So you bask in the warmth of his hand, the way he squeezes it like he was trying to stitch back that hole he left in your chest. You let yourself rest in the false sense of security for just a second. You stare at the point your skin touches, the way his skin contrasts yours, fingers holding onto yours so tightly. It’s warm. It’s good.

It’s good for all of two seconds, and then you’re crying and pulling yourself from him again. You wipe your face with the back of your hand, shaking your head and smiling. Daniel says your name, desperate to get to you again. But you shake your head, take another step back.

“You don’t know how much you mean to me.” His voice is a whisper, nearly overpowered by the gust of cold wind. “Poppy–”

“Daniel, it’s okay.” Your voice breaks because it’s not. But you pretend that it is to save face, to pretend that you can walk away from this moment with your head held high.

He calls your name again, craning his neck so that he can meet your gaze, and you try to avoid it but he comes into view. His hand comes up, chin tucked in his index finger and thumb to lift your face. “But it's not. I can see it on your face.”

“But it has to be, right?”

You clamp your lips into a tight line, tugging your face out of his hold. It’s quiet, tense, and you’re so fucking miserable. For the first time, there’s a sense of dread. In the months you’ve grown to know Daniel, to fall in love with him, in the time that brought you to this moment– you now feel that dread. It sits heavy in your chest, squeezing your heart so tight you think it might pop. If someone had asked you all those months ago if you could picture walking away from Daniel, your answer would be a resounding no. You could never picture yourself doing it– and even if you could, you could always picture running straight back to him.

But now, now you’re forced to reckon with the reality that you have to walk away and never look back. That if you want to hold on to the very little dignity you have left, you should say your goodbyes and walk away. But where was the good in this goodbye? It was just a promise that this is the end, that the next time you see him would not be of your intention. You would have to accept that the only good in this farewell is that it’s permanent.

So in February you walked away with your heart in your hands and a gaping hole in your chest shaped like Daniel. You walked yourself to the underground railway and sobbed because it was the only thing left for you to do. You clutched onto your chest because it hurt so fucking bad.

Daniel collected his items from your apartment the next day while you cried in your bedroom. He knocked on your door, twisted the knob only to find that it’s locked. He said he’s sorry through the door, he said it over and over you had to pull the pillow over your head.

I don’t deserve you Poppy, his voice is muffled but so fucking clear at the same time, I’m sorry Poppy. I… I’ll see you soon.

And then it was over. Daniel was gone– easily, tragically, and all at once. All the memories that mesh together melted into your sadness. It kept you in bed with the blinds drawn shut. Darkness and despair always paired well together.

Your phone pings, the screen lights up and illuminates the bedroom. But you don’t have the heart to look, because you know who it is. You could see his contact photo, you can see the letters spell out his name. So instead you bury yourself deeper into the pillows and blankets, bury yourself deeper into your hopelessness. For just a moment, you wanted to forget that he existed, that he was every part of your life, that you ever poured your heart to him thinking for a second that he would feel the same way.

Daniel 4:33 PM Please don’t forget about me

You’ll never forget him and everything he was to you. Never.

February blends into March. March into April. April to May, June, July. And suddenly it’s August again.

You lay on the beach in Mykonos, nursing another strawberry margarita. You love strawberry margaritas. But this time around, you stay away from the bustling movements of the bar, instead choosing to lounge by the pool in hopes to catch a tan. After all, what was summer for?

You try to ignore the obvious, what the Mykonos was to you a year prior. The memories it gave the person it brought to you. The laughter. The ease. The smell of fresh fallen rain. All the good in Daniel clung onto you and you clung right back. A year ago you met someone who changed your worldview, caught a glimpse of your soul, before shattering your being. He was the best and worst thing that could’ve possibly happened to you.

August… August and all the months that followed slipped away in a moment in time. It fell to the back of your mind, laid to rest so that you’d find a bit of peace. You hope Daniel is well, wherever he is in the world. You hope that he hasn’t forgotten about you, like how you haven’t forgotten him.

Another sip of your strawberry margarita, drinking down the remnants of slush in the glass before setting it down and laying it back. And the sun disappeared, a shadow took its place. But you were warm, you were comforted, you felt at peace. You felt good. So you smile, hand coming up to block the bits of sunlight that peek behind him. You catch a glimpse of messy curls and a smile so wide you’re sure it hurts.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

d rambles. . . hey girl hey. i haven't put out a fic in fucking ages, sorry bout that. but yay, new blog, new fic!! this turned into a MONSTER, but i think im happy with how it all came together. was the ending a little rushed? maybe. but in my defense, this whole fic turned out soooo much longer than i initially planned. anyways. i hope you liked this one & as always, feedback is always always appreciated.

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo one shot #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo angst

773 notes · View notes

soulaires · 6 months

Note

cardan greenbriar headcanons

I would still adore you with your hands around my neck.

ꨄ︎ He is brutally and unapologetically mean when you first met, he doesn’t really ‘bully’ but makes it clear he HATES you (snickering/laughing w his friends whenever you are in sight or gives backhanded and sarcastic comments )

ꨄ︎ you don’t really entertain him most of the time which drove him MAD he doesn’t really understand why he’s craving for your attention so bad

ꨄ︎ he couldn’t really understand that he liked you o he’s just mean, he doesn’t know how to get your attention without the full on teasing

ꨄ︎ whenever you respond to his teasing, your words cut him like a knife (you hurt his ego, he hurt your pride 🤷‍♀️)

ꨄ︎ the moment he realized he likes you, he just deny, deny, deny, deny.

ꨄ︎ he absolutely hates the way how much he wants you, hates the way he craves for you, your presence, your touch dearly and hates the way he badly want to shut you up by a kiss

ꨄ︎ when he saw you kissed locke, he get irritated and finally starting to accept it

you are currently in a garden, reading a book when suddenly the bane of your existence voice greeted you,

“why did you fucking kissed locke??” Cardan marched towards you as he settled in front of you, you stood up, preparing to leave but he caught your arms.

“I ask you a question, princess. Answer it.” He remarked, the gap between you two is a bit close than ever.

“None of your business, royal highness.” You mocked.

“Why? Why does it have to be him? You have a terrible taste.”

“He’s a good kisser, I would not lie.” you try to get under his skin

“No, he Isn’t.” He argued

“Why do you always have to disagree to everything I say???”

“Because, my dear, If I agree with you, then both of us would be wrong.”

“You drive me crazy, Greenbriar.”

“How crazy?” He mused. “Show me how mad I drive you.”

you rolled your eyes as you start to wak out but cardan was quick to corner you in a tree, your heart is racing, tension is thick and yu could not breath.

he seems to caught onto that as he smirks, “my, my, my, darling, why is your heart racing so fast when I haven’t even touch you, hm?”

you can feel your cheeks heet up as yu raises your eyebrow, “and how would you even know that?”

he grabs your hand and put it on his chest, “because mine is.”

You let your arms away from his beating heart as if it burns you, “you should go.” you breathed out. “Yeah, you should definitely go, cardan.” You distanced yourself but not far enough from him.

“Go where, sweatheart?” his face is much more closer to yours, “here?” You can feel his breath on your shoulder. “Or maybe here?” It moved up to your neck.

“ca—cardan.” You stuttered. You fucking stuttered. You heard him chuckled and moved up to your ear

“Kiss me.” you heard his hoarse voice whispers to your ear.

“What?” Your eyes went wide as you backed away.

“I said, kiss me. Kiss me until I am sick of it. Kiss me until his taste is out of your lips, kiss me until all you can taste is me. Kiss me.” he begs. All cardan could only think was that he needed you. Needed to taste you, to have his arms around you, to hold you. He could not think straight. “please.”

“Shut up.” You said as you kissed him. Kissed him. You have no excuse for it, not a accidental, forced to, nada. You kissed him.

Cardan quickly melts into the kiss as he tugs you closer. His tongue swept along with your lips and you granted him the permission he craved. It drove him crazy. He dreamed of this very moment, of you, every damned night. Thought about it every hour, about how you would taste, it was a question and answer , a beginning to an end. Cardan Greenbriar could stay like this forever, with you in his arms, with your fingers on his hair. With your lips on his. He devoured you, tasting every bit of you and you heard his desperate whine.

You pulled away but he chased your lips. You guys stared at each other. “I–“ “this never happened.” You are quick to shut him off as you scurried away.

ꨄ︎ he drown himself with alcohol that night.

ꨄ︎ he tried to talk to you but was unsuccessful

ꨄ︎ one day, he had enough and planned to corner you

ꨄ︎ he finally caught on to you

“Lets talk. Stop running away from me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” He argued “stop being stubborn.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. A mistake that shall never repeat again.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice shakes

“Let’s forget it happened—“

“Again, it hurt me, princess. It hurt me.” Again.

“It’s probably for the best!” You burst out

“No, it is not! Will you please stop driving me crazy?”

“I wanted this—you for so long and im not losing the chance. You have no idea how i wanted this. The way you look at me... I want you to know what it does to me. I want you to feel it. Feel how crazy you make me.”

You went silent as you stepped closer to him, “show me, cardan.” You whispered and he did.

ꨄ︎ now that you guys are dating he became more protective of you, always looking out for you.

ꨄ︎ he would start the next Trojan War for you if you are not in his line of sight

ꨄ︎ oh boy he is CLINGYYYY

ꨄ︎ he calls you lots of pet names like “my queen, love, my love, my darling, sweetheart, angel etc.

ꨄ︎ writes you letters and poem!

ꨄ︎ he’s a sassy man.

ꨄ︎ He loves saying I love yous

ꨄ︎ gorgeous flowers every time!!!

ꨄ︎ his tail unashamedly wrapped around you every time

ꨄ︎ especially when he’s jealous possessive

#rie answers 🦦#riewrites 🫀#the cruel prince #the cruel prince series #the cruel prince x reader #cardan greenbriar #high king cardan #prince cardan #jude x cardan #cardan greenbriar x reader #cardan greenbriar x you #cardan greenbriar headcanons #he makes me blush fr #LOVE THIS MAN #I want more request for him please

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arsonlookers · 1 month

Note

Hi! I had just finished the penacony story quest and umm came out with random ideas….. PLUS after listening to White Night I-

I was wondering what you would think about an AU where time slip is possible and that Yan! Aventurine lost reader (idk how in what situation😭😭😭)

but like yea….

N then like he just literally time slips back to the past before he lost them and like gets super protective???

Idk like I'm-

Omg help idk but like yehhhh

Oh My God your a GENIUS!!! Imagine an au like that!! But let's give it a twist shall we 😉

IN ANOTHER LIFE YOU ARE MINE

YAN! AVENTURINE X READER

Yan! Aventurine in his first and original timeline falls in love with you but keeps it a secret relationship because there are plenty of enemies he made in the way who wanted to hurt you just to hurt him. So he keeps his distance from you in public and in private he is just so clingy and SO loving but in recent times he has just become more distant from you after meeting the trailblazer not only he is a million times busy and with dealing with his past he also started to become more interested with this "FRIEND" of his the trailblazer.

So he spends less and less time as it goes on and you are just so lonely whenever he is not even planning to go home. Or he just kind of ended up ignoring you when he comes home because he is exhausted from all the drama. [he just needs time poor baby]

But then one day an accident happens to you, an accident he never expected, and will forever regret. Of all the people in that accident you his very beloved partner were the only one who perished the most and died alone.

"aventurin-" were your very last words you only wanted to see the love of your life one last time and at least be able to say goodbye to the person who saved you and made your life worthwhile...

BREAKING NEWS!!

the news states the attack was from a man who lost in a gamble storming out from the casino with pent-up anger and ended up venting his anger to a poor woman a passerby who was the first person he spotted to look so weak so he attacked her and stabbed her 10 times to vent his anger because of the lost.

After hearing the news Aventurine can't believe what he is hearing and dashes immediately towards your location. just outside of the casino he was in right now.

in front of the lobby there he saw a group of people gathered in front of the entrance cameras and all.

he never is the type to jump in the scene but this time he jumps in the crowd to look for you to believe that it is not you and you are safe, to hope and in his luck that YOU are safe.

In his mind he is already panicking, sweat going down from his forehead and hands shaking non-stop he can't even control it. Inside of his mind were all prayers and all begging to keep you safe from every harm that past these people you are safe and sound.

But past the one last person he pushes aside instead of your sweet smile and a hug of comfort.. all he sees is blood.. blood everywhere his eyes tremble his bones are about to give up as he looks at the body in front of him there lies you wearing your favorite dress that he gifts you in your anniversary... a sunflower dress being splattered and filled with red blood still running down from your dead body.

and with that is the very last straw of his sanity.

He comes close to your body, and his eyes behind his glasses start to water, overwhelming emotions bearing him and tying in his throat restricting him from breathing and making his heart beat as if being chased by a killer or worse death wanting him dead. and maybe it is better to die right now he thought.

just the sight of your back and your dress being soaked in your own blood was horrendous and worst sight he had laid his eyes upon.

everything was so slow yet so fast at the same time. You were taken away from his grasp and then the next you are being sent away to be mourned by your family. But you don't have a family. he is your family. the one and only family. but because the two of you are still not married and just dating/ engaged he cant have you ... he cant mourn you... And the worst part is he has all the money and power but mourning you, He cant even DO THAT?! He have all this for you for HIM but why? why? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY?????? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY???WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY??? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY??? WHY?!WWHYWHHYWHYWHWYWHY???

everything in his mind is starting to crumble as he starts to drink and gamble his life everything is on the line yet he just can't die. HE IS JUST TO LUCKY TO DIE. THEN WHY??? WHY DO YOU NEED TO DIE??? WHY YOU??? was all he can asked day in day out in his life. when he comes home all he can remember is YOU every memory every furniture everything reminds him of you and he just cant he might loses him mind more if he stays more than a hour a minute in once your shared house.

After everything he just cant take it anymore and goes to your house drunk and just starts calling your name waiting for you to respond.

"Yn~ baby~ ! Im home! " He calls drunk inside the house falling flat in the entrance and everything. He closes his eyes and All he can think and hear about is how warm he feels the house is clean and how you will be coming out of the kitchen and calling his name so lovingly.

"aven! Aven! AVEN!" how you will call his nickname how sweet your voice sounds like at first it sounds so far away and now he feels so nostalgic how you shake him the same from all those months ago when he comes home drunk.

He wants to stay like this ... if he can he wants to stay like this forever hearing your voice calling his nickname ...

"more. more call me like that moreMORE MOREMORE "

"KAKAVASHA!!" was when he opened his eyes and bolted his eyes from the voice that called him

and here presents you... in your glory and in your lovely apron. that says 'HAPPY WIFEY HAPPY LIFEY~" It was cheesy but it looked so perfect for you.

"vasha!! are you ok!? " you grabbed his face and all he could feel was how warm you were not cold and wet as he last remembered.

before he knew it tears drops one after the other in his eyes.

"aventurine!! hey come on are you gonna leave me hanging and worried?? did someone beat you? Are you ok?" You grabbed him for a hugged and rubbed your hands in his back

and all he can think is how warm you are how nice it was to feel your warm body against his and how you smell so good. and then he just thinks that he wants this to last forever, he doesn't want this to end, he doesn't want to go back to that dark place. he doesn't want to go back in that nightmare ever again.

Feeling all these emotions he hugged you and started to bawl his eyes out and hugged you tight as if you would be gone in a matter of seconds now.

you can't really know what is going on with him but it truly is rare to see him like this and this time he needs your comfort and love so instead of breaking the hug because of it being too tight You instead hugged him tight and comfort him with your words and back rubs

"its ok, aven, its just a nightmare . shhh its fine , its fine Im here now, Im here" As you keeps your gesture and kinda calm him down his gripped unto you was still on and tight but not that tight.

That is until he falls asleep.

"cute aven" you say as you pinches his cheeks before moving him to your shared bedroom.

Aventurine woke up and just in a panic he searched the room he cant see you there so he rushed down the stares and searched for you outside he was screaming your name and on the verge of crying again. that is until you called for him from the kitchen.

"morning darling!" You say as flipping the pancakes and smiling at him from the kitchen wall.

and there aventurine was feeling relieved that you were just a dream.. and even if this is a dream of a hallucination he don't care all he cares about is you and him in this time together eating your pancake and you in front of him smiling happily.

AND AFTER SPENDING MORE AND MORE TIME as he starts to notice that he was in the past a year before your tragedy he promises that he will. HE WILL. PROTECT YOU.

may it caused of his death he dont care he will never ever EVER going to see you in that state again.

WITH out you knowing he actually in this timeline he did kill your killer after he tracked him down so that he wont be able to do the murder again. Aventurine puts more in security and becomes more and more clingy since then.

But one thing he will put first. HE ASKED YOU TO BE HIS WIFE This time he will never ever gonna regret pausing to make you his wife. This time YOU ARE HIS WIFE.

He wont ever EVER FACE ALL THOSE HAPPENING AGAIN. He wont ever make you feel sad and distant and he wont make you regret saying YES to his proposal now that you are going to be his WIFE.

He will plan the wedding immediately.

HE WON'T WASTE ANY TIME ANYMORE HE ALREADY WASTED A LOT OF TIME IN THE PAST HE won't MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE TWICE.

Suggested warning!!

and fckng his wife should be the first priority right~ so he does~

Every night and every possible day he has been so horny to the point of fcking you in every possible place in the house on your dates in your backyard, and even in his office. EVERYWHERE

IN THIS LIFE YOU ARE HIS AND NO ONE CAN HAVE YOU AND TAKE YOU AWAY FROM HIS GRASP AND IN THIS LIFE.

[this is the birth of the most possessive and overprotective yandere aventurine who loves love LOVES you very much ]

ARS: Donee!! damn anon thank you for the idea! but really I was not gonna make it since been busy but I guess my writer brain just turns on immediately thinking about the plot and how i would write the story I wish it was to your liking anon! I wish this is how my brain would work in my exam wow that finished within one hour hahaha anyways have a great Day!!

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sky-kiss · 8 months

Note

Hi love!

Okay so we all know I love your writing, especially for Raphael.

How about a scenario where Tav is in mortal peril and Korilla is NOT around/able to bail them out. Raphael has to do it himself. Well, he doesn't "have" to, but he will.

_________

A/N: MY QUEEN. I will do my best. Think this is the first time I've done a Tav who is DOWN BAD (in more ways than one).

_________

Korilla never failed him.

It made it all the more shocking when the dwarf appeared at his side, stinking of sweat and brimstone. Her robe, ever flattering, was torn at the shoulder, and the slightly sweet, slightly sick, stink of burnt flesh filled the Devil’s Den. He reached out a hand on instinct, stabilizing her swaying form. The deal he’d been brokering fell by the wayside. A sinking feeling settled in his chest, all too familiar. His carefully laid plans might come apart at the seams. He felt invisible hands pulling at his stitches.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Korilla shook her head. “Your project…your mouse.” She winced. “Got in over her pretty head.” His warlock squeezed his wrist, “Raphael, I couldn’t…” She’d failed to protect his asset. “I kept them off her, but…”

The weight, curling, twisting; fate was determined to spite him again. And beneath that, more insidious, a second thought. Rage. Something had dared to touch her; something had maimed his pet.

The cambion bowed to his guests, lips pursed. “My associate here, lovely as she is, shall have to entertain you for a moment. Beg pardon, my dears.”

Raphael snapped his fingers.

_________

Pain blossomed through her side. Tav staggered back a step, bringing her weapon up to intercept the blow. The blade doesn’t break the skin; she managed to stop that much. The impact…she’s less fortunate. Her muscles screamed, something tearing in her shoulder.

She’d been stupid. Stupid and shortsighted…

All she’d wanted was a moment's peace. Tav had slipped from the party’s shared room at the Elfsong, determined to watch the sunset in silence. As dearly as she loved her friends, they could be loud and opinionated. After months on the road, with no privacy or distance, she figured she’d earned that much.

Bhaal’s cultists were waiting. If it’d only been a handful, she could have handled herself. It’d been more, so many more. An inane thought chased through her head as she danced out of the way of another strike: how many changelings were left in Baldur’s Gate? How many Bhaal cultists did Orin have? It seemed excessive.

Dozens. There were dozens of the damned creatures. For every cultist she killed, another three seemed to arise, like some hellish parody of the hydra. Tav was tired. One of them moved behind her, knife flashing in the dying light. Fresh pain as the blade tore through the muscles in her calf. She screamed. No, no, no, she had to keep moving. They couldn’t hobble her; she couldn’t…

“How dare you.”

She barely recognized the voice. She was aware of his heat before anything else; the cambion appeared beside her in a wash of flame, catching her attacker by the throat. Panic flashed across the changeling’s face, the briefest hint of emotion before Raphael’s claws tightened their hold. A warm spray of blood coated her face as he tore its throat free, leaving it choking through the ruin of flesh.

“Insolent creatures! You would touch what is mine?”

They tripped back, almost as one. Tav stared up at her savior, confused, vision swimming. The cambion, red, so red, fire and blood, his right-wing curled around her shoulders. Cherries and sulfur fill her nostrils, too sweet for the night air. Too soft in the face of his fury. Raphael snapped his fingers, and the air around them seemingly combusted. Hellfire consumed her would-be killers. Tendrils of shadow and flame consumed every ounce of flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a black mark on the streets.

She blinked, staring up at him. Raphael’s eyes continued to blaze, his jaw set. He dusted a nonexistent speck of dust from his sleeve, lips curling in a sneer. “Strange, I expected the god of murder to employ hardier thralls.”

Tav swallowed. Her throat burned. “Stealthy.”

“Hmm?”

She tried again, struggling to her feet. Raphael caught her elbow. Tav tried to ignore the press of his claws, itching, so full of potential, and the heat of his skin. It had to be the blood loss. His eyes glowed in the half-light. “Orin isn’t looking for hardy. They just need to be quick enough, quiet enough, to catch their victims off guard.” She frowned. “Tonight, they were.”

“Yes.” The lowness of his voice chased along her nerves like a caress. “Are you bold or stupid, pet? The city wants you dead, and here you are.” He motioned to the darkness surrounding them, the alley nearly bereft of light. "A little mouse, alone in the dark."

She scoffed. “I needed…I wanted a moment to myself. Is that too much to ask?” His gaze flicked to the scorched flagstones, brow arched. Tav shook her head. “Regardless, thank you. It…” she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“I sold myself as such, did I not? A friend and savior?”

Tav smiled. “Truth be told, I didn’t believe you.”

“And you’re more clever for it, sweetling.”

Color flared in her cheeks. He was too close for this. Too close, too sweet-smelling, too handsome, and too much. The air in her lungs felt overheated and stagnant by comparison. The blood loss, undoubtedly. Tav chewed her lower lip. “Did you…Raphael, before the…did you call me yours?”

His eyes narrowed. “Careful, pet.” It’s an answer in itself. Raphael extended his free hand to her. “Come. The devil shall return his erstwhile heroine to her companions.”

“I can make it back on my own.”

The severity of his expression left no room for argument. “No, you’ve lost the benefit of the doubt. I shall leave you safely in your bed. Not before.”

She hated the flare of heat in her belly. Raphael's hand settled at the small of her back, wings curling more closely as he whispered the incantation to return them to her room. Weak as it may be, she wrapped her arms around him.

The devil said nothing. But he bent, pressed nearer. Solid and strong, smelling of cherries and fire. Some part of her wondered what he would do if she kissed him.

Tav was saved from any potential embarrassment. Raphael left her at her bedside, bowing, smirking as if he’d followed the line of her thoughts. The damned creature took her left hand and kissed her knuckles.

And then he was gone in a swirl of fire and ash.

#raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #asks #my writing #love you friend #hope you like this #raph: i'm protecting my assets #Tav: I want to kiss him on his stupid sexy mouth

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megxplryxb · 1 year

Text

Our Little Secret

Disclaimer: GIF is not mine.

Pairings: Steve Harrington fem!reader

Warnings: Minors Do Not Interact! Jealously, enemies to lovers, smut, bathroom sex.

The blaring music and chatter of the rowdy crowd on the other side of the door had long disappeared in to the background as the sound of Steve Harrington’s skin slapping against your own echoed throughout his downstairs bathroom. His rapid thrusts sending you closer and closer to another orgasm as he nipped at your throat, leaving a trail of violet bruises behind as evidence of your current hook up.

You shut your eyes, hissing in pleasure while Steve continued to bite and suck on your skin as he bucked his hips in to you, a low groan escaping him as he chased his own release.

"Jesus sweetheart, you're...so...fuckin' tight, feel so good around my dick.” Steve growled, grabbing your waist, slamming in to you from behind, throwing your head back to lean against his chest for support as you watched him come apart in the mirror. You were wrecked at this point, completely cock drunk on Steve’s dick as the smell of sex and alcohol began to consume the room. You were totally hypnotised by the pretty sounds coming from him, the way he kept his glossy eyes on you in the reflection of the glass as he edged you both closer, hair an utter mess as he swiped it from his face...he was utterly fucking beautiful but you'd never tell him that.

You weren't entirely sure how you ended up bent over his parents expensive marble sink but you knew it had started with an argument, just like every other one of your encounters with Steve. You had never seen eye to eye with the boy, not in High School, not as Dustin's babysitter and definitely not as co-workers in Family Video. His constant need to flirt with every cute girl that walked in to the store made you gag out loud, rolling your eyes while he ran to the back to make sure his hair looked good before making his move on the unsuspecting female customers. Much to you and Robin's astonishment some of them even fell for his ridiculously shitty pick up lines and for some reason, it kind of bothered you.

"You know he just does that to piss you off, right?" Robin revealed on a late night weekend shift while you were stacking video tapes, nudging her head towards Steve who was leaning over the desk, flirting with some airhead who was giggling at his god awful jokes.

"Does what?" You questioned, trying your best to ignore the fake sounds of laughter at the counter to get on with the task at hand.

"Flirting with the ladies…He only does it make you jealous." Your friend stated as you scoffed at the thought, refusing to look in Steve's direction, afraid to give him the slightest bit of satisfaction that he might in fact, be getting under your skin.

"And why would he do that?"

"Duh, cause he's totally in to you." She said as you let out a loud enough laugh that Steve and the girl turned to face you both before going back to their conversation again.

"Yeah, right Rob, we can barely survive a shift together without killing each other. Plus, why the hell would I be jealous of those poor girls having to endure his cheesy chat up lines?" You asked as your friend shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know, but you've been stacking horror movies on the kids shelves since dingus started talking to the pretty blonde, ten minutes ago." Robin teased, smirking smugly as you realised you were putting The Exorcist beside E.T - The Extra Terrestrial.

“That doesn’t mean I’m fucking jealous, Robin! I’m just tired of doing all the work while he stands around doing nothing as per usual.” You huffed in an angrier tone than before as Robin tried to change the subject, sensing how annoyed you were.

It was safe to say that Steve Harrington drove you fucking crazy. So, when Robin begged you to come to one of Steve’s many house parties you flat out refused, not wanting to spend your rare day off from work in the same vicinity as your colleague. Especially, if it meant having to witness him in a lip lock with some random girl all night. But somehow, you had let Robin convince you to join her at the party, your friend pleading with you to be her wing woman while she attempted to get to know Vickie a little better without “turning in to a babbling idiot”.

You somehow managed to avoid Steve for the whole time you were at his party, dancing with Robin and Nancy, beating Eddie at beer pong, even turning down two guys who were trying to get you to go home with them. So, when Robin had enough liquid courage in her to confidently talk to Vickie without you being present, you downed your final drink and slid off of the kitchen countertop, making your way through Steve's house, finally reaching the front door to make your exit.

“Leavin’ already?" The familiar voice asked as you turned to see Steve standing with some girl hanging from him. Fucking typical.

"Yep." Is all you said, not wanting to stop and talk.

"Didn't expect to see you here." He said, completely ignoring the brunette beside him.

"Trust me Harrington, your house was the last place I wanted to be on my night off."

"Why'd you come then?" Steve challenged as you folded your arms.

"Cause she asked me to." You stated pointing at Robin who was still in the kitchen, blissfully unaware that you were gone. "She was nervous about seeing Vickie, said she needed some backup." You explained, as he nodded, understanding how anxious Robin got around her crush.

The girl standing beside him let out an aggravated sigh, finally gave up, realising she wasn't getting anywhere with Steve now that you had his full attention. Steve didn't even notice she had walked away, he was too fixated on you, scanning your body, taking note of how your outfit complimented your figure, curves being hugged in all the right places as you stood looking at him. You were so fucking pretty and you didn't even know it but Steve desperately wanted to show you.

"You really going?" He quizzed as you placed your hands on your hips, letting out a deep breath.

"As much fun as it would be to stay and watch you flirt with the entire female population of Hawkins High, I think I'm gonna pass and head home." You said turning on your heels to reach for the door knob.

"It really bothers you doesn't it?" Steve smirked as you turned your head to face him again.

"What?" You huffed in frustration.

"Me, flirting with other girls." He replied as you let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking your head. "You really are so fucking full of yourself, you know that?" You spat, hoping the heat rising to your cheeks wasn't overly visible with the make up you were wearing.

"Maybe I am but I think m’right, aren't I?" He questioned, walking closer towards you as you decided to hold your ground.

"Sure, yeah, it bothers me when you flirt with every chick that walks through the door in work instead of doing your actual job...you know, the one you get paid to do?" You teased as he grinned at you. “Is that the only reason?"

“Can’t think of another.” You shrugged.

"I can." He challenged. "Please, enlighten me..." You mutter in a sarcastic tone, rolling your eyes.

"Maybe you're jealous."

"Maybe you're fucking delusional." You fought back as he smiled at you.

"Just admit it princess, s'ok." He whispered, closing the space between you, waiting patiently for your response. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the way he was looking at you or the fact that you knew you looked good but you felt a growing confidence inside yourself, so you tugged at the hem of his shirt, licking your lips as he watched you with complete curiosity.

"Is that what you want me to say, that I'm jealous? Is that why you do it, to make me jealous?" You challenged as he remained silent, smirking at you. “You think I don’t see the way you look back at me for my reaction every single time, cause you aren't really interested in any of those other girls, are you Steve?" You flirt, still playing with his shirt as he looked down at you, completely turned on by the way you were teasing him.

"You gonna tell me it's one sided, sweetheart? This little game we play...I think you enjoy it just as much as I do." He purrs in your ear and your heart stops at his sudden confession because you weren't actually expecting him to admit it and now that he had, you were more intrigued than ever, feeling the sudden ache between your legs. Cause as much as you didn’t want to believe it, trying to push it to the back of your mind every time he looked at you, you knew you wanted Steve Harrington and you hated yourself a little bit for that.

"The fact that you aren't walking away here kind of tells me everything I need to know, princess." He smirked, locking eyes with you, moving even closer as you tried to regain your composure.

"Kind of hard to move with your dick pressing against my thigh, Harrington." You replied, pressing your tongue to your cheek as he pushed his body against yours, an arm wrapping around your waist making you gasp out loud, the sexual tension between you almost crippling at this point. “Want me to put it somewhere else instead?" He suggested as you looked up at him through your long lashes, nodding.

"Need you to use your words baby, m'not gonna do anything unless you tell me what you want." He said moving his thumb over your lips.

"You're really enjoying this aren't you?" You huffed as he let out a little laugh. "Just need to know if you really want this to happen?" He asked as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, removing them before he even had a chance to kiss you back.

"Steve, just fuck me already." You pleaded as his eyes filled with lust.

So, he took your hand, dragging you to the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he caught your lips in a passionate embrace, tongue dancing with your own as he pushed you back against the door while you began to unbutton his shirt. “This stays between us, got it?” You requested as he nodded his head, capturing your lips again. He tasted like beer and bubblegum and you couldn't get enough as you pulled him closer.

"So fuckin' beautiful." He murmured, lifting your top over your head, tossing it on to the floor to join his shirt. You watched as he got on his knees, unzipping your skirt, slowing pulling it down, leaving wet kisses on your inner thighs as your skirt finally hit the floor. You bit your lip with how close he was to your core, noting there was only a thin piece of fabric between his mouth and your cunt. "Can I taste you pretty girl?" He asked, looking up as you nodded again.

"Words baby, need your words." he purred moving a hand over your panties, tugging them down until they were around your ankles, lifting your heels off of the ground to fully dispose of them, stuffing them in to his pocket as your cheeks flushed realising he could probably tell how wet you were now.

"Do it....please." You whimpered, feeling his tongue immediately swipe through your folds, lapping up your juices before he started to swirl circles around your clit. "Fuck, Steve...that feels so fucking good, oh my god." You gasped, gripping at his hair as he buried his head deeper between your legs.

"So wet for me baby, you taste fucking amazing, knew you would." He moaned, palming his hand over his tight Levi jeans.

"Steve..." You hissed as he gently slid his index and middle finger in and out of you. "Not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that.”

"Gotta stretch you out baby, you're so tight and I'm pretty big, don't wanna hurt you." He hummed, sucking on your clit. You knew he was big, you'd seen the outline of his dick when you went to Eddie's to watch a horror movie and Steve got hard during a sex scene sitting next to you. Plus you heard all of the rumours in school too, you just didn't know whether Steve had started those rumours himself before that night in the tailer.

"St...oh shit, stop, I'm gonna come." You cried as you felt his lips curl in to a smile. "Go on baby, come f'me, come on my tongue." He demanded, flicking his muscle against you faster and faster as you bucked your hips, the coil in your stomach finally snapping as you reached your climax, biting your lip to stop everyone outside the bathroom door from hearing you.

Steve didn't give you much time to recover from your orgasm as he pulled you over to the marble sink, kissing you again as your hands moved to his jeans, unbuckling his belt and unzipping them as his dick sprung free. Jaw dropping at the sight of it, pre cum already leaking from the tip but Steve stopped you just as you tried to wrap your swollen lips around it.

"As much as I would love for you to suck on my dick right now, I need to fuck you before someone rudely interrupts us." He growled, as you voluntarily bent over the sink while he lined his cock up to your entrance before pushing in to you, letting out a loud moan at the feeling of being inside of you— as if he’d waited forever for this moment.

So, thats how you wound up getting fucked by Steve Harrington in his bathroom. His dick making you feel fuller than you ever had before and your tight cunt making it impossible for him to last much longer.

"Shit, Steve...I can’t, s'too much." You whimpered, gripping the countertop with one hand while the other grasped the back of his neck as your stomach tightened with a familiar feeling building once more.

“Can’t take anymore baby, huh? I know you’re close, can feel your pussy clenching around me, m'close too, you feel too good on my dick." He whispered as he continued to pound in to you while you rolled your hips on to him. "Where can I..."

"Inside me, please. m'on the pill, s'ok." You nodded as he pulled out of you. Your eyes widened feeling the sudden emptiness without him inside you.

"Steve why did you-" You asked as he turned you around, lifting you on to the countertop before sliding his cock back in to you again, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist with the feeling of him filling you again.

"Want to look at you when you come." Steve said as you bit your lip in sheer pleasure while he bucked his hips in to you. "You're so beautiful." He whispered nestling in to your neck.

That was it.

"Steve, I'm gonna..." You cried, closing your eyes, digging in to his shoulders as you winced in pleasure.

"Me too baby." He moaned, fighting back his own orgasm until he felt your body tighten and shudder around him, finally releasing the hot white ropes of cum in to you, his forehead leaning on your shoulder for support as you both tried desperately to catch your breath. It was only after a few seconds that Steve realised he was still inside you, eventually sliding out, helping you down from the counter. You avoided eye contact with the boy, not quite believing what had just happened between you. It was the last thing you ever expected to happen.

Once you both had come down from your high, you began to find pieces of your clothing that were scattered around the room, getting dressed just as quick as you had undressed each other previously.

“You ok?” You heard Steve mutter as you bent down to retrieve your skirt from the cold floor as he buttoned his shirt back up.

“Yeah, m’fine.” You replied, jumping in to your skirt, zipping it up as he kept his eyes focused on you. You weren’t expecting Steve to stay around while you dressed yourself, figuring he’d just walk out like he hadn’t just fucked you but he didn’t seem like he was in any rush to go back to his party.

"So what now?" He quizzed, buckling his belt, leaning against the countertop as you threw your top back over your head.

"What do you mean?" You asked, trying your best to fix your hair so it didn't look like you just had the hottest sex of your life with Steve Harrington.

"Are we just gonna go back to pretending we hate each other or?"

"Pretending?" You questioned, raising a brow at him as he let out a small laugh.

"Sweetheart, I just came inside of you, harder than I ever have actually. I don't really do that with people I hate." He revealed as you blushed.

"Me either...but that doesn't mean this is going to happen again." You warned as he rolled his eyes. "You know it's gonna happen again.”

"Steve!"

"What? One of us has to be honest here." He smirked as you shook your head, readying yourself to exit the bathroom.

"You forgetting something?" He coughed, swinging your panties on his index finger as you felt your cheeks go bright red again.

"Oh my god, Harrington, give them to me!" You giggled as he cupped your face, lightly kissing your lips unexpectedly as you kissed back, cursing yourself for the way you melted in to him again. You tried to grab your underwear but he scoffed shoving them back in to his pocket. "I just meant you forgot to kiss me goodbye, I'm keepin' these." He teased as you huffed, admitting defeat.

“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington.”

“Yeah, but it turns you on.” He grinned as you took one last look at him before exiting the bathroom, trying your best to hide the smile that was quickly spreading across your face.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve stranger things #stranger things smut #steve harrington stranger things #king steve #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington fanfic

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dope-trope-105 · 1 year

Note

cregan stark x rhaenyra’s daughter. she flies to winterfell to gather support for rhaneyra but she falls head over heels for cregan as well. could you add that she had a past relationship with aemond ( you don’t have to though)

Like Stormy Seas, Like Rough Clouds

Cregan Stark x Velaryon! (Strong) reader

A/N: The reader is still not completely over Aemond, but she realises he was not what she wanted, or she was not what he wanted. She has the typical Strong brown hair-brown eyes appearance.

Warnings: Strong language, abusive relationship, mentions of death, some angst.

Word count: 2.7k

The cold wind felt like daggers of dragonglass on your face as you gazed at the rough seas that surrounded your home. Dragonstone was not a cheerful place, the war had made it more glum. Your mother had locked herself up in her chambers the day Daemon came with the news of Lucerys’ death. You didn’t understand her pain, but your own crushed you inside. It broke your soul, took your joy, and rendered you unstable. The pain of losing a brother was great, but the pain of losing him to someone you once loved more than life itself tore at your entire being. You felt like a shell, your memories with him ran through your mind like a play.

You had your eyes closed as you breathed in the scent of a flower you hadn’t seen in the gardens before, it smelled sweet, but different from the others. “My lady seems to be enjoying herself,” came the smooth voice of your uncle. “Tis’ not every day mother nature visits one with a new treat, uncle,” you said, holding the flower up to his slender face. “Letting your guard down like this for all to see? The stranger may send you one as well,” he said, mocking you but taking the flower from your hands nonetheless. “It’s sweet, isn’t it?” you asked. “I’ve known sweeter things,” he said, his eyes looking down upon you as he relished in the fact you knew what, or rather, who, he meant.

You remembered how you had craved his attention at the keep. You had been friends with Aemond when you were children, and you had felt yourself dangled in a noose between your love for him and your love for your family the day Lucerys butchered him. Aemond refused contact with you after that. You found yourself at the keep again as you turned ten and seven, your mother had wished for you to celebrate you becoming a mature woman with your grandsire. You chased Aemond like a lost pup for your entire month-long stay in the castle. Aemond played along. And his play became a reality as he found himself taking your maidenhead in his chambers one night. He had begun to love you. As much as a damaged man could.

“We cannot do this any longer,” you cried. “Do you not love me?” asked Aemond, his voice cold as his back was turned to you. The whole family had supper that day together. You sat beside Helaena next to the head of the table where Aemond sat. Jace had set his eyes upon you the entire time, sneaking you off to the side to ask you if something had occurred between you and your uncle. It had scared the soul out of you, and you had gone to the one person you admired so much you hoped he'd show you the way. Unfortunately for you, Aemond was set on doing anything but. “If my mother finds out-” “What of it?” he spoke over you. “I have claimed you,” he said. “No Lord would want a whore who’s been bedded by her uncle, no one will love you as I,” he said. Tears streamed down your face as each word he said came as a jab to your heart. “You do not mean that,” you said, wiping your tears as he turned. He opened his arms to you as you reluctantly found yourself in his embrace. “I mean every word I say, you are mine,” he whispered to you. “No one but I will love you,” he held you tight.

A heated discussion had been tearing the rocks of Dragonstone as Daemon wished for nothing but revenge. Who stood for the Queen, and who against? It was not clear. You had begged and begged to have your mother let you fight for her. She had ushered you to your chambers, you speaking for your rights as she refused over and over again. You only stopped asking at the shock of her harsh palm on your cheek. You held your face, looking at her with great confusion. “I will not lose another child, my only daughter to this war,” she had said, leaving you with a burning reminder on your face that you would never be allowed to fight for her. Your stomach churned at being called her only daughter, your mind reminding you of the little Visenya you would have loved, a little girl you would teach womanly things to, braid her hair, tell her she is no less than a man, teach her the histories and philosophies that made your world. Memories of all sorts ran haphazardly through your head, your sweet moments with Aemond, your tears for Lucerys, your step-father's anger towards your mother, and nothing seemed to calm your racing mind. The rough waves flowed on par with your thoughts. The ground rumbled beneath you as you turned around. “Sagon gīda, gēlenka,” be calm, silver. You had claimed the magnificent Silverwing when you were only ten and three. She had been your everything since then. She was your anger, your wrath, your joy, and your fire. She was your dragon. And you mounted her in the dying light of the Sun taking off for the North. Your mother had said no, but after incessant begging from both you and Daemon, she had reluctantly agreed.

You felt your fingers numb despite the layers of clothing you wore as you flew higher up North. You were a dragon, you were fire, and you weren’t made for the cold. Silverwing made her landing near the castle of Winterfell, the Northmen gazing at your dragon in awe as all men did. You wore a black dress, its sleeves up to your wrists and its neckline up to your jaw. Golden embroidery spread across the expanse of your chest. You wore a few layers under it, but it seemed to not save you from the biting winter one bit. Your dark hair was tied halfway up behind you, wild from your flight, gold resting amongst the dark strands. Your palms and fingers were raw and bleeding. You never wore riding gloves, and you suffered the consequences. You’d rather have raw palms than lose the sensorial bond between your dragon and yourself.

SIlverwing had given your identity away as the guards opened the gates for you, offering you a slight bow. You nodded at them. You were escorted to where the Lord of the North sat. Your presence was announced as you entered the darkly lit hall. Cregan Stark was sitting on a high chair as he watched you walk to the centre of the room.

“Good morrow, Princess, we are delighted to have you at Winterfell,” he said to you. “Good morrow to you as well, Lord Stark, I thank you for your graciousness,” you said. You knew power when you saw it. You saw it in your mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. You saw it in your stepfather Daemon, the Rogue Prince, and a sliver of it in your past lover, Aemond. And now, you saw it in the wolfish man that sat in front of you. He was a large man, with skin like the snow and hair like onyx, matching stubble on his face. His eyes were grey like the storms you often saw at Dragonstone.

“What brings you to the North, princess?” he asked. His voice was deep, holding the air of authority that made the young girl hidden under your burdened heart giddy. You cleared your throat, quieting your own thoughts, lifting a scroll in your hand as one of the guards came to collect it from you.

“Lord Stark, as you are aware, your father, the late Lord Rickon Stark, had pledged fealty to my mother, the Queen. With the unfortunate passing of my Grandsire, my half-uncle has usurped the throne from my mother and claims to be King of the seven kingdoms. I’ve only come here to assure you remember your father’s oath,” you said. Your voice held confidence. Cregan had been watching you intently as you spoke, his eyes flicking to the scroll in his hands only once as he quickly scanned over the words.

“Of course Princess, I will honour the oath my father pledged to your mother, House Stark is loyal to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. We will provide you with what you need at Raven’s ask, be it men or refuge, or be it our undying loyalty,” he said to you, with clarity in his voice like he didn’t need to go over this in his head for even a moment.

“Thank you, for your support my Lord. I shall report this to my mother immediately,” you said, making a turn, readying yourself mentally for another long flight. “If you do not mind Princess, it is a harsh Night, why don’t you stay here at the Castle, you may fly on the morrow,” said the Lord. You thought it over. He was not wrong, the temperature would only get colder with the night. You did not wish to die from the cold before the war even concluded. “Then I will gladly make my stay here,” you said.

The guards had led you to a room for the night. You sat near the fire, so close to the flames you believed the hair on your head would be scorched, and you almost thought you saw your fingers darkening with ash. Your head whipped to the door at a harsh knock. “Princess? May I come in?” came a voice. You knew it was Lord Stark. “Yes of course,” you said, smiling sheepishly when the door cracked open and his eyes landed on your crouched figure near the fire.

He chuckled, nodding to a woman behind him. The maid approached you, a blanket of fur lay in her hands. “Tis’ a coat for you, I had assumed the cold must be too trying of you,” he said, entering the chamber. You smiled at the maid, who quickly put the coat around you. “Not that I wish to seem meek, my Lord, you had assumed right. I fear I would’ve ended up falling into the hearth had you not brought me this surprisingly soft coat,” you said, eyes widening at the sheer delicate touch of the blanket of warmth on you. You took your place on a chair in front of him, though still remaining close to the fire.

“I understand, cold like this does not suit all, especially those who are used to being around fire,” he said, a glint in his eye as he said it. You smiled at him. “I assume you’ve met Silverwing from afar,” you said. “She is a beautiful creature, although I fear I’m not one to see her for much beyond her ability to leave me nothing but a scorched corpse,” he said. “She will not hurt you, my lord, at least not in my presence,” you laughed, taking the glass of wine he poured you. “If you wish, I can arrange for supper here, it is only I in the castle,” he said. “If it isn’t too much trouble,” you requested. “Of course,” he said, calling out to one of the guards.

Moments later, some maids brought trays full of delicious bread and different meats and vegetables. The both of you ate in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging words. There was something so simple in this moment, a comfort between the both of you that you hadn’t experienced in a while. “If you do not mind, may I ask you something?” he said. “Of course,” you replied, intrigued eyes looking up at him. “I’ve heard dragons have a close bond with their riders, it is said they can feel what their riders do, has anything as such been indicated to you by your own?” he asked. You thought it over for a moment.

Silverwing was very protective of you, but she would get more protective if you were on your bleed, she would get more aggressive when you were agitated, and she would make those purring sounds when you felt comfortable. And she despised Aemond. She hated him near herself, and near you. She never attempted to harm him, but she made her distaste of him quite obvious, same for most of your enemies. “In some ways, I believe it is true, her protectiveness and agitation in some situations do indicate what you say, but I do not believe this holds true for all dragons, only for some,” you said, and he nodded thoughtfully.

You gazed into his grey eyes, they were beautiful, not beautiful like the violet in your silver-haired family members, not prideful like Aemond’s, his eyes told stories of ships lost at stormy seas, of the rough clouds you flew through. His eyes showed curiosity and warmth, you felt like if you were to crawl into his arms, all would be well. You did not wish to sound like a silly girl one would view as nothing but a brood-mare of high status, but you wanted him to hold you and make you feel safe. You wanted him to tell you all would be right in the world, he would make it so. You wished to touch the soft hair on his face, to rest your head on his strong chest, to have him wrap his arms around you, to have him take your hands in his own. You felt so juvenile.

“What does flying feel like, princess?” he asked. “I could not say. It is the sheer terror of falling to death, freedom, and pleasure in solidarity, it makes me feel like a god, watching everything rendered so little from atop the sky. The sky looks so distinct above the clouds. It gets colder, the air lighter, breathing becomes more challenging, but the sky is so captivating, it is unlike anything you’ve seen,” you said. Lord Stark did not reply. He seemed to enjoy questioning you and thinking your answers over. All simple questions, but truly innocent. He did not have an evil sense behind his words. It was simple, like a warm fire licking at your skin in the snow-struck lands. There was no snark to decipher like the words of your stepfather, no mocking like your siblings, and no cunning like the words of the greens, no cunning like the words of Aemond. It was just curiosity, simple as that.

As he stood up to make his exit, you stood up as well. You looked up at him when he said, “You know princess, I would love to show the North to you, it is quite exquisite, though nothing compared to the sky above the clouds as you describe if you are willing to make your stay here longer,” he said. You smiled at him shyly. “I will think it over my lord,” you said.

You watched him leave, realising that since the moment you’d been in his presence, there was a calmness in your head. You did not feel the impending doom of war on you when you were busy staring into his eyes. A few maids came to remove the multiple layers of clothing from you, but you put on the coat again, curling yourself up in the blanket as well before you let sleep take you, and for once in a long time, you found yourself easily drifting to sleep in the comfort of the furs and your empty head. There was a warmth in your heart, and it almost made you want to stay in the North forever and forget about your duties, and your family. Maybe one day, when all of that was over, you could return to the North, to Lord Stark and ask for his hand in marriage. You would love to stay in the North, in a land white as clouds, in the warm arms of the warden of the North as you’d gaze upon his kingdom.

One day, you could learn what love truly meant, not obsession, not sly need, not a cunning need for control, love.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

Hey guys, I've just started writing for some of these, I hope you like this one. I'd really appreciate it if you could comment on what I could do to make my writing better, but as of now, I hope you enjoy this, I'll try to post as soon as I can.

#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon #dark aemond x reader

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bettyfrommars · 10 months

Text

I'm on Fire

Part 14: The Drama You've Been Craving

summary: this chapter is sexy and intense! You and Eddie both have obsessive exes on your heels just as the entire Coffin Kings MC is given a reason to take down Craig. You and Eddie are glued at the hip until work and life split you apart and you realize you aren't as safe as you thought. Steve takes his new benefactress to a wedding, but you and Robin show up to warn him--even though it might be too late. wc: 10.3K

Series Masterlist

18+ONLY, mature themes, smut, angst, mention of a consensual bdsm relationship, typical series violence, a stalker, high speed chase, a death, mention of sex with someone other than reader, reader is threatened, everyone is a possible target.

authors note: I want some things to be a surprise, but if you've been following this story---you know the vibe to expect. That being said, this chapter and the next are VERY fast paced, full of angst, tension, and a sense of everyone on edge. If this is not your thing, I totally understand. This story started out as a tow truck driver who just happened to be in a Motorcycle Club, but it has morphed into a full-blown biker drama. A new character is introduced at The Velvet Hammer who will be Steve's love interest in a side fic I'm working on! I love you, enjoy the ride ❤️

"You feed it once, and now it stays

Now, it stays

You tear me open but beware

There's things inside without a care

And the dirt still stains me."

-- Until it Sleeps, Metallica

---------

Eddie stayed with you that night, knowing that Craig had broken into your place, and Katie went to be with Robin, so the two of you had the duplex to yourselves. Eddie put the deadbolt on both of the doors and blocked under the doorknob with kitchen chairs, and then the two of you took a shower together. He soaped your back with care, and it wasn’t long before you felt both of his hands at your hips as his hard length rocked back and forth along your slit from behind.

“Again?” You gave him a glance over your shoulder, a bit in disbelief. This would be the fourth time in less than two hours.

“You’re right,” he mumbled, continuing to saw his hips slowly while the water sprayed and the steam rose. “I should stop, huh?” He wrapped an arm around your throat and pulled you back to suck your earlobe into his mouth while his other hand found your clit.

“You’re a maniac,” the last word was a gasp as his tongue twirled in your ear and your hand skidded down the wet tile wall.

You were so stressed about Craig, and letting Eddie fuck you senseless was the only thing that gave you a bit of relief. The orgasms wiped your mind clean, if only for a few moments, and you wondered how many he could give you before the night was over and you could succumb to sleep. Craig was always there, in the back of your mind now, creeping around your place, stalking your house from across the street---god forbid he was stalking your friends.

Just as Eddie had you bent forward to slide his tip in, and you begged for him to go deeper, the phone rang.

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. The shower stream blasted against his neck, dripping down his nose and hair as he watched his cock stretch you out.

Your eyes shot open and you stiffened. “Wait, I need to get that,” you straightened, reluctantly forcing his cock to pop out.

On any other day, under any other circumstances, Eddie would have coaxed you to ignore it, but the current Craig situation had everyone on edge. His nerves were fried with how bad he wanted to hammer the nails into your stalker’s coffin, but he was doing all he could to remain calm for you. He didn’t want you to see him frazzled and amped up and storming through town kicking down doors like he wanted to.

Plus, he also didn’t want to let you out of his sight.

Eddie swatted your bare butt as you stepped out onto the mat and pulled a towel around you.

“Hey,” he yelled as he finished washing your conditioner out of his hair. “That ass is mine.”

“Sure, sure,” you mumbled, snorting at his constant eagerness. Your feet made wet imprints on the carpet as you crossed over to the phone on the nightstand by your bed.

Eddie was just about to ask if he should turn the water off or if you were getting back in when he heard your voice crack. “Baby? It’s for you.”

Eddie jerked the lavender curtain back and wiped his eyes. Your face was pinched with worry, your legs still dripping wet below the towel.

“Who is it? Steve?” But then his stomach dropped as he asked it, knowing it was something bad just by the look on your face.

You shook your head. “I didn’t catch her name, but she’s really upset,” you came in close to whisper to him as he turned the shower off, your eyes searching his.

“She said that someone named Jester was just murdered.”

------

Eddie sat down on the couch with a huff and bent over to tie his boots furiously, hair dripping wet, heart racing with adrenaline.

Goddamn it, Jester, Eddie murmured under his breath. He should’ve called Eddie, he should’ve waited, like Eddie fucking asked him to. Shari said the guy at her motel matched the description of Craig, and Jester went over there to check it out; two hours later, his Coffin King brother was found in the parking lot with a broken neck. Jester was just a kid, barely 23, and he’d just patched over from being a Prospect only a few months ago.

Fuck, Eddie was pissed. The anger pumped so hot in his veins that he had to shake his head a few times so that he could see straight.

You were dressed now, but haphazardly so; your tee shirt was on inside out and the first pair of sweats you pulled out of the drawer had a blue paint stain on the thigh. You were biting your pinky nail down to the quick as you stood back against the kitchen island watching Eddie. You knew Craig had something to do with this---you knew it in the depths of your soul---but Eddie wouldn’t tell you any of the details. He said he needed to go down and check it out for himself.

He said he’d be right back.

He told you to keep everything locked and lodge the chair under the door when he left.

But you didn’t want to let him out of your sight, not with your maniac ex on the loose. You weren’t even worried about yourself, you were more concerned with Eddie riding out there in the dark to the motel all alone.

You’d met Jester once; his real name was Aaron, and he was young but he was big and strong, and one of the guys who ran the fights said he had the skill to be the next War Machine.

“Should you call Hopper?” You watched him lace his other boot while you gnawed another nail off.

Eddie frowned. “What the hell is he going to do about it?” He spat. “Besides, he’s probably already down there, making shit harder for me.”

“You think it was Craig, don’t you? The one who murdered Jester?”

Eddie took a long breath and sat there bent over for a second, eyes on the carpet. “I don’t know anything right now baby, that’s why I need to---”

You bent down to put your shoes on.

“Hey, I told you to wait here, please,” Eddie stood up, adjusted his belt and wallet chain, and came over to take you by the shoulders. You tried to shrug away, but he found your eyes, grabbing you by the chin so you would look at him. Piece of hair were sticking to his cheeks, still wet from the shower.“I don’t know what I’ll be rolling up on down there. I can’t risk it being a situation where you might get hurt.”

Your eyes were hot with defiant tears. “Well, what if this was just a ploy so you would leave me here alone, did you ever think of that? Hmm? These chairs blocking the doors are cute, but they won’t stop him, I think you know that.”

Fuck, he hadn’t thought of that. Eddie’s blood rage was making him sloppy; he had to get his head on straight.

You could tell that your words had nudged him and the gears in his head were clicking in your favor.

You continued to pull the bill up on your converse to slide your foot in. “Like you said, the cops will be there, and probably a bunch of other people rubbernecking, and he’s not going to do anything out in the open, even if he does see me.” You squatted down to tie them as quickly as you could.

You stood up, breathless, and swallowed hard. “I’m not staying here like live bait. If you leave without me, I’ll get in my car and follow.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared, assessing you from under hooded eyes, but in the end—-he knew you were right. You snatched your helmet from the dresser in your bedroom and went out to straddle your man on the bike like a pro as it yielded to your weight. Eddie smiled a little to himself as you adjusted yourself behind him, remembering how shy you’d been about riding in the beginning. With your arms secure around him and your chin pinned at his shoulder, the bike growled out onto the main road from the street. You glanced around in the bushes on the sidewalk, expecting to see Craig’s face looming in the shadows.

—---------

The police had the area between the motel and the gas station taped off, protecting the crime scene, and Jester’s body was gone, but his bike was still there by the gas station, tipped over onto his side, his helmet was a few feet away. There were 3 patrol cars, the Sheriff’s bronco, and an ambulance, plus a crowd of people from the motel, and one woman was crying while the other one held her. A few of the Coffin Kings including the patch President Bones, and Thumper were already there, hanging back, arms crossed, wondering who would do this, and how they could find him before the police did.

You checked around, squinting into the crowd as you dismounted the bike. Eddie opened his hand for you to pass him your helmet once you took it off.

Hopper waved off one of the other officers and approached Eddie right away, removing his hat to slick back his hair as he strolled over.

“Eddie,” he nodded.

“Hop,” Eddie returned. He called you his “old lady” when he introduced you, which made your smile twitch up in a weird way, having never been referred to as that before. It sounded like an insult, but apparently it meant that you were his pride and joy.

Hopper got Eddie up to speed on what they knew, which was almost nothing. Jester was found face down on the pavement with a broken neck, legs trapped under his bike. His girlfriend Shari who worked at the motel is the one who found him, and she didn’t see or hear anything unusual during the time when it happened. Of course they’d questioned her as if she had something to do with it, which was ridiculous since Shari was maybe 90 pounds soaking wet.

You were doing a spin around in a circle to take everything in when your eyes landed with a screeching halt on the hunter green SUV parked in front of room 11 on the far side of the lot. A squeak escaped your throat and you stumbled back against Eddie. Was he inside the room watching you right now?

Hopper raised his eyebrow at Eddie. “Any issues with retaliation that I should know about? Has Jester had beef with anyone lately?”

Eddie lifted his chin, bracing his hands at his hips. Hopper knew damn well that, even if this had to do with a rival gang, Eddie sure as hell wouldn’t talk about it to the cops. He’d take care of it in his own way, which was exactly what needed to happen in this case.

There was usually some polite banter between the two of them, but the mood that evening was much too somber.

“What about people staying at the motel?” You blurted. “Have they been questioned yet?”

Eddie curled his arm around you and pulled you closer, almost as if to shut you up, but Hopper paused to meet your gaze. The only people staying at the motel that night were a husband and wife with their newborn, an elderly couple on their way to visit grandkids, a business woman representing Mary Kay cosmetics, and a highly decorated war veteran who had been injured in the line of duty. The vet was on his way home from a conference in Pennsylvania—Hopper had yet to confirm this, but nothing about the guy felt concerning.

“You think someone staying at the motel wanted to kill Jester?” His tone had an edge of mocking, but he was also genuinely curious why you would ask that.

Eddie squeezed you tighter, silently reminding you not to share too much with the police.

“Well I—” you stammered, checking over your shoulder at the SUV, and then back up to Eddie. “I was wondering if there were any witnesses, that’s all.”

Hopper nodded. “We’ll be checking with all of them early in the morning, but my guess is they were asleep. Whoever did this was quick and sneaky.”

That description made a shiver run down your spine. Even as you stood there in a crowd, you could feel an imaginary blade slice across your throat.

Hopper was good at his job, but he was letting himself be blinded by the people Jester chose to associate himself with. You run with a ruthless MC, you get hurt, that’s a given.

Hopper questioned Shari, but she also knew not to talk to the police, and kept quiet about the way Jester came there to keep an eye on the creepy guy in room 11. She told Bones, though, and the second Hopper strolled off, you pulled Eddie aside.

“Look,” you motioned with your head to the SUV across the parking lot.

Eddie rolled his bottom lip through his teeth, checking to make sure Hopper was far enough away. “I saw it, baby,” he grabbed the back of your neck and massaged it. He worked his jaw as he stared at the motel room in question, hoping that fucker was peeking through the curtains and could see him holding onto you. If the place wasn’t crawling with pigs, he’d kick the door down right then and there.

Steve rolled into the lot on his chopper and gave a two-finger wave to Bones and the rest before making his way to a halt near you and Eddie. He had clear, utility glasses on to keep the bugs out of his eyes when he rode at night, and he pushed them up into his messy hair as he dismounted. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, which was an illegal and risky thing to do right in front of law enforcement—but Steve was notorious for making up his own rules.

There were also two mean looking hickeys on his neck. Even mixed in with his tattoos, they were hard to miss.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Eddie raised an eyebrow at the aggressively bruised mouth bites. One was positioned dead-center on his adam’s apple. Something about them felt familiar to Eddie, but he shrugged it off.

Steve reached into the front pocket of his cut for his lighter and smokes, popping one in his mouth. “What did I miss?”

Eddie filled him in on Jester getting whacked, and Steve blew smoke out of his nose, thoughtfully, his brows knitting together.

“Bones wants to take it to the table,” Eddie told him, meaning their MC would get together at the clubhouse at Munson’s Garage and discuss what they wanted to do. His eyes lingered on room 11 again. “But I want to take care of this guy myself. It’s personal.”

“If it’s personal for you, it’s personal for me,” Steve told him, letting Eddie know he had his back, even though he had no idea about the gravity of the situation and who Craig actually was.

You sniffed the air. “Hold on,” you stepped closer to Steve, taking another long whiff. He exchanged a curious look with Eddie over your shoulder. “Is that Chanel number 5 I smell?”

Steve lifted the collar of his white tee to his nose. “Um, I dunno. Maybe. I guess?”

“Expensive taste,” Eddie mumbled, and another cog clicked in his brain, another piece falling into a puzzle that he didn’t know he needed to solve. He was about to open his mouth, to ask Steve where he had been—but then he remembered that who his friend was fucking was none of his business. There were plenty of wealthy, horny women in the area who wore Chanel number 5 and gave aggressive hickeys. He was sure of it.

You stayed very close to Eddie and Steve as they walked over to get as close as they could to where the body had been, so much so that you tripped over the back of Steve’s heels twice, and he teasingly asked if you were drunk. “No, but I wish,” you admitted, constantly looking over your shoulder at the motel. You kept expecting Craig to appear, to step out of his room with his hands in his pockets and a smug look on his face, enjoying the chaos he caused.

Eddie made a point to ask for Jester’s cut-off leather vest, with the Coffin Kings insignia on the back and his nickname patched on the front. Eddie folded it with great reverence, knowing they would give it to his mother at the funeral. Eddie also wanted to talk with Shari, but now was not the time to interrogate her.

Hopper told everyone to disperse, including the group of Coffin Kings that were lingering, but none of them were going far. As much as they weren’t afraid of the law, they also had to pretend to abide by it from time to time so that they weren’t getting their feathers ruffled constantly and thrown in jail over stupid shit.

They positioned two of the Prospects across the street in the park with a clear view of the motel. After what happened to Jester, they weren’t taking any chances with snoozing on the job, and both were packing serious, illegal heat.

You asked Steve how Oliver was while Bones clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. The man was average height, but all gray, with a bandana on his head, and a thick mustache; he reminded you of Sam Elliott.

“You think this is the guy? The one stalking your old lady?” Bones’ already gruff voice was accentuated by years of smoking.

Eddie’s gaze flicked to one of the patrol cruisers that was leaving the scene, and he nodded. “This one is mine, brother. I need this.”

“We all need it,” Bones agreed, gripping Eddie’s shoulder. He leaned in, “If you want to drag that guy out of there right now, we’re with you.”

“No,” Eddie appreciated the offer but, “I want to catch him on the move, away from all of this protection,” he added, hitching his chin in the direction of the police. “I can’t risk us getting locked up while he roams free.”

Eddie also didn’t trust the Prospects to keep a close enough eye on him, so he planned to take you to Steve’s and come back; there was no way he’d be able to sleep knowing Craig would be up and about in a few hours.

But you weren’t so crazy about that idea. Sure, you’d stay the night at Steve and Robin’s if that made him feel better to know you were all in one place, but Eddie needed to stay with you.

Robin and Oliver were asleep, and Steve was in the shower washing off his Chanel number 5 when Eddie shut the door to Steve’s bedroom so you could talk. Steve’s room was little else than a tv, a dresser, and a futon sofa that folded out into a bed. There was a chair next to the window and an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the sill. He usually slept in the extra twin bed in Oliver’s room down the hall, though, and that is where he would be that night so that you and Eddie could have the futon. You knew that not much talking needed to be involved to get him to stay and you quickly dropped to your knees, working his belt off and unzipping his jeans.

“Wait, baby, I—” Eddie began to protest but by then you’d already pulled the top of his boxers down and were wrapping your soft lips around the head of his cock. “---oh fuck that feels good,” he whispered, dropping the back of his head to the wall.

You kissed down the smooth shaft and felt it grow against your lips, and then swirled your tongue around the head again, knowing by the sounds he was making that you had him right where you wanted him.

“Stay here with me baby,” you coaxed, gripping his cock in your fist, lapping at it with your tongue a few times like it was an ice cream cone, looking up at him. “I need you.”

He put a hand on the back of your head and pushed his hips forward ever so slightly, so the tip made its way to the back of your throat. It was growing to full-size fast, and you made a humming noise, vibrating on it while you caressed his balls through his boxers.

“Shit, oh fuck, I love it when you do that,” he breathed. God, he loved watching how well you took care of him, especially the way a string of saliva would stretch out between your mouth and his tip when you pulled back; your mouth was so wet for him.

“Mhmmm,” you nodded. His tip was already leaking, and you pulled his boxers down further to take one of his balls into your mouth before coming back up to lick the drops clean.

There were a handful of times when Eddie let you give him head from start to finish, but more often than not—he always wanted to finish inside of you. It wasn’t a breeding thing, it was more of a “I need to be as close to you as I possibly can” kind of thing, and his balls ached for it.

After making sure the door was locked, speaking exclusively in hushed whispers, it wasn’t long before you were both naked and Eddie had you on the bed with your legs straight up over his shoulders. He ran his cock along your slippery slit, and then he tapped your hole with the head a few times, like a vow. He braced his hands at your hips and sank in, making you both bite back a cry of pleasure. He pounded you with fierce urgency before slowing it down to long strokes, turning his face to kiss your leg. The open futon had the cushion of a cement block, and so there were no pesky springs or hinges to make curious noises.

“I’m so full baby,” you whined. “You’re so deep.”

“Fuck,” he bottomed out a few more times, clapping his hips against you. You heard the shower across the hall turn off and worried that Steve might catch the wet smacking noises.

There were no lights on in the room, but enough illumination from outside for Eddie to be able to watch himself slide in and out of you, growling low as he did so, loving how the skin of his cock glistened with your arousal.

You were swiping at your clit with the pads of your fingers, and your hand sped up when he started fucking you hard again. You met his eyes, your brows knitting together. “Oh fuck Eddie…just like that.”

Eddie knew that, if you said you liked something, that was not time to switch things up, and he ached to hear you get loud.

“That’s my girl,” he hissed. “Cum on my cock baby, I want you to cum so fucking hard, oh shit—” he could feel his own release mounting as your walls rippled around him. His strong fingers dug into your thigh as his thrusts became erratic, long hair hanging down his strong, tattooed shoulders and chest.

You arched up, mouth opening only to mouth a curse word as you felt Eddie buck and release inside of you, biting his lip so hard it almost bled as he moaned deep in his throat. Your cunt milked his dick as you came, twitching, breathing hard from the adrenaline rush of trying to keep quiet.

The bathroom door opened, there was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and then a knock at your door. You mirrored Eddie’s wide eyes, and then he pulled out of you, reluctantly, semi-hard cock bobbing in the air, and stepped into his jeans while you covered yourself with the Harley Davidson blanket.

Before Eddie could get his jeans zipped, Steve tried the doorknob. “Yo, the bathroom is free,” he let you both know, as any roommate would if there were only one shower and toilet in the house.

“Thanks man,” Eddie paused, waiting, wondering if that was it.

But Steve rapped his knuckles softly on the wood again. “Let me in for a second, dude, I gotta get something out of my closet.”

Eddie shot a look back at you, as if to make sure you were covered up, while simultaneously wondering if he wanted Steve to see that you were obviously naked under his blanket. He adjusted his cock in his denim and reached out to pluck the lock open on the knob.

“Took you long enough,” Steve blew in with a Snoopy towel around his waist, exposing the wash of colorful tattoos covering his torso that you’d never seen before. He had “FTW” inked in big letters in an arc over his stomach, and after consulting with Eddie later, you learned it stood for “fuck the world”. Your eyes also landed on Oliver’s name tattooed over his heart. He usually slicked his hair back, so this was the first time you ever saw it so messy and wild.

Steve slid the closet door open, yanked something off a wire hanger, and was about to walk back out the door when he stopped and turned on his heel to give you both a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Hold up—did I interrupt something?”

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just blinked a few times, and you plastered a tight smile across your face that made your cheeks squeak.

“If you need me to stay, I could—” Steve teased, offering a few exaggerated winks.

“Get the fuck out,” Eddie pushed his shoulder, snorting a muffled laugh as he did so.

—-----------

Earlier that evening, when you and Eddie showed up at the crime scene near the motel—-Craig was not in his room. He hadn’t been there for almost two hours, since he killed Jester. He got out through the window in the bathroom, and that poor kid never saw it coming. After that, he hotwired a car from the grocery store parking lot a few blocks away and waited across the street, in plain sight, watching the whole thing. He gritted his teeth and mumbled under his breath when Eddie put his arm around you, and when you left together—he followed.

He already knew where your friends Steve and Robin lived, and it was not a shocker that your biker boyfriend took you there. You didn’t need protection from Craig, though, you needed protection from the world, and metalhead scum like Eddie Musnon. He knew you would thank him one day, for finding you and bringing you back to your senses.

It took him a while to figure out the exact spot where you would be in the house, but once he did, he found that the window was cracked open, like a gift. He hadn’t expected the sounds of you getting fucked to turn him on, but the way you whimpered…oh god…those noises you made. He put his head against the side of the house, closed his eyes, and pretended it was his cock inside of you. He came into the bushes, mumbling your name with the additional, “you fucking bitch, you fucking whore” before adjusting himself and making his way back to the motel.

—-------

The next morning, Craig’s vehicle was still there, and it didn’t appear like the guy had even moved a muscle or pulled back a curtain.

At around 8:00, the two Prospects stationed on watch across the street got a phone call from the payphone on the corner. It was Bones, letting them know they were both needed down at the abandoned steel mill.

Both were tired of waiting, but Van, the one who’d answered the phone, couldn’t mount his bike fast enough, while Devlin worked through some internal struggle.

“Hold on,” Devlin said, taking a second to absorb what Van just told him. Both had long hair tied back in ponytails, each similarly tall with lanky muscles. Van was sleeved with tattoos, though, while Devlin only had a Celtic design on his bicep. “He needs both of us? What about this guy?” He tossed his chin in the direction of the motel. “Eddie said not to let him out of our sight.”

“Do you want me to call Bones back so you can give him all these questions?” Van offered snidely, knowing that the last thing a Prospect would ever do is question the President of the MC. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I gotta piss. If Eddie wants this guy so bad, he can come babysit him.”

Devlin pulled his leather gloves on, flexing his fingers as he stared across at Van. There’s no way in hell he’d talk that way to Eddie’s face—he’d get rocked into next week. Devlin noticed that Van was jittery, like an addict jonesing for a hit of something. “It’s your ass,” Devlin assured him as he strapped his helmet on under his chin.

—------

When the boys swung by to talk to the Prospects a bit later, the two were nowhere to be found, and Craig’s SUV was gone.

“Son of a bitch,” Eddie spat, motioning for Steve to follow him to circle around to the motel.

“What the fuck?” Steve barked, looking around as they each dismounted their bikes. He had on a red tee with the armholes cut open wide to expose his tan ribcage and scattered tattoos.“Where the hell are Van and Devlin?”

Eddie didn’t have time to solve that mystery, he was too focused on the way the door to room 11 was cracked ajar, suggesting that the occupant had left in a hurry.

Both boys stood back on either side of the door, each with one hand on the hilt of their holstered knives. Not only was Craig dangerous, but he was a sneaky coward who didn’t have the guts to face Eddie like a man.

Eddie pounded the door the rest of the way open with his boot.

The room appeared to have been vacated—the guy even took out his own trash, as if someone would want to sift through it. The bed had been made, with the sheets tucked so tight, you could bounce a dime on it, and on his way back from checking the bathroom, Eddie saw a matchbook from The Golden Lion Hotel and Resort sitting on the desk.

“Maybe the guy gave up,” Steve looked around the dresser under the tv, pulling the empty drawers open. “Tucked his tail and ran like the scared puppy he is.”

Eddie shook his head a few times before he said anything, turning the matchbook over in his fingers. “Oh,he’s still around,” Eddie concluded. “And I think he left us a breadcrumb.”

Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew the guy hadn’t left it there by accident. Craig seemed to get off on slipping through their fingers and mocking them around every turn, but he underestimated what Eddie would do when he actually got a hold of him.

—-----------

When Eddie called to tell you what had happened, a cold chill ran down your spine. It was late morning, and you were at your Saturday “bloody mary brunch” shift at the Velvet Hammer while The Drama You’ve Been Craving by Sleater-Kinney played from the jukebox. The b-movie on the tv mounted above the bar was The Killer Shrews. Your shift was 9 to 4, but you planned on asking if you could work a double and stay as late as possible, because it felt safe to be in a crowd; staying busy also kept your anxiety at bay. The only downside would be that Eddie was out of your sight, and you had a feeling that both the boys would be trying to track down Craig for most of the day. You weren’t doubting that Eddie could handle himself against Craig in a fist fight—but that wasn’t the type of combat Craig excelled at. There was always some element of manipulation and psychological fuckery.

And then Steve was off to be a bodyguard for some wealthy, country club wife later that night, leaving Eddie completely alone. You weren’t sure of the details, but you knew he was being forced to go to take whoever it was to some wedding. All you could do was serve alcoholic beverages and hope the world outside figured itself out without anyone you loved getting hurt.

You overheard the new server ask Shana if Steve was working the door that day.

“He’s only here after 6,” Shana replied, digging a metal scoop into the ice to make a mint mojito. There was about an inch of platinum stubble growing in on her shaved head. She wore a dark red choker with a cross dangling from it, and a low cut, velvet shirt to expose the roses and thorns tattoo that covered her chest. “But, he asked for the night off,” Shana wiggled her eyebrows at the girl. “I think he has a hot date.”

To your surprise, you watched the new girl’s face drop. She’d only been there for a week, and it seemed like she and Steve were always in the middle of a lover’s spat. Some of it was playful banter, but also, the more she pushed him away and teased him, the more he sought her out to tease her more, and she wasn’t afraid to give her rejection harsh and swift.

“It’s not a date,” you corrected, walking side by side, carrying drinks to your table. “Some lady is paying him to be her escort slash bodyguard for a wedding tonight.”

A smile twitched on her lips; she looked relieved as the two of you set the drinks down black cocktail napkins coasters. After you finished at that table, Lily tapped your elbow.

“Who would need a bodyguard at a wedding in this town?” She asked, frowning quizzically. “Is she famous or something?”

Her question brought a sudden avalanche of memories down on you. You remembered that day at the gallery when you first caught sight of Charlene, and the second time you ever met Eddie. He was there as her “bodyguard” that night, according to Jeff, and you recalled how ridiculous it sounded.

That night several months ago, you teased Eddie for being on your “turf” on the sidewalk outside of Moon River Gallery, and just the thought of those early days made your heart flutter.

It dawned on you then, like a smack to the forehead, who Steve was escorting to the wedding that night, and you leaned across the bar to ask Shanna to pass you the phone.

—--------

Robin answered as she spun cookie dough in a mixing bowl with a wooden spoon, her hair in a scrunchy on the top of her head. She’d offered to watch one of her friend's kids for a bit, and both the boys were giggling at cartoons in the living room. The smoke alarm just went off because she burned the first batch and was determined to try again.

You asked if Steve had checked in recently, or if she expected him home any time soon.

Pinning the phone between her shoulder and her ear, Robin opened the window above the sink to try and wave some of the burnt cookie smoke out with her hand. “He was just here to grab something, but then he took off again,” she kicked the oven closed with her foot. “Why, what’s up?”

You figured there was always a chance he’d stop by The Hammer even though he wasn’t working—you hoped so anyway. “You know if he’s still doing that escort thing tonight?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty excited about it,” there was a tiny voice in the background and Robin held her hand over the receiver to tell Ollie she’d be there in a second. “Well, he’s excited about the money. I got invited to the same wedding, but Katie’s visiting her mom and I don’t want to be lame and go by myself, even though Paul’s mom did offer to babysit.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you considered the implication of what she was saying. If you could duck into the wedding long enough to warn Steve and let him know his “date” is the reason Eddie got stabbed, then at least Steve would have fair warning for what he was getting himself into.

Robin stopped stirring and held the phone with her flour covered hand. “Hey, do you want to be my date? I know you’ve got this creepy ex breathing down your throat, but until the Kings grab him, I think it would be fun to take your mind off of it. There’s an open bar at the reception and I’m always a fan of free food.”

You were nodding, but realized there were no words coming out. “I think that might be a really good idea,” you sucked in your top lip, almost wishing Eddie hadn’t ripped the dress John bought you. “I was going to try and pick up another shift, but yeah, I could be your date.”

You already told Eddie you’d be working, so you’d let the new bouncer at the Hammer know where you were in case he came by. Since Eddie was usually impossible to get a hold of during the day, you’d leave a message on his machine, too, just in case.

Meanwhile, as Robin spooned dough onto an aluminum sheet, she remembered the gun that was locked back in the safe. For some strange reason, the hair stood up on the back of her neck and she wondered if she would need it.

—-------

Right before you left your message on Eddie’s machine letting him know where you would be, there was another message that came through:

(machine clicks) “It’s me, Melanie. Wow, I guess you really don’t want to talk to me. (long pause) It’s been five years, I figured we could at least try to be friends or something, but I am reading your silence loud and clear. (heavy sigh) I went over to visit Wayne and he said you have a new girlfriend now, and that you’re happy, so, congratulations, I guess. You deserve all the good things. This is the last time I will try to contact you. Have a nice life, Eddie.”

Later that day, just as the sun was setting, the phone rang again.

(machine clicks) (shuffling, muffled cursing) “You know what? Fuck you, Eddie Mussin.” Melanie slurs. “Fuck you for making me fill like a peas of schit for even trying to be a part of your life. (hiccup) Your new whore is here at this wedding, where are you? I don’t fuckin deserve this. I need you to come down here right now and tell me to my face that you don’t love me anymore before I come to you–” (loud click)

—------

Back at the Munson’s Garage, Eddie did not go up to his apartment, but he did meet with Bones and a few of the other members inside the clubhouse. Eddie told Bones about how Van and Devlin had disappeared, and he was just as confused as anyone.

“I don’t know shit about them leaving,” Bones assured from one of the bar stools, silver hair brushed back off his face, wearing an old school denim cut-off with the club insignia on it, and a thick wallet chain hanging down the thigh of his dark denim. “I told those fuckers to stay put until you got there.”

Eddie put his hands on his hips and worked his jaw. The door that led in from the garage opened then, and the two idiots in question appeared. Eddie didn’t wait to ask questions, he just walked over, took the first one he could catch by the throat, and pinned him up against the wall with a hard thwack that sounded like he almost broke the wood paneling.

Van choked and wheezed against Eddie’s hold. “Where the fuck have you two been?” Eddie spat through gritted teeth.

Devlin started talking fast, waving his hands. “We’ve been over at the abandoned steel mill, waiting where you told us to for the past couple hours,” he said to Bones in a rush.

Bones and Eddie exchanged a frown. Bones shook his head, scowling at Devlin. “What the hell are you talking about? Nothing’s going down at the steel mill today.” There were several abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town where the Kings conducted the shady side of their dealings, but so far, the weekend plans were tame.

Devlin shot a look at Van, whose face was beet red above Eddie’s grip, and then turned back to Bones. “So, if you didn’t call us on the payphone this morning to tell us to go to the steel mill, who did?”

Eddie released Van so that he could talk, waiting for him to catch his breath and cough a few times. “It sounded like you,” Van sputtered so hard that saliva dripped from his lip.

Bones sat back in his seat, smoothing out his mustache, while the other members around him mumbled to themselves. “You really are just as stupid as you look.”

And then Eddie’s fist came in tight, landing flush with his Van’s jaw, and he stumbled back against the wall and slid to the floor, accepting his punishment with a curse.

The door from the garage pushed open abruptly, and there stood Josh, one of Eddie’s mechanics wearing smudged overalls. He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Yo, Thumper has eyes on that hunter green SUV you’ve been looking for. It’s headed for Highway 22 off of Deer Park.”

Eddie pushed himself off the wall with the side of his fist, pounding it there, on his way outside to jump on his chopper. The rest of the guys followed, including a woozy Van, stumbling as he got to his feet..

Chrome pipes roared to life one right after the other as the eight of them rumbled out of the parking lot.

—------

While Eddie and a handful of the Coffin Kings were blowing down the highway in the hot summer sun in pursuit of Craig, Steve was sipping champagne, getting his sleeves marked to be adjusted last minute by Charlene’s personal tailor. They were in her master bedroom overlooking the pool as beige curtains billowed in along with the soft echo of Joey by Concrete Blonde from the radio down near the jacuzzi. Charlene had a see-through coverup over her zebra print bikini as she watched from her chair. She liked to touch herself whenever the tailor wasn’t looking, and to be fair—Steve liked it too. She plucked at her nipple and ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth, making his cock twitch in his pants as he gnawed vigorously on his Wrigley’s Spearmint gum.

He’d been with a few batshit crazy chicks in his day, but this one was up there with the battiest. Honestly—he didn’t hate it. The problem was, he’d started to have this crush on one of the new servers at The Velvet Hammer, and two things were wrong with it: one, he didn’t have time or room in his life for romance, and two, she kind of hated his guts.

She acted like she did, anyway. She told him that his reputation preceded him, and that he’d never get in her pants, no matter how hard he tried.

Bet.

Charlene helped him to take his mind off of that, even though she did treat him like some sort of life-sized Ken doll. Her sexual appetite was insatiable, and that afternoon, before the tailor got there, was the second time she’d asked him to choke her while she came until she almost passed out.

Steve was afraid of those torture kinks though; afraid he might not know his own strength one time and take his anger out on his partner. He had a switch inside of him that was either on or off, and he didn’t know how to idle in between.

The tailor walked away to the vanity to grab something, and Charlene sauntered over to pretend she was fixing Steve’s collar. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear: “I want to feel your cum drip out of me all night,” and it gave him a shiver. He would definitely have to fuck her again before they left, and maybe again in the towncar on the way there.

—------

The thing that surprised Charlene the most was not how attracted she was to Steve, but how she was starting to not miss Eddie anymore. This all started as a way to get closer to Eddie, and to get back at him at the same time, but now all she could think about was being naked with Steve—to have him rip her suit off with his teeth.

He’d left marks on her, because she asked him too, and there was some slight bruising around her throat that she loved to admire. John wouldn’t ask about it, he didn’t care what she did. Eddie always refused to indulge her in that way—he would fuck her rough, sure, but he didn’t like the idea of introducing pain, and none of her other lovers had the right touch until now.

She watched Steve’s jaw muscles work as he chewed his gum, and then he winked at her after the tailor asked him a question. She was down bad in a way that made her want to be 15 years younger, to start completely over with someone like Steve. Maybe it would’ve made her a different, softer person, maybe they would’ve had a son together. But then she remembered her situation and how that wasn’t an option, and then the bitterness flooded back in, rising like bile at the back of her throat.

While Steve was just trying to make it through the evening, Charlene was trying to think of ways to keep him with her forever.

—-------

You showed up at Robin’s with the only dress you had that qualified as formal wear—the style was possibly outdated by ten years. You brought your Caboodles makeup case too, because you knew how much Oliver loved to watch you put makeup on. Robin never wore makeup, aside from some lipstick now and then, so she always appreciated it when you or Katie indulged him. You had a polaroid back at the duplex of the makeup Oliver put on Steve once; wide, outlined red lips, bright green lids from lashline to eyebrow, and a dusting of glitter.

“Which color do you think?” You asked, gesturing to your eyelids, in front of the bathroom mirror while Ollie stood on a step stool next to you. He had on a pair of bright yellow swim trunks and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tank top.

“I think this blue for one eye,” he scratched his head, tapping the hard plastic shell over a sparkly turquoise with a tiny finger. He paused his hand as his eyes moved around, and made a serious face, concentrating. “And this color for the other eye,” the other color was a dark red.

He looked up at you with those big, honey brown Steve eyes, waiting for you to start applying them, rubbing his lips together. “Ollie, my love,” you chuckled. “One day, your artistic genius will be appreciated, but I don’t think Hawkins is ready for it quite yet.”

“What if we do these,” you showed him a few things including eyeliner and blush. “And I’ll let you put some of the mascara on me.”

He nodded, eyes widening at all of the options scattered around the sink, wanting to put it all on your face at once.

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the front door that made your heart stop.

You told Oliver to wait in the bathroom and shut the door while you went to check it out.

Relief flooded in when you realized it was only Robin. She’d gone out to close the garage and accidentally locked herself out of the house. Who else had you expected? Craig? Surely, he had no idea where Steve and Robin lived.

Paul’s mom Raina was running an hour late to pick Oliver up with promises of ice cream and Scooby Doo, so you missed the wedding itself, but the two of you decided you’d still make it to the reception; shame to waste all the time you took getting ready. While you had a glass of wine in the kitchen and helped Robin zip up the back of her navy blue, strapless dress, you kept looking at the phone, and glancing out the living room window to the street, waiting to see Eddie, or at least hear from him. On your way out the door, you tried his apartment one more time, but hung up before you could leave another message.

—------

The Coffin Kings zoomed along the highway, weaving in and out of cars, keeping to a tight, intimidating pack as much as possible with Bones out in front and Eddie right behind him, hair flying in the wind. Thumper caught sight of them from a road crossing and joined, spitting up a cloud of dust as he went.

Up ahead, there was a bottleneck in traffic as two lanes converged, and the line of cars were beginning to slow down. Eddie spotted the SUV in the distance and waved the group to the side of the highway to bypass all of the vehicles at a standstill.

Eddie’s arm muscles were tight and flexed, the sleeves of his Pantera tee exposing his tan, inked arms. His face was locked in a permanent frown as he braced against the wind. Four of the other guys went around the opposite side of the highway, ready to box in the target.

The windows of the SUV were tinted, but Eddie could tell that the guy must’ve seen them coming in his rearview mirror because the vehicle lurched, wheels cranking, trying to get out on the lip of the road to escape.

Eddie sped up, twisting the throttle on the right handlebar, weaving in through the cars again to rage down the dotted yellow line.

The SUV bolted out from the line of cars, dove into the ditch, and then corrected itself before swerving onto an unpaved road that led out through the trees.

The gang followed; Eddie and Thumper got up behind it, eating dust from the tires, and once they were away from the traffic cluster, Thumper reached down for his handgun, aimed it at the back tire and shot twice.

The vehicle swerved and kept going but slowed down enough for them to get along each side, and then Bones raised his gun and blew out the back window.

The SUV turned so fast that Thumper lost control and flipped his bike into the dirt, but motioned for the others to keep going.

There was a dead-end curve with metal railing, and that is where the vehicle finally screeched to a halt sideways. A few of the guys stayed on their bikes and aimed their guns at the driver’s side door, while Eddie dismounted and waited to see if Craig would step out, but he didn’t, so Eddie went over and yanked it open for him.

“Please please please don’t kill me!” The woman behind the steering wheel screamed, holding her hands up. She was in her early fifties, highlights of gray hair in her brunette bob, wearing an orange corduroy jumper over a floral shirt.

The woman was in tears, and Eddie stepped back in disbelief. He jerked open the side door only to realize it was the same make of SUV, but it did not belong to Craig.

“You can take my wallet,” the woman stammered. “It’s in my—”

“We’re sorry, ma’am,” Bones told her, motioning for everyone to lower their weapons as a dust cloud settled around them. “There’s been a terrible mistake.”

Eddie started to walk away but then let out a violent curse at the last minute and punched the side of the SUV causing it to dent.

—------

Steve ran the tip of his tongue over his gold incisor and buttoned his jacket as he came around the passenger side of the Jaguar to take Charlene’s hand at the entrance to the Golden Lion Hotel & Resort before he tossed the keys to the valet. The tats on his hands and throat were an interesting pairing with the fancy suit he had on, and it took all of Charlene’s willpower not to kiss him right there. She knew what everyone whispered about—she knew that the infidelities both her and John exercised were well known in town—but it was important to continue the facade.

It was a strange arrangement in more ways than one: Steve escorted her inside to where a group of her friends were, but then was told to wait out front like a guard until the ceremony and dinner were over. Steve took a walk, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, talked to some of the other drivers, and sat in the lobby, bobbing his knee restlessly. Charlene came out to check on him a few times, like someone would a dog, even brought him a plate of food. He planned to wait until the music for the dancing started, and then he’d go and find his benefactress to ask how much longer they needed to stay. He didn’t mind Charlene—he thought she was hot as hell—but the only thing motivating him to stick around was feeling that wad of cash in his pocket once the evening was over.

He saw Eddie’s ex Melanie at the bar taking shots with her friend, and he ducked behind a collection of imported palm trees so that they wouldn’t see him.

______

“Steve!” You called across the parking lot as your heels clapped up the pavement with Robin close behind you. You were relieved to see that he was alone, if only for a moment.

He was afraid to look up at first, his head bent down as he finished the last of his smoke, not sure if it was someone he wanted to ignore. But, when his eyebrows finally lifted the rest of his head up, his face beamed with a mix of relief and confusion.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” His surprised expression landed on Robin; it was only the third time in his life he’d seen her in a dress. He almost didn’t recognize her.

Robin scoffed. “I wanted to go to this wedding in the first place, remember?”

“Oh shit,” Steve balked. “Is this Scott’s wedding you were telling me about?”

Robin shook her head and snorted a laugh out her nose. “You are unreal.”

“Damn, I wasn’t paying any attention,” he jerked the corners of his mouth down in an oblivious frown.

“Hey,” you took Steve by the elbow, leaning in. “The woman you’re here with, is her name Charlene?”

Steve’s ADHD was getting the better of him. “Yes, why? Where’s Eddie? Is he coming? Did they catch that freak who broke into your place?”

You stammered, trying to choose which one to answer. “I’m not sure, but I—”

And that was when Charlene showed up in the entranceway behind you—in the flesh—and beckoned for Steve to come inside. You could almost feel her there, even without looking, and it made all of the hair on your body stand on end.

You turned to face her in all of her Sharon Stone glory, and in that moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a flicker of fear flash over her face as she recognized you.

“Stevie,” she said it louder, clearing her throat. “Come have a drink with me?”

“Be right there,” Steve threw her a lift of his chin and grin, and then he turned back to you, running a hand through his hair. “I have to go do this for a bit longer. See you in there, though, yeah?”

But before you could say anything else, he patted your arm and strode over to greet Charlene, offering his elbow for her to take. You could hear the music start up from the dancefloor: Good Vibrations by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.

Robin pushed tight to your side. “Is that her?” She asked. “The one who got Eddie stabbed?”

“That’s her,” you said, watching them through the glass as they disappeared around a corner.

“Hell no,” Robin pushed off with a huff. “I don’t care how much money she’s giving him, he needs to know,” and then she charged fullbore into the building, getting stuck in a crowd of people exiting, pushing her way through while trying to be polite.

“Robin, wait!” You blurted, still weary of Charlene’s reach and power. You hustled after her, stopping to hold the door open for an elderly couple as people poured in and out to get some air, music vibrating in your chest.

You broke free into the lobby, scissored your way through the line for the bar, keeping your eye on the back of Robin up ahead.

That was when a strong arm snaked around your waist from behind and a mouth pressed against your ear, hissing at a whisper: “Try to fight me or make a sound and I’ll hurt your friends,” the voice promised.

It was Craig.

You could feel the stubble on his chin and smell the familiar Altoids and whiskey tang of his breath.

“Come with me?” He asked it as a question, but he knew you would nod, swallowing hard and then he grabbed your arm with one hand and rested the other on the small of your back, guiding you back and to the side, into the shadows.

You didn’t say a word, you just kept pace with him, knowing that his threats were never idle.

—-----

Eddie sent two of the guys ahead to bring a tow truck to take the woman’s SUV back to the shop, and he let her know that all of the repairs were on him, apologizing for the “mixup”. But then Bones had to step in and have a serious conversation with her about how she shouldn’t tell anyone about what happened, especially the police—that it would be bad for her “health”.

It was dark by the time Eddie got back to his place. He was angry and frustrated and fucking exhausted, but finding you was now his priority. You told him you’d leave a message on his machine letting him know if you did a double shift at The Hammer, and so he went up to wash his face and see if you’d called. His boots clomped wearily on the steps, tired shoulders rolling, his neck cracking.

With his shirt off, he dried the water and soap from his face, wet bangs brushed off his forehead, and then hung the towel around his neck as he played the messages he had.

The first one was from Melanie, and he deleted it as soon as it was over with a weary sigh.

He snatched the matchbook he found in Craig’s motel room from the nightstand and spun it in his fingers as he sat down on the bed, lips jerking up in a smile at the sound of your voice in the next message.

You’d decided to go to a wedding with Robin. He stopped twirling the matchbook and let that sink in. But, Steve would be there too, you assured him, and you asked him to join you if he was in the mood. You said you’d call when you got back to Robin’s if you didn’t see or hear from him. You told him you loved him, and he whispered, “I love you too,” at the machine.

The only problem was, you forgot to mention where, exactly, the wedding was.

He spun the matchbook again as the next voice clicked on: Melanie. Again.

But, this time her words made an uncomfortable lump form in his throat.

Melanie was at the same wedding? Fuck.

The end of her message sent fireworks through his blood, and he put the matchbook down to go over and search through the pile of papers on his desk for the invitation that he got. It was still sealed in the envelope, and he ripped the corner open with his teeth, spitting out the paper, cringing as confetti fluttered to the ground when he pulled out the buttercream invitation with lace corners.

Golden Lion Hotel and Resort

His mouth went dry as he circled back around the bed to pick up the matchbook again, realizing with a buzzing in his ears that it was from the same place.

And it had been in Craig’s room. The only trace left of him in an otherwise immaculate space.

Eddie squeezed the matchbook so tight in his fist, he crushed it, and then he went to find you.

Part 15

I cherish you all, and please remember that your comments, especially your reblogs, mean the absolute world to me.

------

Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @eighty6babyyy @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @ms1oftheboys @emxcast @rhirojo@bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975@falling-solar-system @secretdryrose@kurdtbean @whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @dandelionnfluff @lilpotatobean2-deactivated20230 @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@layla-loves-ed @dashingdeb16 @eddiiiieeee

#I'm on Fire #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #biker eddie #biker steve #biker!eddie #Eddie Munson series #Eddie Munson fic #biker fic #90s au #Eddie munson angst #Eddie Munson smut #Stranger Things #Stranger Things fic #Spotify

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hsdiaries · 3 months

Text

quick blurb - LHH!Harry x best friend - 1.8K

Y/N shows up at Harry’s door, both intoxicated and letting go of there senses.

praise kink, oral (f receiving), p in v

—

The rugby game rang through the apartment walls as I sat on my couch working through my third glass of tequila; my head buzz strong. Mitch, Pauli and Chase had all gone out for drinks, but I wanted nothing more than to just relax at home. The game was almost over, and sleep was creeping over my body when I heard a knock from my door.

My brows furrowed at the sound, turning to look over my shoulder. I wasn’t expecting anyone tonight, it was much too late for a confused delivery service. Lowering the volume on the tv, I wondered if maybe the knock was meant for the neighbor until it came again on my door. Placing the beer down on the small side table, I pushed off the couch and walked over, peering into the peephole. There stood Y/N, mascara clear down her cheeks, her hair in a messy bun.

I quickly unlocked the door, prying it open taking in my beautiful mess, “Y/N baby, what’s wrong. Come ‘ere.” I pulled her gently towards me, closing the door behind her, “What are you doing here so late, love?”

She sniffled, swallowing back tears, “I drank too much at home, and I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be here… with you.”

Her words drove electricity throughout my body, my head nodding, unable to form words as her hands came up to my face, holding it, caressing it softly, “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“No, sweet Y/N, I’m only the right amount of good to you. The good you deserve,” I cooed, trying to soothe her pain. She nodded softly, taking me in, inhaling deeply as she leaned in and kissed me hard. Kissed me feverishly. My hands moved to instantly grasp onto her, pulling her close as my lips kissed hers back.

My mind clicked into protective mode, reminding me she was drunk, I wasn’t far behind, “Fuck,” I breathed out as I pushed away from her, biting my lip and shaking my head, “Y/N baby, your drunk. I’m intoxicated. We ca—…”

“…—we can. I’m not…I came here. I wanted to be here, with you. God, please Harry, I just don’t want to think, please make my mind go off,” she begged so desperately I gave into all of my senses. My lips crashing back into her, hands tapping her thighs, instructing her to jump into my hold.

She did, wrapping her legs around me, hips pushing into mine, driving my blood straight to my prick. I no longer had the self control I needed to stop this, and I didn’t care. I moved us quickly into the bedroom, it was like the dream bubble could burst at any given second and I didn’t want it to.

I sat down on my bed, her legs bent on either side of me, gripping onto my sides with her thighs. Her weight felt so good pushing down on my hardened cock, her moans letting me know she was feeling the same. She rocked her hips on me, my hands moving to grip onto her hips, helping with her movements.

“Mmm, so good f’me, feels so good, Y/N,” I whimpered against her lips, her head nodding.

“Bet it’s even better with no clothes on,” she giggled into my lips, the most pure giggle driving heat through my body. God, this couldn’t be real. I would wake up tomorrow and it would be a dirty wet dream.

“Smart mind, Y/N, smart mind,” I said, biting her lower lip softly before standing up and laying her down on the bed. I broke our kiss to strip myself free of my clothes, leaving just my briefs, my cock tight in them. My hands grabbed at the band of her leggings, fingers slipping under them and her underwear peeling them off her legs.

My breath left me as I watched her spread her legs on my bed, her fold glistening in her arousal. Arousal that was there for me, and just me.

“Fuck me, Y/N, you’re such a lovely sight,” I said, hooking my arms under her thighs and bringing her to the edge of the bed as I lowered down onto my knees in front of her. My lips kissed and sucked on her soft inner thighs, traveling to her wet middle, open mouthed kissed pressing into her clit, down her slit, on her entrance.

I let my tongue travel inside her, pulsing in and out of her as she squirmed under me, legs struggling to stay open as I slipped it out, running it up to her clit, circling with the tip of it.

“Oh dear god, Harry, fu-uck,” she breathed out as I continued to eat her out like she was the last meal I would ever have. I pulled away to breath, my two fingers slipping inside her, curling to her spongey g spot, earning me the sexiest shudder from her, moans spilling out for me.

“You’re so wet for me, Y/N baby, so needy,” I groaned, my other hand reaching under her cropped tee, pulling down at her bra, exposing her beautiful tits, feeling for her nipples and letting my fingers wrap around them, tugging at them.

“Harry, please, god please I want to feel you,” she moaned, her eyes burning into my soul, panting as my fingers moved faster in her, her walls pulsing around them, her arousal dripping down my fingers.

“You will baby, come f’me first okay? Let me get you warmed up for me, okay?” I hummed, lowering myself back to her clit, my tongue flicking against it, fingers moving at a steady pace inside her. Her thighs began to squeeze against my head, suffocating me in a place I would gladly go in.

“Fuck, please, please, oh god Harry, yes,” her back arched against me, my hand moving off her tit to push her legs apart, as she began coming, her arousal coating my mouth and chin completely. I enjoyed every bit of her taste, lapping up every bit of it helping her ride out her high.

Slipping my fingers out of her, I traced them up her body, pushing her shirt up with them until they landed on her bottom lip, letting them slip into her mouth, her tongue welcoming them willingly. She was a fucking seductive dream, a dream that had my heart completely without even knowing how much I needed it.

“Take off your shirt, Y/N,” I demanded, moving quickly to find a damn condom, something I didn’t think I would need anytime soon. Especially not with her. Walking back over, she laid, resting back on her elbows, her beautiful tits on full display for me, “Fucking hell you’re so beautiful.”

Placing one knee on the bed, I began to open up the condom wrapper as she sat up further, her delicate hands wrapping around my length, making my head fall back, a groan vibrating in my throat before it managed to escape.

“I want you to feel so good, Harry. I wanna be good for you too,” she said, blissed out eyes meeting mine as I brought my head back straight. I moved her hands, nodding, slipping the condom on my cock.

“Oh you are more than good to me, I promise,” I breathed, crawling on top of her, pressing my lips to hers. I wanted to engrave the memory of them forever in my mind, just in case I never found myself here with her again. Lining the tip of my cock up with her entrance, I rubbed against her opening, teasing her clit. She was still sensitive, her soft whimpers letting me know it was the case. I let my arms wrap around her as I slipped in, just the tip moving in and out of her tight cunt, walls needing little adjusting after making her come before.

She moved her lips to kiss along my face, my jawline and neck, moaning soft each time I pushed further in until I completely bottomed out, her teeth across my skin, “God” the only word she breathed out. Thousands of dirty things and positions came to my mind, ways I wanted to bend and pull her body, fuck her so good she blissed out to another universe.

But everything was slow with her, everything moved in a way where I thought I would never be closer to her. Her chocolate brown eyes peeked up at me, arms wrapping around my body pulling me closer to her. Our hips moved towards each other in sync, moving away with trembling movements only to be met again in bliss. I wasn’t going to last long, not like this, not when the woman I was desperately and foolishly falling in love with was this close to me.

I moved my hands to either side of her head, using them to stabilize me over him, thrusting harder into her, “God you feel so good, Y/N. A bloody dream, love.”

Her nails dug into my skin, her walls flutter around me making every bit of me cover in chills. I felt her squeeze me deeper into her, her warmth intensifying my need for a release. Knots forming along my stomach and lower back, tightening with pleasure I couldn’t even imagine.

“Harry, please don’t stop, I’m so-so close,” she strutted, her eyes searching mine for her release. My left hand moved down between us, my fingers moving on her clit, rolling quickly on it to help her get there as I was barely hanging on.

“Yes, please, oh, Harry, fu-uck. I’m…” I felt her legs clench around me, her arousal dripping down between us as she came. My climax quickly followed, warm ribbons shooting into the condom. Our bodies shifted closer to each other, clinging on as we came down from the high we just brought for each other.

My lips tumbled over her face, pressing into her cheeks and nose. Tracing over her lips. She smiled into the kiss, pecking soft kisses until I couldn’t help but chuckle. She inhaled through her nose, letting out a soft breath, my body shifting to pull out of her, both of us groaning at the sensation.

I rolled over on the bed next to her, slipping the condom off, tying it and lazily searching for the packaging until I found it, stuffing the used condom in. I turned to her, pulling into me, “I’ll clean you up right now, I promise, just, five more minutes.”

“Mm, I’ll give you ten,” she said softly, her face nuzzled into my chest, her fingers tugging softly on my chest hairs.

“Make it twenty,” I kept playing at it.

“Shut up, Harry Styles. Just shh,” she kissed my chest, her breath slowing as we laid quietly. We never moved from this spot, we never cleaned up.

And I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all.

#fanfic #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ff #harry styles x original character #harry styles blurb #lhh #lhh!harry #lhh!harry x y/n

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athena-writes-i-guess · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Prompt: “I didn’t think you would.”

A/N: Here, have a little friends to lovers in this trying time. Hope y’all like this little cute thing I wrote!

“Kiss?” Eddie asked, his plush lips in a full pout as he turned his begging eyes on to you.

You were making dinner for the two of you in the Munson trailer, just a simple box of Kraft Mac and Cheese but Eddie had been making it difficult. Not that you minded too much. He seemed to be starved for attention in some way and you were happy to give that to him.

You laughed lightly as you paused what you were doing to capture his lips in a sweet, chaste, kiss before pulling back and giggling at the dazed look on his face. “What? Didn’t think I’d do it?” You teased as you went back to tending to the noodles.

“I-um- no. I didn’t think you would.” He said, surprised.

You had been Eddie’s best friend since you practically were born, your dads had been friends before they both passed away so you two grew up together. You had been Eddie’s first crush, and little did he know that he had been your first too. But you both had been too scared to do anything about it.

Eddie flirted, you weren’t sure it was even intentional most of the time, but you knew that’s just how he was, how he’d always been with you. You never thought more about it. He was affectionate, to the point that your friends made comments about it. He would hold your hand, hold you tight when you would hug, even kiss you on the cheek if you’d let him. That’s actually what he expected you to do now when he asked for one.

“Well,” you paused, taking an encouraging breath as you looked into those big brown eyes you adored, “I’ve always wanted to, so I took my shot.” You flushed.

Eddie felt his eyebrows raise in surprise as he took in the shy smile that graced your features. He felt his heart speed up and his palms get sweaty. Was this actually happening? He wanted to pinch himself to make sure he was actually awake and this wasn’t another one of his dreams.

The metalhead reached out tentatively, his hands practically shaking as he placed them experimentally on your waist. You watched the anxiety written on his face as he looked at the new contact. You gently pushed his hair out of his face before cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“Do you want to kiss me Eddie?” You whispered, searching those orbs again as they shot up to lock with yours “‘Cause I want to kiss you again.”

You were sure you heard him gulp before nodding his head quickly. You barely had time to comprehend his agreement before his lips were on yours.

Hungry. Excited. Almost desperate. Those were the words you would use to describe the way he kissed you. It was like he had been waiting for this his whole life and he wasn’t going to let the moment pass without kissing you silly.

You pulled away to catch your breath with Eddie’s lips chasing yours. You giggled breathlessly as he kissed whatever part of you he could; your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 12. It’s always been you.” He said into your skin.

You felt your heart speed up even quicker as you took in his words. “Me too, Eds. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

You heard Eddie groan into your neck as his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him. “We’ve wasted so much time!” He practically laughed.

“Well, let’s not waste anymore huh?” You suggested. Eddie perked his head up and rested his forehead against yours.

“Be mine sweetheart? Please?” He asked softly, almost afraid you’d say no.

“Always have been.” You beamed, pulling him into smiley kiss, both of you content to ignore the noodles cooking on the stove as you lost yourselves in each other.

Taglist: @srapalestina @yvonneeeee @cityofidek @anaisweird @mayahawkewife @harrys-tittie

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bbrissonn · 6 months

Text

𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐮 - 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐫 𝐳𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬 (𝟒)

╰┈➤ two weeks before the release of tired of u, alanna surprises everyone by dropping another single

╰┈➤ pairing: trevor zegras x ex!singer!girlfriend

╰┈➤ social media + real life

╰┈➤ masterlist

༊*·˚

-SEPTEMBER 30TH, 2023-

༊*·˚

: ̗̀➛ alannaoregon has posted on instagram

alannaoregon

liked by lhughes_06 and 2.01M others

alannaoregon surprise !! another single !!! sunset chasing aka my baby is now out on all streaming platforms !!!!

even though some of you guessed it with my youtube video, here's a surprise drop for my sunset lovers out there. this songs hold suchs a special place in my heart because half of it was written while i was in a relationship, and the other after said relationship. i think this songs truly represents how intense and deep my feelings were during my breakup, the first half and seconds half being complete opposites. i hope you all enjoy this song as much as i do

love, lanny 🩵

view 4,019 comments

lhughes_06 sunsets > sunrise

alannaoregon @/lhughes_06 woah now, just because ur always asleep during sunrise doesn't mean others don't enjoy it lhughes_06 @/alannaoregon my deepest apology ma'am

user620 WENT FROM CHASING SUNSETS TO CHASING YOUR ATTENTION

user72 @/user620 MY HEART WAS A COLOUR FULL SKY user910 @/user72 PRECIOUS AS A SUNSET user006 @/user910 YOU WERE LIKE DARK CLOUDS user820 @/user006 TAKING OVER ME WITH NO REMORSE

colecaufield proud of you lanny

alannaoregon @/colecaufield love you coley <3

becky.rivera THATS MY BEST FRIEND

alannaoregon @/becky.rivera my fav girl 💖

user256 if i ever see trevor zegras it's on sight

user826 @/user256 no fr and the nerves he had to follow her again-- user527 @/user826 asshole alert user 027 @/user826 she followed him back-

༊*·˚

: ̗̀➛ trevorzegras uploaded a story

: ̗̀➛ replies

user928 you have some nerves posting this today mr zebras

jamie.drysdale can't believe you ditched me for this...

alannaoregon luv u bubs 😽😽

༊*·˚

-REAL LIFE, KENNEWICK, WASH.-

༊*·˚

"Gosh, Trev, can you please calm down." The Oregon girl begged, making her boyfriend stop dead in his track and look at her with wild eyes.

"Easy for you to say! People are worshipping the ground you walk on, and trying to make mine collapse under me, babe!" Trevor exclaimed, waving his arms all around the place.

"Baby, just try to relax, okay?" The girl mumbled, standing up from her spot on the couch. Her hands cupped his cheek, pecking his lips lightly. "You deserve it." She smirked, making Trevor look at her like a mad lady.

"This isn't funny, Lan. They're gonna hunt me down when your album comes out!"

"You should've though about it before breaking my heart, loves." The girl responded after pressing another kiss to the boy's lips.

"Can't you just, like, tell people there's no more bad blood between us so they can leave me alone? Please." The hockey player begged, making the girl sigh before pressing her lips to the tip of his nose.

"I could. But then people would get suspicious, especially since we followed each other, T. If you really want me to, I can, but just think about it, okay?" The girl whispered, her thumbs rubbing circles on his cheekbones. The boy leaned into her touch, closer his eyes and leaning down to rest his forehead against hers.

"What if... what if we just said we're back together?"

"Trust me, Trevs, that'd only make the situation worse. People are gonna hate on you, and I'm gonna be getting called an idiot for getting back with you."

"We can say we're friends, I mean we followed each other back."

"You really want me to?" She asked softly. Trevor quickly shook his head yes against hers, making the girl sigh a bit.

"Do you not want to?" The boy asked, confused by her reaction.

"No, I do, I just don't want to make the situation worse and have people hate on you even more." She explained, her voice low as her hands moved from his face to the side of his neck.

"I'll be fine, baby, don't worry 'bout me."

༊*·˚

: ̗̀➛ alannaoregon has posted on instagram

alannaoregon

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alannaoregon i wanna start by saying how thankful and appreciative i am for all the love you guys have shown to my two new singles. you guys truly mean the world to me and i'll forever be thankful for my fanbase !!

my songs are a way for me to express my feelings when it's hard to talk about it. a lot of time i also end up dramatizing the way i feel just to make my songs better. i am a writer, and storyline is what i do. sometimes i write about relationships i've seen in movies or tv shows.

with that being said, death treats being made and sent to someone over my songs are not something that i will allow. i release my songs because i am proud of them, not so people can use it as an excuse to be rude, disrespectful, and mean to others.

kindness is a value that i hold dear to my heart, and seeing my people going after someone who still holds a very special place in my heart is not something that i will tolerate. trevor and i have spoken how our past and are on good terms. his permission was given for these songs to be released so that we could both move on from our relationship. we've both moved on and are very happy in our lives, please respect and accept that.

remember to always be kind and spread positivity to everyone around you, no matter what they might have done to you before, especially if you don't know the whole story.

love you all, lanny 🩵

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user274 dang she really called yall out in that last sentence

user483 @/user274 she ate... but now i wanna know the whole story

lhughes_06 purr lanny talk your shit

alannaoregon @/lhughes_06 i've trained you so well 🥹

user836 did he seriously go complain to her abt it... such a child

alannaoregon @/user836 you try receiving dms every minute about how people hope you die and that the world would be a better place without you and then you'll be able to comment on whether he's being a child or no girly :3 user927 @/alannaoregon GASP jackhughes @/alannaoregon girl you ate that up girl alannaoregon @/jackhughes ive truly trained you and lu to perfection 🤭

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taglist <3 @lxnceclercs @aliaology

#bri writes #trevor zegras #trevor zegras fanfic #trevor zegras blurb #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagines #trevor zegras imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #tired of u au

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pen-observing · 1 year

Text

the brothers react to you losing love for them

a/n: I haven't opened this game in a while so it made me think about this angst!! enjoy it

Lucifer has this tendency to over analyse everything that goes around him and truth be told, you are no exception to that. Did you really think he wouldn't notice that you've grown doubtful of your own love? That you've suddenly found more and more excuses not to spend time with him? He can see how painful this is for you. Your eyes still sparkle when you see him and your heart skips a beat but somehow it lessens to where that shine becomes dimmed. He finds it funny, how, in his experience, it is humans who lose feelings quicker than him and those so much older. Lucifer has principles that he holds everyone and himself to - and one of those is lessening your burdens. Your feelings have changed and you are trying to come to terms with that but he doubts you would ever approach him about it yourself. So, he brings it up first.

And when he does bring it up - it is on the most mundane night. The two of you did not travel to a special place, you didn't even leave the house. He invited you in his study to simply see just how much his company is no longer a complete comfort. And when he lifts his head up from those pesky papers, he sees you staring out the window.

It hurts him but he still says: "You're allowed to leave." He can see that you're confused. "You're allowed to leave me, my love." He can't stop himself from calling you that. Here he is, lessening up the burden for you, telling you to break up with him - but it is with everlasting love that he makes this easy for you.

Mammon simply refuses to believe anything has changed. For someone so intrinsically impulsive and naturally intuitive - he lies to himself and would gladly do it forever. 'Yes, my human's hand doesn't grip mine as tightly as it did before.' and 'Yes, they're sometimes lost in their own world but..they're human! Humans are known for this!'. You have to be the one to do it. Mammon simply wants to live in this love forever. Some have looked at him with pity for it but he has no problems. As long as they don't say anything. As long as he can believe his own love is enough - he pays it absolutely no mind.

Except, he has to listen to you. And even you were not sure how to bring it up. However, while he was resting his head in your lap during a 'throw-whatever-movie-on' night; the couple on the screen broke up and it was like something got lost between the two of you. It started as a simple debate over if the couple should have broken up at all. Mammon and you were on opposite sides of course and it caused an argument. After it escalated he simply yelled 'break up with me already. stop being dishonest!'. It simply flew out. He never wanted it to be said by anyone but he couldn't like anymore.

And break up you did. It was odd, you had to comfort him about it, you had to live with him and hear him crying, you had to see his puffy eyes. And Mammon kept protecting you still. Just...give him time. Give him forever if you can. Forgive him when he introduces you as his significant other, forgive him when a loving nickname slips out and forgive him for when he simply looks like he is begging for your love while you call him 'your best friend.'

Leviathan somehow ends up taking it far easier than you would have imagined. He always live in this state of thinking that the worst is coming to him and, it is not a betrayal, that he imagined you breaking up with him several times. He has had nightmares about it and he has had intrusive thoughts. But, the difference from this time vs any other - is reality itself. Before, he would open up to you about his nightmare and you would hold him dearly. You would chase it all away. You would reassure him that his doubts were just the worst parts of him coming to surface.

But, this time, you have to comfort him about the reality of his situation. His doubts were grounded this time and they came true. His love and his tries were simply not enough.

Now, you have to give him space. Too much space. How does he rationalise wanting to see you all the time and never wanting to see you love someone else?

It truly doesn't matter what you or his brothers or even he himself does - he will end up hurting for a long time. But, it is fine...his love has no place to go, but he thinks that letting you go proves just how strong it is.

Maybe one day - you will come back to him.

Satan thinks it is a curse to be able to tell when someone doesn't want him around. And the worst part of it all is the fact that you are not even aware what you feel. He can tell. He could always tell. You don't know why time with him spent seems longer and longer nor do you know why you are not fulfilled as you were before.

Satan has not changed nor has his love - but your feelings are starting to become lost instead of grow. You still look at him with loving eyes but he constantly asks himself 'how much longer? how much longer until they realize it? until they leave me?'. That is no way to live and sustain a relationship and he brings it up first during an expensive dinner. You are trying to properly cut the meal and he looks at you from across the table.

"Do you remember what I told you once during our morning tea?" "I...I don't think I do. Which morning tea exactly?" "When we first started dating." He can tell you do not remember so he continues. "I told you that if your feelings ever start to change you should immediately tell me."

It is...pitying how you look at him in such a confused way. You haven't figured it out yet. But after this you will.

"You will regret breaking up with me." His old habits are hard to break. It seems like an angry sentence but it is not a threat or anything of the sort. He says it as an observation - as a hope to himself.

"My feelings have not changed. Even if your own probably have. But, please remember everything I have said."

The two of you continue to eat dinner. But something tells him once this is over - nothing will be the same as before.

Asmodeus will never not equate your love lessening to him not being good enough. And that is precisely why he takes it the worst out of any person you could know. Asmodeus has so much love to give, and his identity and pride center on loving and being loved in return. He tries everything he can. More expensive treatments, better skin care, fancier dates and bigger romantic gestures. He even reads books on how human emotions change and every single time he turns onto a new page - his heart breaks. He can notice even the smallest signs that lead up to it.

But, when the signs are small, he figures that he can fight them with just grander gestures. That your doubt is temporary and soon all of your love will find its way back to him.

But Asmo never likes fake flattery or fake love extended in his direction. If your words are not true - don't say them at all. If your love is lessening - at least respect him so much that you are honest about it.

"I never expected this..." "Hmm, Asmo? You never expected what?"

The two of you are in his bed, cuddled up close.

"I have had people not fall for me at all - but I never expected you would fall for me so hard and then slowly lose your love." His arms tighten around you as he says it. What is there left now?

Beelzebub has always been so kind to you. That the realization of your lack of love comes as a natural thing after a long time. Why? In his kind nature - he never demanded anything of you. Beel accepted what you would give and never made you feel uncomfortable with what you were not willing to do. In simple terms, his whole being adjusts to you. And when he sees you shy away, when he sees you get lost, when he sees even the slightest hint of hesitation - he stops. And with it, the two of you carry on with the title of a couple but the parameters change. You two are definitely in a relationship it doesn't matter that your kisses lessen until they almost disappear. All that matters is that you find comfort in one another's presence.

Others have tried to bring it up but your love is simply confusing to everyone around you. It is like the both of you are oblivious to the changes until one day, when your own heart skips a beat when you see a stranger on the street.

And then you realize it. Somewhere, you've lost the title of a couple. You've simply transformed into great friends without realizing it. So, by the time you bring it up - both you and Beel are fine with it. This breakup doesn't cause either of you pain and...hurting him would be the last thing you would want.

Except, you will never know that Beel has realized it a bit before you, that he had to get over you before he was ready to let you go.

Belphegor never sees his love lessening and he cannot imagine it ever would. So what if he notices the signs? It doesn't mean that he will act on them. He has written papers on humans before and he is wiling to call this one of your 'temporary changes' that would later on make you realize just how much you actually love him.

But he gets impatient so quickly. He is as he always was in this relationship but you are slowly creating a distance between the two of you. He can tell how you are going to talk to him about your feelings soon and he absolutely hates it. He can see it coming when you look at the ceiling with empty and insecure eyes; and instead of letting you speak, he holds you so tightly that he buries his face into the pillow.

"Don't do it. Don't you dare tell me."

And you immediately know what he is referring to.

"I don't wish to hear it." And you want to tell him that he has to. That its been a long time coming.

"Let me sleep instead; stay in my arms for a little while longer."

Your break up with him has no chance of ever being pretty. He will simply tell you 'no' and 'don't you dare make me listen to that.' and 'let me love you a bit longer.' But, after you finally refuse to listen to him and tell him how it is - over time, he will find it in himself to forgive you. But he needs so long to actually get used to you not being there for him to love anymore.

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me brothers x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me angst #obey me swd #not gi #not rook's bow

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laphixsoka · 10 months

Text

Allure

Brother’s friend! Eren x friend’s sister! Reader

CW: Smut, masturbation, and drinking.

Eren’s lustful thoughts lead him down a path he usually wouldn’t take.

Coming into his room he threw his keys down taking off his shoes. Sighing into his hands as he went to grab some pajama pants, once he got them he went to his bathroom. Taking off his shirt and pants and putting his pj pants on. He started to stare at himself as he brushed his teeth. Thoughts of you flooding his mind, especially what you had on tonight at Jean’s promotion party. Your little outfit had shown off your figure ,and every second non verbally taunted him as you sat on the counter, chasing it with follow him around to “annoy” him, soon finishing it all off when you got on his lap when he was sitting down. You’d taken one of his hands to play with his rings.

“So what are you going to do when we get married. How will your little groupies know you’re mine?” You said against his ear your ass rubbing against his lap. “You play to much Y/N.” He said taking another sip thinking you were about to get up. “Nah you’re my husband for real.” The liquor was making your “playful” flirting worse “Think about Jean, would our marriage really work out?” He said against your ear making sure his warm breath lingered hopefully making you get up. “Fuck him!” You said back in the same manner he did. The way you looked back rubbed salt in his loosing wounds.

Eren had finished washing his face and went back into his room. Laying on his bed and grabbing his phone, fucking with the loose hairs from his bun. Looking through instagram seeing photos from the party immediately, you being about thirteen post down. You had multiple photos set up from the night, you at the start of the night, then you with Jean, with the girls, and then finally the one you took when you were all over him. You poking your lips out in the corner of the photo, with your ass on his lap, and the main focus being his annoyed ass face.

“Rennnnn say cheese!! Hopefully your little fan base find this one and report it!” You chuckled taking the picture then recorded you dancing on his lap to the music. Once you were done playing around you, took his cup hand and guiding it to your lips. You didn’t wear any lipstick just lip liner and gloss. It was common for you to drink from his cup, it’s what you did when you came with him to his home shows.

“Oooohhhhh what drink is thisss!” you kept his hand captive as you tried to go for another, his other hand holding you to make sure your ass don’t fall. “Connie’s jungle juice.” Eren said straight faced you spit the drink back out into the cup. “You trying the to fucking kill me!” You stuck your tongue out and started dying of laughter. Quickly cutting back to your song and dancing on Eren again. “Girl get your ass up my legs are numb.” He started to slap your ass to get you up, but you just started to shake it.

Just thinking about it got him going. He sighed trying to scroll to get you off his mind, but the way you looked up at him tonight, mainly during the start of the party, and all the little mannerisms you did. Kept breaking his efforts. It was almost like you appeared infront of him, he’d fully given in by now.

He imagined touching you in between your thighs, peppering soft kisses and a hickey for each side. Just inching around your entrance as he looks up to meet your hungry gaze. Up until he dips his tongue in your salty warm and wet honey pot. What would that airy moan sound like from you? Would you grip his hair to get him to go further? He kept stroking, imagining how you would shake around him as he flicked just right. Hearing as your legs shift against the sheets and, as you cum he’d still be there eating you out, like the hungry man he is. He could hear the weak begs as you pulsate against his tongue.

His mind instantly went to you on top of him, your hands guiding his to your breast, and the other to where you could feel him in you. He imagined your face and the mess it would be. He could hear your ass slapping after every slam down. Then the moan that would accompany it, soon the lost of speed that would come after a while and how he’d start fucking you from underneath. The Bulge it would make in your stomach as it did. The way you’d grip his legs for support probably scratching them up, your little acrylics digging into his skin. Eren then savoring the sweet sting it would create mixing it with his pleasure.

When he gets tired he could see you turning, and start to ride him in reverse. Watching as your ass moves and watch as the cream from you, coat the base of his dick. Then sight makings him want to lick it up right from you. You began to arch your back trying to it that spot. Listening to you run out of breath, Eren gets up and then holds you in place. Against your ear he tells you. “Lay down.” He pulls out and lets you get comfortable underneath him, at the foot of his bed. He puts himself in, and once he’s fully in he puts one hand next to your head for balance. He starts to go and you two lock eyes, you both in this ever long staring contest. Your mouth open as it struggles to make any noise, except sparse moans. He could see you gripping onto his arm next to you, as you lean your head against it for any semblance of his touch.

He starts to pump harder just thinking about the panting, your voice, your face, your body, the way you called his name. He started to groan it felt so good it made his toes curl, his head felt heavy as he pressed it against the pillow. He wanted to be inside of you so bad, any place you wanted it he’d give it to you. His thoughts grew cloudy, the only thing he could think of was the pleasure. His eyes rolled slightly before he closed them. Ropes of white shooting in different directions.

#eren yeager x y/n #fanfiction #eren smut #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #smut #x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut #eren jeager #eren jeager x reader #eren x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager smut #aot lemon #aot x y/n #aot imagines

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ticklepinions · 7 months

Text

Everytime I come back here I get a fun lil story!!!!

So! Where to even begin!???

My friend and I were having a sleep over and we are like really physically affectionate, so during our nightly cuddles they were rubbing my back. Next thing I know my back is arching and I let out a screech. So I'm there dumbfounded and my friend is obviously confused but pauses and says "oh did that tickle you?"

Ah! No! (Yes-) what caused me to uh squeal was my friend started "walking" their fingers up and down my spine- when I tell you that shit tickles like crazy-

Anyways!!!! You'd think today was better but NO! There was so. Much. Tickling. Idk what it was but my entire friend group must've been bitten by the tickle bug cause what even was today-

It started with one friend poking me- (while I was minding my own business btw!) and me retaliating. To then me subsequently getting chased (and if you know me you know I PANIK because I cannot stand being chased and I freeze and scream and all that fun stuff). Then getting my arms forcibly raised above my head while ANOTHER friend comes and pokes the living daylights out of my sides, stomach and ribs. All the while the rest of our friend group watched and one even recorded the ordeal- 😀😀😀😀😀😀

I swore my revenge so stay tuned I guess....

Oh!!!! You thought that was it!? HAHAHA. No!

There's more!

All in the same day!! My friends (like 5 of us altogether) are all hanging out and one of them throws their legs over my lap. Another friend comes up to us and starts doing the egg crack thingy to us. Yes it tickles me but not enough to make me really laugh. But my other friend! Oh boy he was already begging! The friend who pinned my arms in the above story suggested we tickle him. And tickle we did. I was in charge of holding a leg and tickling his stomach and sides. Y'all the laughter- the joy- it was just- words can't describe it actually. But imagine 4 of your friends holding you down and like tickling the shit out of you.

Long story short, I did get revenge on one of my friends and I got help pinning him down and just going to town with the tickles. The funniest thing is everyone was relying on me to know his tickle spots (yeah I'm the resident tickle monster please don't shame me 😔). He was acting all stoic and tough and claiming he's not ticklish. And he almost got away with it, I was poking and scribbling his ribs which would normally work but he held it in pretty well. But I knew under his arms/uppermost rib was a good spot. Once I got there- his facade dropped instantly. He genuinely burst out in surprised laughter and started flailing everywhere. We even challenged him to 20 seconds of tickling- which he agreed to!?!? I was trying to tickle his ankles and unprompted he's like "feet are my most ticklish spot". Thank you. You sweet friend o mine for revealing that info. With permission I took his shoe off and started tickling. He scrunched his eyes, turning redder every second but the minute I reached his toes he was cackling again.

And that pretty much was it- my favourite part aside from the tickles was just the consent, trust and mutual respect we all had for each other. Once someone said stop we did. We gave them breaks and time to catch their breaths. We made sure we weren't hurting them or making people uncomfortable by holding them down, like it was just so great to see???? Like wow basic human decency exists?!!! And in MY friend group? Chefs kiss dawg, sloppy style.

#twordpinion #tword community #storytime with onion #ticklepinion #so that happened #we will not speak of me being the lee #lee onion does not exist #I bite #ler onion is very much having the time of his life #can now confirm people who are a bit high are so sensitive

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kaisacobra · 11 months

Text

Rebound - Kate Bishop

Summary: Kate only seeks you when she fights with her boyfriend. You pretend it doesn't bother you, after all, that gives you an excuse to have her by your side.

Warnings: angst without happy ending, toxic relationships, very ooc Kate Bishop.

Word Count: 4.8k

Waiting your ring all day

Hearing your crying

Till you fall asleep, you were mine

It was 3:24 in the morning when your phone rang, echoing off the walls of your quiet dorm room. Your roommates had probably already gone to sleep, having a much more organized schedule than yours, but you were being kept awake by conflicting thoughts and feelings.

And the reason for your insomnia was calling you.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. In fact, it was the second time it had happened this month, and you can't remember just how many times it had happened in the past month.

Early morning calls from Kate Bishop, drowning in tears, asking to sleep in your room after yet another fight with her idiot boyfriend. She could never sleep in her own room because she didn't want to have to deal with her friends reminding her again and again how much they had warned her about this relationship that was doomed to fail because the guy was an asshole.

"But you're different from them." She would always tell you amid sobs, when you were holding her in your arms. "You listen to me and you don't judge me."

In those moments, you feel the urge to yell at her, to tell her that Yelena and America were right to criticize Kate's choice to always go back to that scumbag, to say that you didn't understand how a person like her could settle to a relationship that keeps hurting her day after day for a guy who definitely doesn't deserve her.

But you don't, because Kate is looking up at you with watery eyes, curled up in your embrace in a moment of the purest fragility, and the last thing you want is to hurt her even more. You stand silently as she cries and you hold her until she sleeps, patting her head as if this will protect her from all the pain.

Taking a deep breath, you let go of your thoughts and finally reach for the phone on the bedside table to answer the call, already able to hear Kate's sobs at the other end of the line.

"Y/n? Sorry to call so late, it's just..." Her voice breaks amidst sniffles. Your heart aches as if this is your first time in this situation. "I really need you right now. Can I sleep in your room?"

"Of course you can, Kate." You answered as usual, getting out of bed to go wait for Kate's arrival on the couch in the living room next to the door.

Addicted your scent

Chasing your trace

I just one of them, You weren’t mine

She arrives at 3:51 and knocks on the door so softly that you hardly hear her. You open it and see her in the hallway, trembling, her eyes red and her cheeks wet with tears still streaming down her face. You open your arms without a word and she automatically jumps up to hug you in a tight grip, the sobs becoming more and more constant. After closing the door behind you, you guide her into your room, where (as if in Deja Vu) you lend her more comfortable clothes to wear and wait, lying there in your bed, while she comes back from the bathroom.

Your heart basically begs for help from the amount of different emotions you are trying to control. There is the pain of seeing Kate in such a depressing situation, there is the anger at why she is in such a situation and, of course, there are your feelings for Kate Bishop that make your heart beat three times faster just by being in her presence.

You sigh and cover your eyes with your hands, trying to calm your heartbeat, which was agitated by the presence of a certain blue-eyed girl, and escape the sleepiness that was starting to bother you. It was 4 a.m., after all, and you had to be up in three hours to be ready for your classes on time.

The room previously lit only by the moonlight coming through the window suddenly becomes brighter. Kate is opening the bathroom door, stepping out of the room, trying to balance the clothes she was wearing before in one hand while trying to turn off the light and close the door with the other. It's not the first time this has happened, but you still feel the air being stolen from your lungs at the sight of Kate Bishop dressed in only one of your oversized blouses and pajama shorts.

As if working with muscle memory, your body naturally moves to occupy only one side of the bed, leaving the other space free for Kate to lie down. She does, but 2 seconds later she is cuddled up next to you, letting the tears drip from her face onto your shoulder. You try to fix your position to make Kate more comfortable in your arms, ending up in a position where she was basically on top of you, her face buried in the curve of your neck as your hands caressed her back.

"I'm here for you. Always." You whisper to her as if you're telling her your biggest secret, leaving a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"I know. I'm so grateful to have you." She whispers back with a little difficulty between sobs.

The urge to cry comes over you at that moment. You were so close but so far away from her that the situation left a bitter taste in your mouth. As you carefully run your hands through her hair, you wonder if this is how Icarus felt as he flew close to the sun, enamored by its brightness, approaching something beautiful but that would eventually be his death.

You could have insisted more, you could have said everything that came into your mind when her stupid boyfriend was mentioned, you could have tried to convince her to leave him for good to stop that destructive cycle in her life... But you didn't. You never say anything, for fear that Kate might get angry with your opinion and no longer want your presence. Two sentences were exchanged in the silence of the moonlit room, and those were the last things that could be heard before any sound was replaced by light snoring.

The other day, Kate was gone before you woke up.

(Pretending you need me)

I don’t belong to you

(You told them you want him)

As usual, on top of your desk was a small note written in painfully familiar handwriting.

"He texted me apologizing. I left early to meet him. Thank you for letting me stay with you."

Your heart ached as you read the message as if it had been the first time. Obviously it hadn't been. This was just another part of the routine you always followed when Kate had these moments, as if it were part of a movie script to follow. In this case, you were the romantic interest who was left in the background the whole time, even though everyone knew that you would treat the protagonist infinitely better than the first option.

You dressed yourself the best you could and finally left your room. It was 7:30 and you had slept two hours at max during the night, which was visible in your exhausted features reflected in the mirror. Red eyes with dark bags that had appeared due to fatigue and an exhausted expression. You were definitely going to need to get some coffee before your classes started.

"Wow, you look like shit." That was the first thing MJ, one of your best friends and roommate, said upon seeing your state when you showed up in the living room. She was already ready to attend her classes, putting the last things she needed in her backpack.

"Thanks, MJ." You gave her a thumbs up and headed for the shoe rack near the door, looking for something that would go with your lazy choice of clothes (A sweatshirt of some sort and jeans).

"Let me guess, Kate Bishop came for a late night visit again? That or you got run over by a ghost truck in the daybreak." That was Shuri, your other best friend and roommate, deciding to speak up about your decadent appearance. She too was ready for the day and offered you a look that was on the fine line between judgment and pity.

"Yes, she was here. No, I don't want to talk about it." You finish tying your shoes and decide to look for your backpack. You already knew what your friends had to say on that subject and you weren't really in the mood to listen, no matter how much you knew they were right.

"We just care about you, you know." Shuri reached over and touched your shoulder, offering your backpack that was in her left hand. You always left your bag under the coat rack in the living room, and if your head wasn't so far away, you would have realized that you passed by it twice. "This thing of yours with Bishop is only going to hurt you if you keep it up."

"It's no big deal! I'm just a friend trying to help another friend through a tough time. I would do the same thing if it were you!" You tried to argue, knowing that your roommates hadn't bought that excuse for a second.

"We all know you're lying, okay? We're not blind, we see the way you look at her." MJ spoke from her seat on the couch, "But it hurts to see you destroy yourself to comfort a girl who would rather go back to her abusive boyfriend even though they fight once every two weeks! I know you can't control who you fall in love with, but you can walk away."

You run your hands through your hair, feeling frustrated at the way the conversation was going. "Thanks for the advice, but I really am fine and have everything under control." You put your backpack on your back and walk to the door, ignoring the worried looks from your friends behind you. It's not like you had time for that discussion anyway, since your class was already about to start.

You decided to focus on this. On the way to your classroom. Not on the thought nudging at the back of your head that your friends were right.

Shhh, I was just your rebound

I was just your rebound

The campus seemed to be exactly opposite to your emotions. It was sunny, which made the grass and flowers more colorful than usual. Other students walked in groups to their classes, chatting happily about their plans for the rest of the day. It was a Friday, after all. It made sense that everyone was so eager for some well-deserved time off.

Of course, your current state meant that you couldn't enjoy the day like everyone else. The sun seemed too bright for your sensitive eyes, and the loud chatter of the people around you made you grit your teeth to contain the urge to scream out of frustration at the lack of silence.

Checking the time on your phone, you decided you had time to grab a coffee in the campus cafeteria before your class actually started. The ethics professor always spent a good 10 minutes at the beginning of the class talking about the news of his life anyways.

The cafeteria was a popular spot in the university for its diverse menu and beautiful natural decor that was the background for many of the students' Instagram photos. Flowers of various colors adorned the ceramic vases that decorated the tables, and tall bushes hid the tables that were out of sight from passersby.

You were about to pass through the gate when you heard two familiar voices arguing. Reaching through the gate to see their faces, you found Kate Bishop and Yelena Belova in a heated argument. Ignoring common sense, you placed yourself behind the bushes, hiding enough to hear them without being seen.

"Are you serious?! Kate Bishop, this guy has probably cheated on you with half the American women by now, and you think it's a good idea to go back to him?! Because he apologized?!"

You heard Kate sigh in response. Although you couldn't see her, you knew her well enough to know that she must have had an annoyed pout on her face. "He didn't cheat on me this time! We just fought about other things."

"Oh, yeah?! And what was it about this time, huh?" Yelena retorted, raising her voice as she became more irritated. "Was it about him being jealous of your male friends, again? Or was it about him not liking you practicing archery because it's 'too masculine' for you? Or was it about him not wanting you to wear suits when you go out with him because he prefers you in a dress?"

"Stop it, Yelena." Kate asked. "We talked earlier and agreed to be better for each other. Things are going to change now."

Yelena let out a sneer. "Do you still believe that? Do you still believe in him?"

"When you love someone, you believe in them until the last second. You have to."

You gave up getting the coffee as you listened to the last bit of the conversation, turning around and walking aimlessly to another part of the campus, feeling the need to be physically away from Kate. Everything suddenly seemed too much for you. Your senses were overwhelmed.

Your heart burned and ached as if it had been pierced with a sword. There was no blood, but your chest bled like a freshly opened wound. "Shit." You muttered to yourself, feeling your throat close by the impending urge to cry.

MJ and Shuri were right. Your feelings for Kate were not under control and they had just ruined your day. You chuckled in a bittersweet way, finding pathetic the way you let yourself fall for the girl who used you at her worst times and then came back for that lame excuse of a boyfriend.

There was no point in going to class anymore. Your thoughts were completely lost somewhere else, together with those electric blue eyes you adored. You decided to go home, then. With luck, your roommates had already left, and you would have the whole apartment free to cry your heart out in peace.

But as you stepped off the elevator into the familiar hallway of the building, the comfort of being close to home made your guard be lowered, which caused the tears to start falling long before you even thought to control them.

Holding back a sob that was struggling to come out, you hurried to look for your keys in your backpack. Your trembling hands were in the way of putting the key in the lock, and you had to try a few times before finally entering the house.

In a last attempt at self-control, you closed your eyes and leaned on the door as soon as you entered. It didn't do much good, as your body shook strongly when you could no longer hold back the flood of tears and sobs. You hugged your own body, trying to offer some sense of protection to yourself.

There was nothing you could do. You had tied your heart to a person who liked to insist on her own mistakes.

Suddenly, you felt two pairs of arms wrap around you in a warm embrace. Apparently Shuri and MJ hadn't left the house yet. You waited for an "I told you so" or something, but all your friends offered you was silence and a heartwarming embrace.

You had people who cared about you. You were home. You were going to be okay.

Waiting your ring again

Hearing your deep sigh

Realized you weren’t mine, but I

It had been two weeks since you had last seen Kate, but that was nothing new, since she never tried to contact you outside of the secret early morning hours when she sought your affection. It had been a week since you had managed to keep a good sleep schedule, something you hadn't known for a long time.

Therefore, you strongly considered refusing the call that disturbed your sleep. The brightness of the screen hurt your eyes that were already adapted to the dark of the night when you looked at the time. 2:10 AM.

One missed call: Kate <3

You sighed and closed your eyes for a few seconds, considering your next steps. You knew that Kate would call you again until you answered. The only solution would be to block her number, officially ending any contact the two of you might have.

It was a tempting idea, but you knew that you couldn't end things that way. Part of you still harbored a small hope that maybe if you said everything you had to say, she could get out of that relationship and give herself a chance to be happy. Maybe even to be happy with you.

It was wishful thinking, you knew. But you were already fucked anyway, it wouldn't hurt to try one last time.

Your phone vibrated again, and her contact name was the only thing you could see in the dark. Sighing one last time, you answered it and waited for her to say something.

"Sorry for calling at this hour." Kate says in between sobs, "Can I sleep with you? Please?"

You consider saying no at that moment. You wouldn't have to look into those blue eyes as you confessed your feelings. You wouldn't have the image of her rejection engraved in your head. It would be so much simpler, so much faster.

"Of course." You reply, getting up from the bed as if the weight of the world laid on your shoulders. "I'll be waiting for you."

Can’t stop thinking about you

Out of my head, I’m dying!

She arrives 20 minutes later and, following the unofficial routine, you take her to your room, giving her comfortable clothes to change into. Just as you did a few weeks ago, you sit on your bed as you stare wistfully at the bathroom door, waiting for Kate Bishop to come out.

But when she does, the butterflies in your stomach don't flutter at the sight of her blue eyes, not even when she cracks a shy smile when she realizes you're staring. You break the routine and don't move to make room for her on the bed, causing her to stop, standing in front of you.

Her expression turns to one of concern when she notices your unfocused eyes. You could sense that she was confused. What always happened was that you offered her comfort, never the other way around.

"Are you okay?" Kate asks cautiously. Her hands waved awkwardly on her sides and you knew that was a sign of her nervousness.

(Pretending you need me)

I don’t belong to you

(You told them you want him)

"You look worried." She says in a playful tone of. You almost feel the tips of your lips lift at that. It had been a while since Kate had last spoken to you beyond the crying moments and it was so tempting to just let yourself fall for her charms, especially when she looked so adorable in one of your old shirts.

But the heat that graced your skin at the sight of her also burned enough to remind you of why you couldn't continue that much longer.

"I can't do this anymore." You reply in a choked, trembling voice. Her expression turns to one of concern when she notices how upset you seem to be.

"What do you mean?" She moves a little closer, with small steps. "What's going on?" She continues, and all you can think about is how close she is from you, and how easy it would be to pull her by her waist and give her the bruising kiss you so badly crave.

"It's so hard for me to see you like this, again and again, because of that asshole..." You lower your head, not wanting to be under her gaze at that vulnerable moment. "... when all I ever wanted was to be in his place."

You feel a sob escape from your throat, and suddenly you no longer have control of your own body. You don't even feel it when the tears run down your face so intensely that a small wet spot forms on the collar of your shirt. You don't feel it when your body starts to shiver as if you were freezing cold, and if you had your mind in the right place, you would've wondered how much you suppressed your emotions to get to that point.

But you feel it when she rests a hand on your shoulder and that simple contact makes your crying increase even more.

"I think I love you, Kate."

Shhh, I was just your rebound

I was just your rebound

For long seconds, the silence is disturbed only by the sound of your cries. Everything else seems to be frozen in time, as if the slightest movement would be enough to set off a bomb.

But Kate broke this when she held your chin between her fingers and lifted it until your gazes met. Blue meeting red in your sclera. She slowly moved closer to your face and you stopped breathing in anticipation.

Soon the silence of the night was interrupted by the sound of your loud heartbeat in your ear. She was kissing you. Kate Bishop was kissing you.

You came out of your trance and pulled her by the waist, just as you had wished to do before. Your eyes were closed tightly, for fear that you would open them and find that it was all just a dream. Kate's lips were soft and they fitted so perfectly against yours that you almost felt yourself floating.

The hand that had been on your chin went to your other shoulder, pushing gently until you laid down on the bed. You let out a murmur when Kate pulled away, but that only lasted the seconds she needed to climb on top of you, resting her knees on the side of your thighs. She kissed you again after that, gently caressing your cheeks as you kept your grip on her hips.

The kiss was hurried, but sweet. You could barely contain the smile on your face, but you didn't want to be away from Kate's lips for a second. She seemed to think so too, because every mention you made of pulling away, she grabbed your face and pulled you close again.

As usual on Kate's visiting nights, few words were exchanged between you until bedtime, but at least this time you slept lightheartedly, enjoying the weight of her head on your chest.

I can’t resist you

The next day, you wake up refreshed with a happiness you had never felt before. It had been one of the best nights of sleep you've had in years.

Your roommates comment on your good mood when you appear in the living room, leaving them both a kiss on the forehead and stealing a strawberry from MJ's plate before you leave. They didn't ask you much about your change of mood, probably just being relieved to not have to see you in that awful state again.

They didn't need to know that the reason for your good mood happened to be Kate Bishop, much less that she had slept over at their house last night. MJ and Shuri would probably ask something too rational like "why did she sneak out in the middle of the night?" and you didn't have the answer to that, but at least Kate hadn't left a note saying that she was meeting her boyfriend.

That was a good sign, right?

You walk to the university whistling the music that was playing in your headphones. It was a beautiful day and a light breeze was easing the heat of the summer sun. You decide that it is a good weather to get an iced tea at the campus cafeteria, so you detour your way there.

The line isn't huge, but you have enough time to fish your phone out of your pocket and text Kate.

Are you on campus? I wanted to talk about yesterday...

You press send and watch as the app shows you that the message has been received, but there is no sign that Kate is going to read it anytime soon. You stare at the screen incessantly even as you were placing your order and receiving it, not letting the phone lock as if that would make Kate answer you faster.

She doesn't answer, so you decide to look for her yourself.

Wish you want me too

I’m still thinking’ bout you

You walk around the campus, looking for some sign of Bishop somewhere. You try to focus as hard as you can, but your thoughts are all over the place.

Had she already broken up with him? Was she looking for you too? Was she also reliving yesterday's kiss in her head, over and over again?

You breathe a sigh of relief and almost scream to thank heaven when you see Yelena and America walking towards a building. They were Kate's best friends, so they would surely know where she was.

With quick steps, you get close enough to both of them to touch their shoulders. Perhaps if you had paid closer attention, you would have noticed that they carried an expression of disgust before changing to one of confusion at the sight of you.

"Sorry to get in your way. Have you guys seen Kate? I kind of need to talk to her."

If the two were surprised by your action, they didn't let it show on their faces. Instead, America scoffed and pointed at something behind her. "Good luck with that. She's too busy in Dickland."

Your eyebrows frown in confusion and you follow the direction of the girl's finger, searching for an explanation for the comment. Suddenly, you wish you hadn't done that.

Because there Kate Bishop was. In her boyfriend's arms. Again.

I mean you, you

I Don’t know how to stop, this feeling

I’m still thinking bout you

You watch as they exchange a kiss that seems to be passionate, but how could it be? If last night it was your lips that Kate was kissing? How could she be with him now, as if nothing had happened?

The air gets caught in your throat when Kate turns toward you and catches you staring. She doesn't look away. Instead, she gives you a guilty, pleading look. Was that meant to be a silent apology? Or did she want you to keep that moment a secret?

All she did was stare at you. Kate didn't even made any mention of leaving her boyfriend's arms, not even to talk to you.

She was choosing him again.

So you turned and started to walk away. Your walk turned into a brisk walk, which turned into a run to nowhere. You just wanted to be as far away from Kate as possible.

Your heart was beating dangerously fast, but not for the reasons you used to love.

Thump, Thump - I should have listened to MJ and Shuri.

Thump, Thump - I should have declined that damn phone call yesterday.

Thump, Thump - I should have stopped being stupid.

Wish you want me too

I’m still thinking’ bout you

You stop running when you reach a more secluded area, resting your hands on your knees to catch your breath. The good mood from earlier seemed to have evaporated and an intense fatigue stole its place.

You throw yourself down on a bench, feeling your hair clinging to your face, wet with tears and sweat. Everything suddenly seemed too much for you. You didn't want to think about anything, much less feel anything.

You felt numb.

When your phone vibrates in your pocket, you still feel a spark of hope and rush to see the notification. Maybe Kate has regretted it? Maybe she's looking for you right now to apologize.

But when you see the notification bar on your lock screen, you just chuckle bitterly.

MJ♡: Did you borrow my charger? I can't find...

Taking the cue and your moment of impulsiveness caused by the pain, you unlock your phone and go straight to your social media accounts, blocking Kate on all of them.

Next, you go to the messages app, where you delete all the texts (not that many) that you have ever exchanged in your life.

Finally, you go to your contact list and stop your shaky finger above her number. You take a deep breath and read her name a few more times while you make your final decision.

But what was done was done. Kate couldn't get out of the vicious cycle she was in and you were already tired of being her rebound.

So, you block her number and delete it from your phone. And you pray you never have to see Kate Bishop again.

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