#and that they probably would consider each other to be pretty much cousins if they grew up together

[pcktknife]

If Pearlina were in a Dnd type setting what classes would they be?

went ahead and did all the idols (- bm again im sorry big man fans) you can think of these more as them actually roleplaying than me throwing the actual characters into fantasy land cause I got itty bitty character backgrounds too lol

Callie (Elven Bard) plays as a princess who knows very little about the world outside her kingdom, but is very excited to experience it as an aspiring songstress. She also sometimes DMs. Marie (Changeling Ranger) plays as Callie's guardian.She's disguised as Callie's cousin who (unknown to Cal) died in a battle Marie witnessed. There'd probably be an arc in their campaign where this is dramatically found out by another party member lol.

Pearl (Halfling Bard-barian) basically plays the same character Callie does (princess who leaves to be a bard) except she'd already be an established world famous musician. She's prone to starting fights and used to also be smth of a gladiator. Marina (Human Artificer) plays who she kinda is in real life tbh. Engineer/Inventor behind much of her country's advanced weaponry. She felt unfulfilled having her inventions used solely for war though and dipped.

Frye (F.Genasi Rogue/Sorcerer) and Shiver (W.Genasi Warlock/Monk) play as a scavenger and pirate respectively. Their characters grew up together with no family but each other and consider each other their greatest treasure. They're pretty ruthless, have killed and will kill again (family that slays together stays together). Big Man usually DMs for everybody but when he's not he's usually playing an Earth Genasi or Firbolg and classing as a Monk or Cleric and is of course makes Frye and Shiv's group complete.

#asks #anon #splatoon #myart #pearl houzuki #marina ida #callie cuttlefish #marie cuttlefish #frye onaga #shiver hohojiro #big man

[canthelpit0]

American

Pairing: matt x poc!reader

Wordcount: 2.2K +

Summary: reader is a third culture kid. Her parents are immigrants, and she hates it. She wants to be everything she is not.

Warnings: angst, crying, hating your own culture, racism, internalized racism, middle eastern!reader, reader discerned as average, established relationship, pet names, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no oc; reader described to have curly hair, brown eyes and hair.

(A/N: not me reflecting lmao. asks and req are open <3 feedback is appreciated!)

I hate my culture. I hate my frizzy hair, I hate the fact that my eyes are a plain brown. I hate the fact that I’m not white. I hate that when someone asks me where I’m from and I say America, they go “no where are you actually from?”. I hate my brain. I hate the way I think. I hate the way I wish I was someone else. I hate myself, and I hate the way I hate myself.

I was never considerably pretty. Well not really. Sure the facial harmony, the potential is there. But I’m just not good enough.

I wish my hair was straight.

I hate the way I hate my own culture. I really do. But I literally can’t fit into the American beauty Standards , but I can’t fit into the middle eastern ones either.

My home country is America. I was born and raised here. But both of my parents are immigrants from turkey. -Wich means we’re not very wealthy.

I hate it when people ask me where I’m from because I look ‘exotic’.

I wouldn’t consider turkey my home country. I hate it there. And I don’t know if it’s just my internalized hatred or whatever, but I do.

Even in the country itself I’m not considered Turkish enough. In the US I’m not American enough…

I’m never enough.

Not to my parents, not to my siblings, not to my boyfriend. Not to myself. I’m not good enough.

we go to turkey for vacation every year and I’m sick of it.

I speak the language enough to communicate. I hate half the food because I’m a picky eater. It hurts even more because I’m not even considered properly Turkish.

I hate the way all my cousins, except for one, live In turkey. I hate the way they’re so close to each other. And despite being in the cousins group chat, they’ll always send in pictures of them all together. Pictures that I’ll never be in, simply because I’m halfway across the world.

Years ago, whenever we visited, it didn’t matter, the fact that I live so far away, but now they were judgy.

Besides I don’t trust anything there. Sure the stuff there is cheaper, but you could literally put me in an official Nike store and I would still tell you the shoes are fake, even tho they obviously aren’t.

I did an internship at a disposition and shipping company. I know that those shoes come from the same warehouse. I just don’t trust anything Turkish.

Growing up with so many myths that my parents taught me to live by, until I realized it’s just a bunch of bullshit, made me believe that nothing purchased in turkey is of any quality.

And it’s not even to hate on the nation or anything, it’s probably my own fault.

I hate the way all the other middle easternerns are so confident in where they’re from, flexing the fact that they naturally know more languages than Americans.

But I just wish I was one of those stupid Americans. Oblivious to the rest of the world and all the flaws in human nature. I wish I was a skinny white woman born into an upper middle class American family.

But instead I have to be what I am.

I hate it when I hear people talk in my ‘native’ language. Even tho that’s the only language we speak at home.

Sometimes I feel great knowing that I have culture and just naturally great genetics, and potential and resources to be better than those stuck in a village in my ‘home’ town.

But then it dawns on me that I’m not American, even if I was born and raised here it’s not my home country. And as much as I feel like it should be and is, it’s not.

It dawns on me that I’m not white. I’m not one of them. And I never will be.

And that makes me question why Matt is even dating me.

There is so much internal self hatred and racism going on in me, yet still he chose me over those white girls.

And I don’t get it.

Every time I look at myself in the mirror I sigh. Let’s ignore the fact that I’m not white like that and will never be. Even being middle eastern, or whatever the hell turks are considered, I don’t look like that either.

I fit literally nowhere. Sure I have dark brown hair and brown eyes, I look pretty average. But I still don’t look Turkish, I don’t have that straight hair or painfully skinny body.

I let out a heavy sigh without even noticing. These thoughts were getting loud again.

I hate how strict and conservative my parents are. I hate the painful lack of empathy they show, because I always have to be perfect, when I’m oh so confused of what type of perfect.

I don’t know if they want me to be a cheerleader and prom queen and top of my class like they never could. Or if they want me to be conservative or something.

Probably the latter, but-

“What are you thinking about?” Matt’s voice suddenly snaps me out of my daze. We literally had laid down to sleep and all I could do is pity myself.

I feel a lump in my throat and only now realize how i feel like I’m going to break into sobs.

Matt must’ve heard my uneven, shaky breaths.

Matt was spooning me, his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me close to him. He rubs my sides gently, tracing shapes on my skin.

I sigh in response. I feel like I haven’t used my voice in so long. I feel like if I speak now, I’ll break into sobs.

“Baby?” He whispers softly. I feel him pull away slightly until he turns me around to face him.

“Talk to me sweetheart.”

Matt is such a kind soul. I literally didn’t tell my parents we were dating until we were already dating for 7 months, just because I was that scared. I wasn’t allowed to date or do anything intimate. As if it wasn’t normal for a teenager to want to.

“Why do you like me Matt?” I blurt out before I can think.

“First off, I don’t like you, I love you. And second where is this coming from?” He asks sweetly his eyes having a tinge of concern to them. He looks so sweet and caring.

“Why tho?” I inquire. My voice low. I know my eyes are glassy, I’m quite literally holding back tears.

Matt licks his lips and sits up. He turns the bedside table lamp on. The dim yellow light aluminates the room slightly, just enough so that I can see his prominent features even better.

“What do you mean?” He asks again now sitting up fully. He has his legs Chris-cross, looking down at me while I still lay on my side.

I sigh trying to gather my thoughts. I purse my lips lying back on my back. I stare at the ceiling for a moment.

“Why do you love me?” I purse my lips. I blink furiously trying to hold back tears.

The way he looks at me is sweet and caring. I sit up just like him. Both of us now sitting across each other, Chris-cross.

Matt and I have been together for a long while, so he knows me. But I never openly talked about it.

“I love you because you’re kind, and caring. I love you because you could talk for hours about things you are passionate about. I love your voice, I love your face, I love the way you’re so delicate with everything. I love the way you touch me. I love you because even when we were just friends you were so kind to me and everyone around. I love you because you’re you.”

By the end of his rant I was crying. Tears streaming down my face while i try to hold in gut wrenching sobs.

Matt’s eyes soften even further. He shifts again so his back is against the head-bored. He grabs me gently and sets me down on his lap facing him.

I cry. Feeling vulnerable I burry my face in the side of his neck. I try not to sob too loud, but I can’t hold it in. With my sobs my body shakes as I try to breathe through it.

“Shh you’re okay baby.” He comforts, gently rubbing circles into my back.

I let out shaky breaths and sobs as I try to calm down. I feel like I’m overreacting. Sure I feel shitty about myself, but then again I can’t do anything to change who I am, so what’s the point in crying about it.

I don’t know for how long I cry, I just know that after a while I couldn’t anymore. I cried so much I ran out of tears.

“You want to talk about it?” Matt asks softly under his breath.

I let out a shaky sigh and shift slightly. I look him in the eyes for a second before letting my head fall forward closing my eyes. I know my eyes are probably red and puffy.

“I just..” I trail off, thinking of a way to describe this to Matt.

“I hate being an immigrant’s daughter..” I say slowly trying to figure out a way to understandably say this without sounding crazy or overly sensitive.

I feel Matt’s hand ghost over my cheek caressing my face gently. He picks up my head slowly so I’m looking at him. My eyes meet his as I try not to cry anymore.

“Talk to me, honey.” He says oh so sweetly.

“I just wish I was American.” I sob. Without even realizing tears were rolling down my face again.

Matt doesn’t say anything waiting for me to continue. He wipes away my tears gently, his eyes full of concern.

“I hate myself and everything I stand for.” I breathe out under my breath as if I’m terrified by that fact. And I am. I hate that I hate myself.

“Baby..” Matt whispers softly. He looks at me like I am everything. He looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters and me saying that I hate myself tears him apart.

“I don’t have a culture. I mean I do, but I’m a third culture kid, I’m not enough for either culture.” I sob. I can physically feel my bottom lip trembling.

“Baby, I love you for you.” Matt says again softly. He wipes away my tears.

“But I hate myself Matt. I hate the fact that I exist.” I breathe out. I close my eyes tightly, because after all, I could barely see anything through my tears anyway.

Matt, being the empath he is, was on the verge of crying too.

No American ever pronounces my name right, but the actual right way just sounds wrong at this point.

I will never find my name on those keychains. And while today, I don’t care about it, back when I was younger and everyone had those, I just couldn’t find one.

“Don’t say that” Matt breaths out. He was still actively wiping away my tears while trying not to cry himself.

“You don’t get it Matt. I’m the problem.” I breathe out harshly. “I feel like I always act like such a brat about it. But my parents had dreams too.” I breathe out.

I see a tear roll down Matt’s cheek and it feels like a slap across my face. I feel my stomach drop. I hurriedly put my hands on his face wiping away the tear while crying myself. Matt’s hands go to my waist holding me.

“Don’t say that.” He breathes out. “You’re allowed to feel things.”

Another wave of sadness washes over me. But before I can break out into sobs again he pulls me into him.

Matt cradles my head into his chest hugging me tightly. I feel safe in his arms. I know Matt loves me for me, but sometimes it still felt like a cruel joke.

Like when I was asked out in middle school as a joke. But we’ve been dating for almost a year now.

“I love your hair, I love your eyes, I love your face, I love your culture, I love your humor. I love you.” Matt assures me. He rubs my scalp gently as I continues to let out small sobs that shake my body.

“I love everything about you. I love you the way you are, and you know that.” He uses his other hand to rub my back comfortingly.

I continue to cry in his arms listening to the sweet nothings and the praises Matt whispers to me.

It hurts knowing I hurt him. And I really want to believe him, and I do. But I don’t agree.

After a while of crying I calm down again.

This is a topic I’ll never be able to talk about without crying. It’s a deep rooted pain.

Being how I am, I hate it.

After a while we move back to a laying down position. “We’ll talk about this later.” Matt assures firmly yet he was still looking at me kindly.

I simply nod. Matt turns the bedside lamp off. He pulls me closer to him. He cradles my head to his chest and I hug him back. I cling to him like my life depends on it.

I know it’s not going to be easy, but it’s exhausting to hate myself this much. I wish I didn’t. I really do.

Masterlist

A/N: All of us third culture kids have probably at some point have experienced some type of internalized racism. I wrote this in a fit of sadness after realising that my dreams are just dreams. I cried so many times while writing this. I hope you guys liked it 💕

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun , @jnkvivi , @jamiesturniolo

#sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader smut #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo angst #angst #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic

[aworldinsideaperson]

Candy Cane Kisses

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Plus Size!AFAB!Reader

Summary: Candy Cane Kisses takes us to a Texas ranch on Christmas night, Jake “Hangman” Seresin is watching his sister’s best friend from across the room as he nurses the bottle of beer in his hand. His Bambi is somehow more beautiful than she’d been when they met three years prior, the last time they’d seen each other until only two nights before and he wonders if she can still taste him like that candy cane between her lips. 

Warnings: 18+, No use of Y/N (Reader is nicknamed Bambi), No happy ending (for now). There is talk of food, relatively explicit talk of sex as well as some pretty graphic foreplay/kissing with the reader being described with vaginal anatomy but the actual smut happens behind closed doors. 

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N:

First: This is part of @sailor-aviator’s Christmas Writing Challenge but it is also a companion piece to a longer story/series I’m working on so while there is no happy ending in this piece the overall story, once completed, will have a happy ending. But once again, THIS PIECE DOES NOT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING so read at your own risk. 

Second: The smut was supposed to be in the story but I felt like it didn’t need it but if people want to read it separately I might consider finishing it and posting it.

Third and probably most important: Anything you’d like me to tag as warning or in a description or anything please let me know. I haven’t really posted anything longer than a couple hundred words since like 2016 so it’s been a while and I know fandom and fanfiction has changed quite a bit since I’ve been an active member of it so please bear with me while I get my bearings. 

Sailor-Aviator’s Christmas Writing Challenge

December 23rd, 2013

Sometimes he replayed that kiss in his head. Sometimes he berated himself for not giving more. Sometimes he imagines pressing his lips to parts of her that he’d never seen. He knew She was older now, they both were, he’d seen the pictures on instagram and facebook, the occasional snapchat with drunk hazy eyes and the same smile she’d had the very first time he’d met her. It’d been more than three years since they’d seen each other in person but even from across a crowded bar with Christmas music blasting and chatter at an all time high, Jake could still hear her laugh and when his eyes shot in the direction of what had once been his favorite sound he knew then and there he was a goner. Even as he makes his way across the room to stand beside her at the bar he knows it’s a mistake but he’s thought about her for three years, and how much hurt could a conversation really do.

“Bambi.” A simple word, a nickname given to her that very first day as she watched the movie for the very first time with tears in her eyes. At the sound her eyes drifted closed, tension leaving her shoulders as she let out a breath before looking over to him with a smile. 

A conversation. That’s what he’d told himself. What harm could it do to just say hello, just ask how she was doing, just talk like the old friends they were. It wasn’t until an hour later when he stood inside her bedroom with his hand in her hair and his cock down her throat that he realized maybe his first instinct had been right. Maybe he shouldn’t have followed the sound of her voice, maybe he should have left the bar the second he heard a laugh that made his heart skip, maybe he shouldn’t have come back home at all.

December 24th, 2013

Jake sat on the arm of the couch, his cousin Isaac standing over him gesturing wildly with his unoccupied hand as he recounted a story Jake assumed would be interesting if he could pay attention to anything other than the sound of that laugh from across the room. The cold bottle swung between his fingers nearly empty. If he finished it he’d have to get another, if he went to get another he’d have to walk past her, if he walked past her he was sure she’d smell of that sweet gingerbread lotion she’d slathered on her hands, the same as the night before. He’d have to come face to face with her and that candy cane between her soft lips. He tried not to think about those lips, tried to listen to Isaac talk about the latest ponzi scheme he’d gotten himself involved with, tried not to remember the way her lips felt wrapped around his- 

“Dude I’m serious this would be a great investment opportunity! And I know you’ve got some capital, what with that military salary and all.” 

Isaac’s eyes were wide with excitement  but Jake’s face was contorted in pity as he sighed. “I don’t know Isaac.”

With that his face fell. “Why not man?”

Opening his mouth to give the older man an answer he really didn’t have, except to say that some guy name Brad has Isaac by the balls, Jake was saved by the voice of his mother as she quickly approached the pair.

“Jacob,” She started, laying a hand on his shoulder and looking softly at him, usually a sign she was about to ask for physical labor. “Do you think you could help Bambi bring the rest of the cookies from the basement? We’re running low up here and you know if someone doesn’t go down with her she’s gonna try to carry them all up by herself.”

He sighed but he didn’t argue. “Sure thing Mama,” He stood and clapped his cousin on the shoulder as he walked away. “I’ll catch up with you later Isaac.”

“Okay but seriously think about what I was tellin’ ya.”

With his back turned Jake nodded as he rolled his eyes. “Absolutely.” He knew would absolutely not be thinking about it as he took a few long strides towards the basement door and made his way down the steps.

The Seresin’s basement had never been a place to fear. Finished long before even their first child arrived Jake had always known it as a playroom, a game room, a movie room, whatever his family had needed it to be. He could hear his nieces and nephews to the right of the stairs, no doubt playing with the collection of toys new and old that lived in the too big toy chest in the corner of what could have been a third living room. To his left he could hear the rustling of plastic and clanging of aluminum in what was originally intended to be a second full bar for his dad but his mother had taken over as christmas cookie and bulk grocery storage. Once fully down the steps he could see her then, his back to him as she tried to stack two trays of his mother’s treats on top of one another and he smirked, that was just like her.  “I know you’re not trying to carry all those containers up by yourself.” He made his way toward the woman maneuvering the stack to goodies to get the best angle, gently laying his hand on her lower back. 

Relaxing at his touch Bambi looked up at Jake with a smile of her own. “I’m an independent woman who only takes one trip, especially with stairs involved.”

“Well as independent as I know you are imagine the hell mama would give me if she knew I let you carry them all up yourself. So will you spare me the wrath?”

Bambi rolled her eyes, replying with a sarcastic chuckle. “Well I suppose I could take pity on you given how well you ate pussy last night.”

The man’s shoulders dropped, “About last night,” He started, the room becoming thick with silence. “It was-“ He couldn’t finish, taking his hand off of Bambi and placing both of them on the counter as he turned from her slightly. He didn’t even know what he should say, didn’t know what the truth was, didn’t know if he should tell the truth even if he knew it.

Bambi nodded and sighed, back straightening as she toyed with the edge of the wrapped cookie trays. “A one time thing, yeah, nothing, I get it and I don’t plan on telling anyone. Not even Mary. She’ll lose her mind if she found out we almost fucked.” 

‘Fucked’ the word didn’t feel right. She’d never felt anything like what she felt the night before, memories of his hands and lips trailing over every inch of her body, every square of skin an erogenous zone with his touch. Fucked was something that happened after heated arguments and on couches in frat houses and in the back of cars. She wondered if last night, even though he’d never been inside her, she wondered if that’s what sex was supposed to be like, still making her feel a need for him almost 24 hours after the fact.

“Good. I mean. I just didn’t want to give you the impression that it was more than it was.” He felt sick at his own words. ‘More than what it was’ what was it exactly? Two people who once knew each other, who’d once been friends, giving each other pleasure? No feelings? As if he didn’t still think about her once a day from sharing one single kiss three years prior. 

The silence feels heavy around them but continuing to plaster a smile on her face Bambi looks up at her best friend’s brother. “I get it.” She starts. “I’m not a teenager with a crush anymore. You may have been the first person I loved but there have been others since. Other kisses, other blow jobs, other sex partners. There will be others after you too.” 

Every muscle in his body was tight as he nodded. “Okay then. It’s all sorted then.” Jake’s stomach churned as he tried not to think of her underneath, on top of, in front of, with other men. He wasn’t neive, he knew last night that the blow job she’d given him had been too good to be the first time she’d done it, someone had instructed her in the past. She knew where she wanted to be kissed and touched and she hadn’t been afraid to move his hands or his mouth or ask for more or less. He knew those things came from experiences. He just hated hearing her say it. Or maybe he hated the thought of after, that there was now an after him. That someone else would touch her and be touched by her and she’d instruct them on how to make her feel the way he had. Make her feel the way he had when he knew no one would ever make him feel the same way she did.

“Yeah, now let’s get these treats up there before people start nibbling on your mom’s gingerbread houses.” With a smile on her face Bambi grabbed the top tray and quickly turned her back to Jake and made her way back upstairs.

She was trapped. Completely and totally trapped. There was no possible way out of the conversation with the man in front of her. She’d tried everything, giving uncomfortable responses, not responding at all, she’d even tried walking away and he’d just followed her. Bambi had met Billy Seresin a few times. He was always too loud and too touchy, he smelled like he smoked 3 packs a day and he never ever shut up. All she had done was give him a polite smile as she was walking past him and into the sitting room, intent on cornering Mary-Ann to pester her about the man who’d shown up to the party as her boyfriend and left 30 minutes prior seemingly losing the title. That had been her plan but of course things hardly seemed to work out the way she expected these last few days especially and nearly 45 minutes later Bambi was sure that if Billy Seresin laid so much as a finger on her again she was going to vomit. But as he raised his hand another slide along her lower back and pulled her closer to him.

“Hey Bill, I’m gonna steal the pretty girl away, hope you don’t mind.” And without waiting for a response Jake led Bambi to the front door, his hand still resting gently on her back.

As they passed the threshold out to the porch her shoulders relaxed as she took in the borderline cold night air. “You are a real hero Jake, if the navy thing doesn’t work out I could whip you up a cape and some spandex, you could go around saving the world from conversations with creeps.” Bambi chuckled as the two settled beside each other on the porch swing, Jake pulling a large blanket from the basket beside them and wrapping it around Bambi’s shoulders.

“Well I’m contractually obligated to the Navy for another few years but afterwards we’ll team up.” His hand rubbed up and down her blanket covered arm a few times before leaning into the back of the swing, his body turned completely towards the woman beside him. “Besides, how was I supposed to let him keep eye fucking you right in front of me.”

“He was not eye fucking me.” Bambi voiced with a roll of her eyes.

“He was,” Jake argued. “I can tell since I’ve done it.”

Turning lifting one knee onto the seat of the swing she turned to completely face Jake. “He’s married to Sarah who’s a fucking dream, no way he’s trying to fuck that up.”

Propping his elbow on the back to their seat, Jake smirked, resting his head on his hand. “You’re way hotter than Sarah.”

“Oh now that’s just a flat lie.” She replied, throwing her head back in laughter.

Lifting his head, Jake let his fingers reach out to slide over a piece of her hair. “I disagree. You’re the hottest woman in any room.” He smirked, giving Bambi an exaggerated wink.

Lulling her head to the side she said his name with a mildly warning tone.

He sighed, throwing his hands up in defense. “Fine I’ll stop saying it. But you can’t make me stop thinking it.” A full genuine smile spread across his face, all the way up to his eyes.

“Sometimes I think you’re too much of a flirt for your own good.” She gave him a gentle shove and her exaggeratedly leaned backwards before sitting up with a laugh.

As the sound of laughter faded Jake admired the woman before him, he’d always thought she was beautiful but the glow of the twinkle lights surrounding the porch made her look ethereal. Even three years later, he’s never gotten over the way he feels around her. For several moments the silence surrounded them, nothing but the light creak of the swing chains and nature. The peacefulness he didn’t expect to be surrounded by was somehow terrifying to him So he filled it. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” She started, looking at her hands in her lap as she began to pick at the polish. “Mom has been seeing this guy Randy and he’s really nice to her. They’re talking about getting married and moving in together. And Mary bought this new camera and we’re setting up a studio space in the third bedroom of the loft. She’s not sure if she’s going to go back to college with me next fall but I still have plenty of time to convince her.” A soft smile turned up the corners of her lips her eyes still trained toward the fiddling fingers in her lap.

Jake reached out, rubbing his hand slowly over the blanket covering her shoulder. “That’s all great Bam but I asked about you.”

She sighed and then nodded. “Oh, well yeah, yeah. I’m good. I’m good.”

‘You sound unsure.” He pushed.

She reached out her hand to place it on his knee. “No, I'm good. Really.” She assured. “Just not totally used to thinking about it I guess.”

Reaching down to take her hand between both of his, stroking his thumb along her skin. “When’s the last time someone ask how you’ve been doing?”

“About 30 seconds ago.”

Jake looked at her with a warning glare. “Before that, smartass.”

Bambi rolled her head and smiled, her thumb sliding back and forth over Jake’s own calloused knuckles.“You’re the one in the Navy, doing big important things, shouldn’t I be the one asking you how you’re doing?”

Squeezing her hand tightly he gave Bambi a serious look. “You can ask but how you’re doing is no less important than how I’m doing. I’m of the opinion that it’s more important. How can I be okay if I know you’re not?” His question was met with silence and so with a sigh he continued. “I’ve been really good. Made some friends, made some non friends, and I love flying. Have pretty much everything I could ever want. Now you.”

Bambi smiled, giving Jake’s hands a squeeze of her own as she kept her eyes trained on their connected fingers. “I’m good, really. I’m getting my degrees in social work and criminal justice. Victim advocacy is the goal, helping people in similar situations to what Mom and I went through. Things are stressful and I’m scared I’m gonna fail like all the time but I want to help people so badly.” Finally she looked up, tears began to surface in her waterline as she willed them not to fall. “Somewhere out there is a child or a spouse who is going through some of the worst pain of their life and I think about how it felt to be helpless like that and I know I can’t give up.” 

Again, Jake reached out to her, one hand still holding tightly to hers, the other gently brushing a fallen drop from her cheek. “You amaze me Bamb, stronger than me that’s for sure.” A comfortable feeling fell over them as he continued the questioning.“You still in therapy?”

With a smile she nodded, her hand still gripped tightly in Jakes. “Yeah but I’ve been in a pretty good place for a while now so we’ve cut back to once or twice a month with the option for more when I need it. It really helped me to work through a lot of the guilt and anger and sadness. And I can think about it now without wanting to throw up. I still have nightmares but nothing like it used to be.”

Jake grinned at that. “That’s really great. I’m proud of you for sticking with it, I know you were really nervous to be starting it in the first place.”

“Thank you for encouraging me back then, I don’t know if I could have done it without that extra push.” 3 years ago she’d been a girl often afraid of her own shadow. She’d thought she needed to be saved back then but Jake hadn’t been the one to do it. Instead he’d loved her and broken her heart and pushed her to help herself. 

“Of course Bamb I’ve always cared about you, always wanted what’s best for my Bambi.” His hand cupped her cheek, eyes unable to break from hers.

“Jake-“

“I know, I know what we said I just,” He sighed, thumbs gliding softly over the skin of her hand and of her cheek. “I just really miss you.”

“Miss me?”

“Yeah,” Again, silence surrounded them, Jakes eyes dropping to her lips as he continued. “Bambi, about earlier I didn’t-“

“There you are!” Mary-Ann’s interruption pulled the two apart, hands now cold and cheeks warm. “Jake, I told you to interrupt my conversation with Isaac after 3 minutes. I was stuck there forever listening to him talk about whatever bullshit he’s on now. I swear that guy doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.” Mary plopped down in the rocker closest to the swing.

Jake now sat with his feet planted firmly on the porch. “Says the girl about the drop out of college.” He teased.

Mary gasped, turing to her best friend who still had yet to stop reeling. “You told him!?” She exclaimed.

Bambi replied with a soft shrug. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

With the most sincere puppy dog look she could manage Mary-Ann turned to her brother. “Please don’t tell daddy, he’d be so disappointed in me.”

Jake dropped his shoulders and stood up, placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder.“Oh don’t worry Mary-Ann, he’s already disappointed in you.”

From then on the conversation was nothing but a fit of giggles and insults between the siblings, Bambi still swinging back and forth in a fog as she wondered what he’d been about to say.

The night had slowed, most of his extended family had been long gone before it reached ten and parents retiring upstairs not long after. The house was quiet, the only light coming from the twinkling bulbs strung from corner to corner in every room in the house. Jake sat at the dining room table, his chair cocked slightly in the direction of his companion. He’d had more to drink since earlier in the night, giving his mind a soft haze. At least he thought it was the alcohol, could just as easily be the woman sitting beside him in her red dress, glowing in the soft light. He’d convinced her to have one last drink with him before she walked to Mary-Ann’s apartment over the garage. It’d been nearly an hour ago and the clock was ticking closer to midnight as the two each prolonged the last sip of their drinks.

Bambi reached over, gently patting his hand. “It’s good to have you home Jake. I worry about you a lot.”

Turning his head to look at the table Jake nodded. “I worry about you a lot too.”

“Me?” She chuckled and just like the night before he forgets how to breathe. “I’m not the one spending my days in a flying metal death trap.”

“I still worry about you. We should keep in touch more.” He traces his finger around the opening of his bottle, trying not to make eye contact as she continues to barely laugh at a memory.

“What, my occasional snapchat not enough for you?” She asks.

“Not when I want to hear from you every day.” It then when he finally looks back at her, if he didn’t know her so well he’d think maybe that smile was real and not the fake one she plastered on to keep others at a distance.

“Every day?”

He sighs and nods his head as he once again looks away from the woman beside him. “Yeah. I think about you every day.” He thinks he must be drunk, there is no other way he’d admit something so agonizing, not to himself and certainly not to her.

The silence is palpable as she throws back the last sip of her drink as she stood. “Well I should probably head out.” Her voice is quiet, if he hadn’t been standing beside her so closely he might not have heard it.

“Bambi,” Jake lifted his hand to her cheek, gently stroking her with his thumb as her eyes closed. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

Opening her eyes she watches him through her lashes as she turns and presses her lips to his palm. “How’s that?”

“Not really what I had in mind.”

She smirked, “Disappointed?” She asked, thinking back to the very first kiss they’d shared so long ago, her first.

“Just thinking maybe you don’t know how to kiss, someone should really teach you.” He lifted his other hand, steadying her face to look up at him.

“I seem to recall my first teacher being awfully strict about what kisses he could and could not give me.”

His right hand lifted to brush the stray hairs for her face and he nodded. “Let me make that up to you?”

“I thought that’s what last night was supposed to be.”

One side of his mouth twisted up into a smirk, his hand now moving to caress the side of her neck. “I don’t remember finishing the job.”

“You made me cum, your job is done.” The memory of his lips and tongue making her knees weak.

“But it was only once.” He argued.

She was staring at his lips now, heart pounding with anticipation. “Once is more than most.” It was a true statement. She knew too many people lying about orgasms for it not to be.

His thumb stroked between her jaw and ear, eyes watching her as her eyes moved from his lips to his own chartreuse orbs. “I’m not most.” 

Voice hardly above a whisper  “Jake?”

“Yes?”

“Just fucking kiss me.”

Four words. Four fucking words and Jake’s mind had gone blank of all thought. All except one. ‘Bambi’. Slowly he dipped his head, gently pressing his lips to her, the familiar taste of candy cane still on her lips from his mother’s christmas cocoa cocktail. He almost pulled away; almost did the exact thing he’d done three years prior, sparing both of them the heartbreak but as she sighed and he felt her melt into his touch he needed just a little more. 

Their lips moved together, slotting her bottom lips between his and gently sliding the tip of his tongue across it. Her hands reached up to tangle in his hair, the velvet locks sliding through her fingers as he began to pepper kisses first at the corner of her mouth before moving down over her jaw and down her neck causing her to moan at the feeling of his lips against her bare skin.

He smiled as he continued to kiss and lick and gently nip at her neck. Bending slightly at the knee he wrapped his arms about Bambi and lifted her to rest on the dining room table where only hours earlier his family had been gathered. She gasped and her high heels dropped to the floor and her arms now draped over his shoulders. Jake’s smile grew as he dropped his lips to hers once again, slotting himself between her thighs and pulling her to the edge allowing her to feel his length pressed between their bodies. “Do you feel that baby? Do you wanna feel it inside you?” Arrogance heavy in his voice, his lips barely brushing over hers.

Bamni’s face contorted and she whined. “Yes. Jake please please please.”

“No need to beg Bambi, whatever you want, it’s yours.” He spoke with a slight chuckle in his voice though the sound of her begging made him twitch. Again his lips trailed over the skin of her neck then to her shoulder, his hands sliding up her thighs under the red dress he’d spent the night imagining on the floor. His fingers traced over the nylon, attempting to feel every bump and curve and dimple of the flesh underneath.

”I want you to touch me.” Her tone is still begging with his lips trailing over her collar bone. Smirking Jake pulled his mouth from her skin and licked his lips, moving the fingers of his right hand to her core, touching her gently through the layers.

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, feeling her slick against the tips of his fingers. “You are so wet I can feel you through your panties and stockings.” Again he pressed his lips to hers, swallowing the moans the escaped from her lips at even his light and obstructed touch. “Stay the night with me?” He asked, lips still brushing against hers.

With an eggar nod and jagged breath she responded with a simple yes that had Jake’s heart pounding as he pulled her from the table and kissed her deeply before quietly leading her up the stairs and down the hall. He pressed her against the door of his bedroom, his thigh between her legs and her lips against his throat. “Come on baby,” He whispered. “Let me make you feel good.” And with that he pushed his door open and the two stumbled into his childhood bedroom and with a click, locked the door behind them.

It was nearly 5:30 in the morning as the lovers laid in each other's arms, fingers trace patterns over the other’s skin. Jake’s mom would be getting up soon to start Christmas breakfast. His mind reeled with thoughts, a carousel of anxiety, of leaving Bambi, of breaking her heart, breaking his own. Thoughts of his mother’s smirk if his sister’s best friend bound down the stairs with his hand in hers still smelling of sex. His mind filled with thoughts of run, and run, and run. So he ran.

Pulling his arm from around Bambi Jake moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her. “You should probably get going before everyone gets up.”

She sighed before throwing the covers off and throwing her own legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, I’d hate to have Mama Seresin see me do the walk of shame. She’d probably start planning the wedding before I made it to the end of the driveway.” She laughed as she gathered her dress and undergarments from the night before, slipping them on with little effort. She felt lighter, tension gone from her shoulders and a permanent smile plastered to her face.

“Bambi, last night, it-“ Jake started but Bambi cut him off, leaning in close for a kiss.

“Was great? I sure thought so.” She said, attempting to finish the sentence in a way he hadn’t meant to.

Jake pulled away, his eyes trained directly to his feet as he spoke. “It shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

Silence again filled the space between them, the inches beginning to feel like a cavern as she pulled further away from him. She didn’t recognize her movements as she walked to his door, her fingers wrapping around the cool metel of the handle. With a deep breath she let the truth fall into the chasm between them. “I lied last night, when I told you it didn’t mean anything? It meant everything.” 

She stood there, hand on the knob hoping her words had changed something but Jake didn’t even move “I’m sorry Bambi. I wish-“ He sighed and his head dropped into his hands. “You deserve more than this, more than a single night.”

Bambi nodded and turned the handle. “Merry Christmas Jake.” 

Her words were quick though even with the speed he could hear the crack in her voice. His door was shut tight before he responded. “Merry Christmas Bambi.” And only when he heard the front door shut and the turning over of her car did he reveal his own truth.

 “I love you.”

#tgm #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #tgm imagine #tgm smut #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman smut #jake hangman fanfiction #top gun hangman #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman seresin x reader #hangman seresin #Hangman & Bambi

[hs-is-loml]

No Shame. (c.f)

“Love is fatal. Won't you give it a chance?”

Pairing: Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader

Summary: returning back to Cousins felt different compared to all the other years. everything around you felt like it was changing but maybe it was for the better.

Warnings: most part is fluff, maybe a lil swears, mention of parents divorce. best friends to lovers…

a/n: i missed you guys so much during my trip <3 thank you for all the love! also your parents’ names are Julia and William because it makes writing easier throughout this :)

word count: 4.38k basically 4.4k...

masterlist

You were ecstatic to return to Cousins and even more excited to see the Fishers and Conklins again. Sure you kept in contact throughout the year for holidays and birthdays but it wasn’t the same. You counted the months down to the trip back. It almost felt like after you left Cousins you were already waiting to come back. 

This year would be different. You had a feeling it would be. Maybe it would be the year Conrad finally noticed you for something more than just the little girl he grew up with. Conrad was always your best friend out of the bunch but you thought that’s all he saw in you. He was probably the only one you really kept in contact with throughout the year with small texts every month and little updates about each other's life. 

You were turning 17 in a few weeks, but in the past year, you felt like you changed a lot yourself. You didn’t know if you finally felt more confident in your own skin or if you found yourself in the past year. You have better style now, finally feel more confident in your body to ditch the one piece, and got your license too.

You missed everyone, of course. It felt like you needed a break from your life. Your parents got divorced since the last time you came to Cousins. It was hard for everyone in the family. You stayed with your mom, Julia, in New York while your dad, William, decided to move back to Toronto. 

You didn’t know if the others knew about the divorce, but you knew it wouldn’t be much of a difference considering your dad only came to the Fourth of July party Susannah throws. You decided not to tell Conrad about the divorce because you already knew the problems between Susannah and Adam, you didn’t want to add more to that pile.

As your mom pulled up to the Fisher’s driveway, you quickly took off your seat belt and waited for the car to come to a full stop before heading out of the car. You guys came a week earlier than you were supposed to, so you guys could surprise them. They thought you were still on a volleyball camp. 

You and your mom quietly made your way into the house where you noticed everyone was sitting in the dining room eating dinner. All their attention was on Laurel who was talking about her book party that’s planned for tomorrow night. You made your way to hug Susannah from behind as your mom went to Laurel. 

“Surprise!” you and your mom shouted from behind gaining the others’ attention.

“Y/n, darling!” Susannah said as she turned in her chair to face you. 

“Hey Susannah,” you smiled letting go of her as she went to stand. 

“Oh, you’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” as she took your face in her hands taking you in.

“Finally, got rid of the glasses and frizzy hair,” you joked.

“No, you’ve always been so pretty but you matured from the last time I saw you,” Susannah complimented.

"Thanks, Susannah," you blushed.

“I miss the glasses and wild hair, Y/n/n,” Conrad smirked getting up from his chair.

“Maybe the glasses but definitely not the rats nest you know?” you giggled going to him to give him a hug. You felt his arms wrap around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. You both held onto each other but slightly pulled away after Jeremiah coughed.

You turned your head to see a grinning Jeremiah who always somehow knew about your crush on Conrad. You saw his eyes look down for a second before grinning even wider. You were suddenly aware of Conrad’s hands that were still on your hips while yours were on his shoulders.

“Y/n, you gotta give me your skincare routine,” Belly says saving you from more self-embarrassment. 

“Ahh! Belly, you’ve grown so much from last summer!” you said letting go of Conrad to rush Belly into a hug.

“You and William must be shooing guys left and right, Julia,” Laurel joked as she looked at you and Belly catching each other up on their lives.

“With her rejecting any guy that looks at her, she does the work for us,” your mom laughed while shaking her head about the last guy you rejected.

It was the middle of April and the sweetest guy named, Matthew asked you to prom but you decided to go with a group of friends instead. Because going with someone else didn’t really feel right to you, all your life you wanted Conrad Fisher and now wasn’t a time to stop. Your mom was in the kitchen and you were in the living room when you heard a knock. Poor Matthew was waiting on your front porch with balloons, a lavender bouquet, a chocolate heart, and a sign saying “Will you be by my side for the night?” 

Let’s just say it didn’t go the way Matthew wanted. You tried your best to let him down easy, but you felt like you were making it worse. Only your mom knew about his promposal considering you didn’t want them to tease you on why you didn’t give the guy a chance. You told Jeremiah about Matthew since you knew he would understand why. 

That night you and Jeremiah talked for hours. It made you miss being in Cousins even more. Conrad might be your best friend but you and Jeremiah always had a special friendship where you always knew what the other is feeling. You ranted about Conrad to him and he told you how he was sick of people trying to define his sexuality. Both of you knew that you could always talk to the other about anything with no judgment whatsoever. 

“Mom!” your cheeks turned bright red from embarrassment.

“Honey, you got to give a guy a chance someday, you know,” your mom teased.

“Or don’t?” Conrad muttered but you caught what he said. You turned your attention to him and raise your eyebrow at his comment. He looked back at you and smirked. 

“Wait, Julia are you thinking about Matthew?” Jeremiah asked loudly.

You felt yourself get whiplash from snapping your head to Jeremiah's direction to give him a glare. You were trying to signal him to cut it out but it was too late. 

“Who’s Matthew?” Conrad voiced out. 

“Nobody!” you tried your hardest to keep a straight face when you said it out loud. 

“That’s what his name was! Oh, poor boy, I kind of liked him too,” your mom said.

“He was okay,” Jeremiah replied.

“But he was so sweet with the flowers and those chocolates were good,” your mom rambled on. 

“That’s true the lavender and baby's breath mixed was a nice touch,” Jeremiah added. 

“Jeremiah, for the love of god, shut up!” you said while looking for something to throw at him but sadly you remembered there were still people eating dinner. 

“No keep going,” Conrad pushed on with a frown placed on his face. 

“Oh, my bad…” Jeremiah trailed off when he saw the glare you were giving him. 

“Okay, I’m done for the night. I’m going to get my bags and go to my room,” you told your mom while heading out of the dining room. 

“I’ll help,” you hear Conrad from behind you not taking long to catch up to your pace. 

“Oh, you don’t need to.”

“Oh, I want to, trust me.”

“So why didn’t you tell me about Matthew?” Conrad asked while he sat on the edge of your bed while you continued to unpack all of your bags into the drawers. 

“There’s not much to say about him. How’s the beach right now?” you answered trying to avoid this conversation with Conrad. 

“Nope. You’re not getting out of this one. You told Jeremiah, but not me?” 

“Conrad, I don’t get why this matters right now it’s in the past.”

“I’m just wondering why you kept this from me.”

“Because I didn’t think it was that important, and you hate whenever I tell you about guys so I thought you wouldn’t care if I told you or not,” you said trying to set aside a bikini to wear later. 

“Did you like him or something is that why you didn’t want to tell me?” Conrad continued to push on with the topic.

“No, I didn’t, but it shouldn’t even matter anymore since I already rejected the guy,” you sighed. 

“I’m sorry, it just bothers me that you told Jere instead of me. I thought we were closer than that.”

“Con, we are. Jeremiah happened to call me on the night it happened and I explained the whole thing to him. I was going to tell you, but it wasn’t anything important, really,” you explained telling him the half-truth while going up to where he was sitting and giving him a hug.

This would be the only time you’re taller than him with his tall structure. His hands squeezed your waist as you pressed a kiss on his forehead. You always felt so connected to Conrad. Sure you guys had your ups and downs but it was always made up for. 

“You going for a night swim?” he asked quietly looking up at you while you kept your arms around his shoulders and a hand playing with his hair the way you knew he liked. This felt different, it was more intimate than you two have ever been. You liked it.

“Yeah, wanna join?”

“Of course, not gonna let you go out there alone.”

“Well, you got to get out for me to change you know.”

“I don’t mind,” Conrad smirked.

“Well, I happen too.”

“I think I’ll stay,” he said with no shame holding on tighter to your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“Con, get out!” you tried to laugh off the red spreading your cheeks. You took his hands off your waist and pulled him off the bed. You struggled to try to get him out of the room but you finally pushed him out the door. 

“I’ll see you down in 15?” he said over his shoulder as he walked to his room.

Well, that was odd. Conrad’s never joked with you like that before you didn’t know how to feel. It was like he saw you more than the little girl with glasses and frizzy hair. Maybe this would really be the summer for everything.

The house was dark when you were walking downstairs and heading to the back doors. When you walked out you saw Conrad sitting down by the pool dangling his feet in. He turned his head by the creak of the steps when you walked down.

“You ready?” he asked getting up from beside the pool.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied walking towards him. 

“Everyone else went to bed already,” he said as you two walked down to the beach.

“Am I not enough for you?” you joked with him.

“N-no, I didn’t mean that I was just telling you…” he cut himself off. 

“I missed this,” you said when you took in the smell of the water and sand. It gave you such comfort that nothing else could ever compare to. 

Cousins Beach felt more like home than your actual home in New York. You had the people you loved here. No unnecessary problems or worries that majorly concerned you while you were here. When you were back home you had to worry about schools, sports, your parents, and everything else in the mix.  

“I missed you,” Conrad mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” you asked not catching what he said.

“I think the water missed you too.”

“We’ll have to find out then, shall we?” you stuck your right hand out for him to hold and the second you felt your hands touch you tighten your grip and ran with him to the water. 

You felt free. It was like nothing could ever go wrong with having Conrad with you and amazing water. You splashed Conrad as a joke before you realized he didn’t take it as a joke and you started swimming for the life of you. But Conrad being himself caught you and dragged the both of you underwater. You resurfaced and tried getting your hair out of your face which you weren’t doing a very good job at it.

“Your hair will always be wild,” Conrad smiled pushing the hair you missed out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. You were glad it was dark so he couldn’t see the obvious flush on your cheeks.

“And to think I just tamed it,” you giggled pushing him away from you.

“I like it better this way, it’s more you,” he said as he swam closer to you. 

“Con, you feeling okay today?” you laughed as you placed your hands on his shoulders when he lifted you onto his lap. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands went to grip your hips.

“Never better,” he grinned as he gazed into your eyes, you wanted to break the eye contact but it was like you couldn’t.

“Con, what are we doing?” you sighed as you played with the hairs on the back of his head. This was a dangerous game you two were playing and you didn’t know how to stop. Better yet you didn’t want to.

“Whatever feels right I guess?” Conrad’s gaze went from your eyes down to your lips before traveling up again to your eyes.

“Conrad.”

“Y/n. Can I kiss you?” he scanned your face for any signs of hesitation. You nodded your head as a yes for him.

“You gotta tell me, Y/n,” he added on.

“Yes, Con,” he leans in to softly placed his lips on yours and kisses you tenderly before pulling pack to see your reaction.

When his lips touched yours you felt like fireworks were going off in the back. It didn’t feel real. Here you were kissing Conrad Fisher, the boy you’ve wanted since you learned about crushes. When he pulled back you were afraid, he thought it was a mistake before you saw the look on his face.

His face was filled with love and contentment. It made you want him more so this time you pushed your lips on his going into a heated kiss. It wasn’t perfect but then again nothing ever is. It was filled with such eagerness and hunger. His hold on your hips tightened and pulled you closer to him till there was no space separating you two. 

As the kiss deepened you felt his tongue swipe against your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth slightly allowing him to slip his tongue in. You guys kissed for what felt like an eternity but it was something you could never get enough of.

You two pulled back from one another and tried to catch your breath. You felt a slight buzz lingering around your head from the kiss. Your foreheads leaned against each other, enjoying the moment between you two. 

“Conrad, why now?” you voiced, breaking the silence as you continued staring into his eyes. Something about them was so alluring and beautiful. The blue looked so pure but at the same time so intimidating. 

“I never realized how much I wanted you until you were right in front of me. I should’ve realized sooner,” he said softly.

“Realized what?” you whispered.

“You’re the only one for me.”

“Don’t say something you don’t mean,” you muttered breaking the eye contact and looking at the waves crashing down onto the water. 

“I’ll only ever want you,” he said raising one of his hands to turn you back to him. His hand cupped your cheek and he pressed his lips on yours gently. He pulled back before you could respond to the kiss. 

“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted,” you admitted to him in a whisper. 

“And here I was thinking you didn’t want me,” he joked. 

“Oh shut up,” you scoffed in amusement.

“You going to give us a chance?” 

“Always.”

You woke up snuggled up in your sheets with the sun shining through the window. Last night felt like a huge fever dream that never happened. You felt all giddy and blushy at the thought of what happened between you and Conrad on that beach.

You guys had to sneak back into the house while trying not to wake anyone up last night. Conrad walked you to your room pulling you into a quick kiss before sneaking back into his room.

After getting ready you walked downstairs for some breakfast. You walked into the kitchen not realizing everyone else was already there. All their eyes landed on you making you the center of their attention.

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty,” Jeremiah poked your cheek when you grabbed a mug from the cabinet. 

“Someone had a late night…” Steven teased when you went to pour some coffee into your mug.

“Mind sharing the details?” Belly questioned handing you the creamer from the fridge.

“Yeah, share it with the class, Y/n,” Conrad added on with a grin.

‘Of course, this would happen to you,’ you thought to yourself. You wanted to wipe that damn grin off Conrad’s face so bad. 

“Umm, what do you mean?” you played dumb.

“I mean that you came home when everyone was already asleep last night,” Steven replied.

“Yeah, so who were you with last night?” Belly asked. 

“Yeah, who were you with, Y/n? You look awfully happy,” Jeremiah pointed out.

“I wonder who could make you like that, Y/n?” Conrad said widening his grin. He was having way too much with this for your liking. 

“So who was the lucky guy??” Jeremiah asked eagerly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged as you focused on stirring your coffee instead of the faces staring at you.

“Honey, I’m glad you were with someone,” your mom said from the table sitting with Laurel and Susannah. 

“Not you too,” you said exasperated.

“Do we know the guy, sweetie?” Susannah asked smiling at you. Though you could tell she already had her guess at who ‘this guy’ was.

“Maybe you could invite him to the signing party tonight!” Laurel happily added.

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that,” you hesitated.

“That’s a perfect idea! Bring him later and we can all meet him,” Jeremiah announced to everybody in the room. Everyone came to an agreement about it except for you. Considering you didn’t know how you were going to get out of this one this time. 

“Conrad!” you exclaimed walking into his room, making sure to shut the door behind you.

“What?” he asked smugly sitting up from his bed. 

“I cannot believe you right now,” you said as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said putting both of his hands up in defense.

“You know exactly what you did.”

“Do I really make you that happy?” he teased you.

“You always do,” you smiled looking down at your hands in your lap.

“Come here,” he said opening up his blanket to let you crawl in.

“Do you actually want to tell them tonight?”

“Maybe not directly,” he grinned.

“How?” you wondered.

“At the party, we won’t hide anything you know?”

“So we’re letting them figure it out by themselves?” you laughed at the idea. You could see their reactions now.

“Why not?”

 “Is this us labeling what we are?” 

A question that would not leave your mind since last night. Sure you both admitted having feelings for one another and started doing more intimate things but you never said anything about labels. Not that it was extremely important but it still lingered around your mind. 

“We are, whatever you want us to be.”

“So I’m hearing you wanna be my boyfriend,” you giggled. 

“Say it again,” he whispered against your lips.

“My boyfriend,” when you said that it was like something lit up in Conrad’s eyes, and he pulled you into a greedy kiss.

 “Y/n, when are going to meet this secret boy of yours?” Susannah said excitedly when you guys walked into the bookshop giving you and Conrad a glance from the corner of her eye.

“So you did invite him?” Jeremiah asked intrigued by the topic of conversation.

“We’re going to meet Y/n’s boyfriend?!” your mom squealed. 

“You’re not meeting anybody,” you answered.

“So you didn’t?” Jeremiah continued in a very confused tone.

“Why does it matter so much?” you asked Jeremiah as you guys went to go sit on the couch.

You sat in the middle leaving the seat next to you open while Jeremiah took your other side. Conrad went to get you guys some drinks and Belly & Steven were off helping their mom with something. 

“Because I wanna know how this mystery guy that got you to think of anyone else but Conrad,” Jeremiah whispered to you when he saw Conrad walking back towards you two. 

“Whatcha guys talking about?” Conrad whispered to you two mockingly as he handed you a glass of champagne that you were pretty sure was for the guests.

“Nothing much,” you replied giving him a look that basically said you.

“Just about our girl’s man,” Jeremiah answered him with a teasing undertone.

“Oh, he’s here?” Conrad added with a smirk plastered across his face. 

“We don’t know because Y/n won’t tell us anything about him,” Jeremiah complained.

“Jeremiah, why don’t you go help Steven with the books, he looks like he needs some help,” you moved on from the topic, wanting to talk with Conrad alone without Jeremiah’s constant questions. 

“Yo, Steven, you good?” Jeremiah hollered across the room to him.

“Bro, get your ass over here,” Steven called back. 

“That’s my cue. Conrad, figure out the guy for us?” Jeremiah turned back to Conrad before walking away.

“Yeah totally,” Conrad replied back to him.

“How long do you think it’ll take for them?” you snickered to Conrad looking at Jeremiah and Steven mess around with the extra copies of Laurel’s book.

“Once one notices all of them do,” Conrad said sneaking an arm around your waist. 

“That is very true,” as you scooted closer to his side not caring if anyone saw you. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder as he pressed a quick kiss on the top of your head. Even with the constant questioning that occurred at the beginning of the party, it was nice. Everyone was having a good time. Laurel was signing copies of her book for people; Steven and Jeremiah were messing with the signs; Belly was talking with Cameron, a guy she brought to the party; Susannah was enjoying being able to mingle around with everyone in the room. Conrad and you watched everyone from the couch sitting in comfortable silence before the inevitable chaos that could happen at any time.

“You two look comfy,” a voice said standing in front of you and Conrad which startled the both of you causing you two to separate quickly from each other.

“Hey, mom…” Conrad tried to play off.

“I knew it!” Susannah claimed to point her finger at you two smugly.

“I had a feeling you knew,” you admitted smiling at her.

“How?” Conrad questioned Susannah.

“Honey, you’re never this smiley with anyone, and we all know you would’ve thrown a literal fit if it was anyone but you,” Susannah answered with a lovingly tease. 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Conrad tried to defend himself fully knowing he probably would have.

“Con, yes you would,” you laughed.

“Conrad, would what?” Steven asked coming up to you guys with Jeremiah trailing behind him.

“Thrown a fit if the guy Y/n’s talking to was here,” Susannah covered for you two before walking back towards Laurel.

“I’m surprised he isn’t, to be honest,” Jeremiah commented.

“Wait that’s actually so true,” Steven said as he thought about it.

“Guys, come on,” Conrad tried.

“No wait, you’re not upset at all? Or like acting super protective. You know the guy already, huh,” Jeremiah said as if he was putting pieces of a puzzle together. 

“Why would I be?” Conrad shrugged. You took one side glance at him and started giggling at this entire situation.

“You little missy are not going to get out of this one, so who’s the guy? And why does Conrad already know him?” Jeremiah pointed his finger at you accusingly.

“I would hope he knows him,” you said already knowing how this was going to go down.

“And why’s that?” Steven asked taking the seat beside you.

“Cause I am him?” Conrad muttered amused by this whole thing.

“What’d you just say!?” Jeremiah jumped up looking back and forth between you and Conrad.

“Say what?’ Conrad played dumb.

“You know what you just said!” Steven caught on.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about right now,” Conrad continued.

“I can’t believe this right now,” Jeremiah said in disbelief. 

“Believe what?” Belly asked as she made it up to you guys with Cameron by her side.

“They’re together!” Jeremiah exclaimed while Steven pointed at you and Conrad.

“Wait you guys really didn’t notice?” Belly laughed at their reactions.

“You did?” Steven asked.

“It was so obvious this morning plus I caught Y/n sneaking out of his room to get ready for the party,” Belly explained to the two boys before walking away again.

“Oops?” you said looking back to Conrad who just laughed.

“Only you,�� Conrad chuckled pulling you back into him.

“Gross,” Steven said while getting up from beside you two.

“Can I just say, finally!” Jeremiah commented looking at your and Conrad’s interaction.

“Jere, would you please shut up,” you told the boy in front of you.

“Finally?” Conrad questioned from beside you.

“Yeah, bro, she’s liked you since like forever! You remember that one time-” 

“I would shut up right now before you say something you’ll regret later,” you threatened Jeremiah before he said too much.

“No, I would love to hear this,” Conrad smirked, nodding to Jeremiah to continue with his little story.

#conrad fisher fluff #conrad fisher imagine #conrad x reader #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher #conrad #tsitp fanfic #tsitp x reader #tsitp imagine #tsitp #tsitp x y/n #jeremiah fisher #belly conklin #steven conklin #fic #fluff #christopher briney #the summer i turned pretty x you #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty x reader #imagines #imagine #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher angst #tsitp x you

[uyuartik]

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

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

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

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

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

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strike one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, apology accepted.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

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

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

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

"I'll be there." 

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

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

It is still completely the same.

=== 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think that is safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

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

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Say farewell to your pride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

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

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

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

Your shaky inhale echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

“But at the lake - You were-” 

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

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

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

Then, it is settled. 

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

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

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

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

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

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

What is with him and that special request?

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

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

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

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Auntie!”

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

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Obi Wan- please…”

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

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

“As you wish, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing he-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would that be all, Madame?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

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

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

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

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

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

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

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

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

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

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

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

And he's still going over it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

Didn't he even take care of himself?

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

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

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

“By all means.” 

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

There he is.

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

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

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

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

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

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

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

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

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

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

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

Like you had any intention to do that.

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

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

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

“Please- darling-“

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

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

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

So cute and so filthy.

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

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

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

Of course not.

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

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

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

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

===

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

Not today, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

So, he has come to yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my God, it is. 

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

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

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

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

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

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

“I think you know it already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Had?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there?” 

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

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

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

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

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

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

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

A very different time. 

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

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

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

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though he has no rush to join you. 

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

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

He'd like to see that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

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

Could he ever refuse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the morning is anything like the night.

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

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

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

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

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

“Darling?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

A trial that you fail.

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

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi fluff

[love-toxin]

Your yandere zag hcs are so JFNEJJCKDJF I love them sm I can't stop reading that post 💔

Could we permahaps have an outline of what would happen if Zag DID manage to get an afab mortal partner pregnant? His reaction and how it goes, etc?

heheh! ur ask could not have come at a better time, I'm replaying Hades rn!! <33 sorry i kinda went off on a tangent ehe 👉👈

(cws: a mere twinge of yandere zagreus, f!mortal!reader, canon-typical death mentions, childbirth, violence, a plot twist!)

It's during one of those escape attempts, which have become pretty routine by now, that he gets word from one of his godly relatives about what's happening on the surface. It'll probably either be Hermes or Athena delivering the news, the former more blunt and the latter breaking it gently to her cousin for fear that his heart may break. Those on Olympus have little to no idea about his rendezvous with you save Aphrodite, who supposedly can see the glimmer in his eyes that betrays a post-coital love affair--so while they know that Zagreus is in love with a mortal girl, they're shocked to find out that he's delighted to hear the news, because he knows that the baby is his and you haven't moved on to some other, more easily accessible lover. You're simply too loyal, and you've waited too long to ever consider pursuing another after your beloved. Word will spread quickly on Olympus after that first encounter with him in Tartarus, and the deliverer of said news watches in shock and awe as Zagreus zips around them and barrels straight through the next door before they can even help him with a boon. Because now starts the sprint--he has to get up there to be there for you.

It seems as though every floor he hits, he feels the presence of one of the gods helping him, and it only grows stronger the higher up he goes. Every so often when a boon appears, one of his relatives will be clamouring to congratulate him; Dionysus, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Zeus, even Ares has the smallest of smiles as he offers a particularly wrathful power to help him cut through the lakes of Asphodel and burn into the fields of Elysium. Each one of them is so excited for a new arrival, a new member of the family--except, of course, for Hades.

His father is absolutely appalled when the news reaches him via overhearing Hypnos, and in that moment of swiftly oncoming fury, Zagreus' journey to you immediately becomes ten thousand times as dangerous. He can't stop, he can't turn back, and he cannot die before he gets to you, because based on the tremors and the ominously encroaching dread at his back, Zagreus will be in for an eternity of suffering if he allows his father to stop him from seeing you. Even if it's the last time, he has to see you and his baby just once--he doesn't want to pass on his own tumultuous upbringing to his precious, innocent child, nor the feeling that their father has abandoned them completely. Between his godly relatives helping him out and his father doing everything in his power to sabotage him, this journey is the most perilous he's ever faced by far. And time is so nebulous in the Underworld, so he doesn't want to waste any second he has because they mean much more to you mortals up there than it does to a demigod down below--what if he falters, or fails, and he misses not only the birth of his baby but their whole childhood? What if he finally gets to the surface only to find that you've waited your whole life for him, and wasted away without an ounce of comfort simply because he couldn't get to you in time? He can't have that happen. He won't.

So up he goes, and not once does he stop. Meg takes it easier on him at least (though she never admits it) the Hydra falls as hard as it always does, and Theseus barely gets through half of his spiel before Zagreus is lunging at him to start the battle. Even the Minotaur is impressed at his fervor, though the reason won't be clear until Zagreus comes back--but they weren't the real challenges. Up there, when his flaming feet hit the snow-covered surface, he finally feels some surge of insurmountable pressure as he faces off against Hades himself.

And to say he fights for his life in the name of that sliver of freedom he desires is an understatement to the highest degree. Zagreus can barely get a hit in, his father is so furious--if not for Athena's shields and Zeus's lightning he probably would have lost his head about a dozen times. Hades is determined to stop him from not only meeting his own child, but to bar him from ever associating with you again, and one of those underhanded ways is to send his own courier ahead as a failsafe of sorts--and when Zagreus finds out that Thanatos is headed your way, he loses it. While it was meant to break his spirits, it has the opposite effect--his son is thrown into a rage so violent that even he can't withstand it, and when Hades has been slain Zagreus is pounding dirt as he sprints for your home, the path engraved into his head so deeply that he's on his way before his father even hits the ground. He remembers these hurried marathons to your home, the jubilant excitement at getting to see you and touch you and hear his name on your lips....but this time, it's panic that drives him forward as your garden comes into view, and he leaps over your rickety little fence to pound his shoulder into the door and burst into your tiny, quaint little cottage.

The first thing he sees, rather than you, is Thanatos standing near the door--and although he's already raising his sword with nothing but fear for you in his mind, his childhood friend doesn't bother even flinching, and just turns his head to cast a knowing look at him that betrays the truth of what he was told.

"Oh, please, Zagreus. Ruler of the Underworld or no, you know I cannot reap a soul before it has withered, no matter whether Hades wills it." He mutters quietly, and tilts his head towards the other end of the room that he's facing. And when Zagreus hurries closer to his side, and moves to look towards the spot where he knows your bed always sits, his heart is sent soaring into his throat at the sight that awaits him.

There's one thought running through his mind: I missed it. He missed the birth, and just by a hair, as evident by your mussed clothes and sheets as you sit back against your pillows, your lap covered with a blanket while you're still heaving with breath. And in your arms, flushed and cradled gently, is a gurgling little bundle of tiny features and your beautiful skin tone that Zagreus could never believe he helped make.

Your eyes soften so much at the sight of him, the sweetest "My love!" croaked out of your throat that draws him to move closer to your bedside. Joining you in the room besides the two of them is another woman, a stranger that seems to be a midwife from the local temple, and quite surprisingly three of his relatives; Aphrodite, Dionysus, and Zeus. While he himself is preoccupied with kissing you and taking his baby into his arms for the first time, and his cousins are joyously encouraging a wine-soaked feast and a celebration of your eternal love respectively, his uncle stands still and uncharacteristically quiet at your side, though a smile breaches his lips as he watches the two of you share tears and a sweet embrace as you're reunited once again.

"Is this..?" He whispers, voice cool though his touch is so warm--and fading, ever so slightly, as he sits on the edge of your bed with your child wrapped up in his arms.

"Isn't she beautiful, my love?"

She. A daughter. He couldn't be happier, couldn't be more proud of the little life in his hands, even though she's barely taken her first breaths and nothing else. To see her alive is victory enough, but the high isn't lasting as long as he'd like, and he's forced to pass the baby back to you as he starts shuddering and falling into that terrible feeling of dread in the pit of his chest. He's barely been able to hold her, barely been able to get to know her, to bask in her sweet, gurgling whisper of a voice and the feel of her tiny fingers gripping around one of his. It isn't enough, and it dawns on him now that it will never be enough.

"I...I must leave you waiting, once again..." His cousins are at his side in a moment, Aphrodite holding him up by one arm while Dionysus grabs the other, the two unusually sobered by the moment as your newborn starts to cry, and so do you. "I won't be long this time, my love...I...swear, I won't abandon you...or my little Melea..."

It's such a long time to wait, and the days grow more agonizing as each one passes, even with the shocking amount of information his cousins offer--it's surprising even for a relative for a god to spend so much of their time visiting you in the mortal realm, which may also be the reason why he hasn't seen hide nor hair of Zeus since that fated day. Perhaps he's quite busy stepping in for him in his absence, which Zagreus can only hope is a good thing.

When the dark, ill feeling finally overtakes him, and the voice of Zeus bellows something he isn't able to catch, Zagreus burns the image of you and his daughter in his mind as you hold his hand before he feels the warmth of Styx surround him entirely. The world above falls away, and even before he reawakens in the House after being carried by Thanatos, he braces himself with the knowledge that it may very well be a long, long time until he fulfills that oath to you two. It's despairing, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that his father will make it nigh impossible for him to get out again, and surely enough Zagreus suffers a great many deaths very close to the surface, almost in reach of you two--but each time he's thwarted more aggravatingly than the last. The only comfort he's allowed is to hear news of you and his daughter from the gods that were present for your daughter's birth, the two that more or less insisted on being the literal godparents of your baby girl. They regale him with tales of her exploits, of how she's fussy with peas but she can't get enough of mush carrots, how she once nearly rolled out of her cradle in the night, and how she even said her first word. And it stings Zagreus right in his heart when he's told what it is. Papa. You must be working in a frenzy to care for her alone, and yet you haven't let her forget the presence of her father even when he can't seem to get up to the surface to see her. It makes his clashes with his own father more violent, even though the two of them are no longer on speaking terms.

That all changes on a day like any other, however. When he jumps down into the lowest level of Tartarus, eager and ready for another try despite how weary it makes him, the potential boon waiting for him is unlike any of the ones he's encountered before. The handful of gods he's never really interacted with might have news for him, he thinks, or maybe had their curiosity piqued at their counterparts investing so much time in the mortal wife of a bastard demigod. But when he touches it, and the distinct sound of ticking fades in and out of his mind, he's confused more than curious as the image of the god slowly comes into view, like water rippling back into stillness once a stone has been thrown into it. Something else stirs up in him as well--the sounds of laughter, but smaller, sweeter, as if the voice of that jubilant person hasn't fully formed yet. And it's familiar. It dawns on him just in time of how familiar it is, when he hears that darling voice soothing him with a reassurance he hasn't felt in ages.

"Hello again, my love. It seems as though our wait is finally over, isn't it?"

#squ1sgsq2ush #zagreus #yandere zagreus #zagreus x reader #zagreus hades #hades game #ellie writes #anons

[starsmuse]

neverafter premiere night so here are some thoughts!

emily axford is truly godsent. the relationship she and ally have already crafted between ylfa and timothy, the way she plays this congested prepubescent girl, her backstory scene; god, the entirety of her backstory scene was SO good, though, i don’t know why i’m surprised. emily axford has never been anything shy of perfection and she won’t start now in a season where her ability to act really needs to shine through. also the fact that she’s playing a barbarian, i am so glad i guessed correctly because it’s going to be so fun to watch her play one especially with how they’ve set it up.

lou fucking wilson. i love everything about his character, his backstory which i LOVE that they left for last. this season seems to be one for double intros and he and zac are going to be incredible together i KNOW it. i made a few guesses as to who would be what class and NOTHING could have prepared me for him being a warlock to his stepmother, the way they’re interweaving the fairytales is brilliant i am truly so excited.

zac oyama… i love him with the entirety of my being but i couldn’t help but feel slightly underwhelmed with his backstory scene, like no way he’s just some random little cat that can speak? surely there’s more to him! i love the almost-brotherly relationship pib and pinocchio seem to have but i do have a theory i’ll run by you all: we all know in the disney retelling of cinderella, stepmother has a black cat named lucifer, i wonder if pib is another patron of pinocchio’s stepmother or maybe a familiar of hers sent to watch over pinocchio and ensure he isn’t messing things up. JUST A THOUGHT! if not, i’m genuinely very excited to get more backstory out of this character.

opening the show on siobhan’s introduction was obviously the way to go considering how beautifully she executed her scene. the briars… god, the briars. i have no issue with reading and listening to body horror and brennan painted a vivid word picture with his narration for her, it was all so good. i constantly complain about the intrepid heroes never having a ranger and they’ve finally got one and it’s the damsel princess, i absolutely adore that. i also love that rosamund still has that bit of naivety to her considering in her mind she’s still eighteen and she probably lived a pretty sheltered life all things considered. her simply knowing that there’s a prince out there looking for her and that he is her true love, i can’t wait to see what kind of spin brennan is going to put on this curse and inevitably what kind of curveball he’s going to throw siobhan/rosamund.

murph is playing this vapid and vain prince so well, but i cannot wait to see when he actually gets into this fighting that prince gerard seems to turn his nose up at. the scenes with princess elody were bordering on heartbreaking but still fully leaning into embarrassing on the prince’s part, i have an inkling as to why he’s regressing back into his frog form, as should most, but all in all i think this is going to be a pretty silly character, very cody-esque, one that i’m very excited to see and watch grow nonetheless. also, the whole exchange between prince gerard and princess rosamund, i hadn’t realized how little i’d seen murph and siobhan’s characters interact in previous seasons until i got a full and uninterrupted conversation between the two of them when their characters met and now it’s truly all i want to have them be silly little cousins fighting to protect each other.

finally, the person, the myth, the legend: ally beardsley. i hadn’t really though about how important mother goose would be to the plot as a whole until about a week before today because i know that mother goose is not only a writer of fairytales but the writer of the fairytales, so i really, really enjoyed a lot of timothy’s exposition and how much he cares for children—like ylfa—now that he’s lost his own. like i said before i am thoroughly endeared by the relationship ally and emily have already built between the two of them, and i cannot wait to watch it grow and i’m really excited to see what ally does with this character and where they go.

brennan hasn’t answered any of the questions that were asked about if this season is going to be similar to acoc in terms of lethality or if the pcs have created secondary characters, so i think it’s safe to say we should definitely be cautious considering there are no clerics in this party, but all in all i’m shaking with excitement and the thought of the rest of this season we’ve got like seventeen episodes to go and i think they’re going to be SO much fun.

#dimension 20 #rory talks! #neverafter #rosamund du prix #puss in boots #pinocchio #prince gerard of greenleigh #ylfa snorglesson #timothy goose #mother timothy goose #brennan lee mulligan #d20 #neverafter spoilers

[kerubimcrepin]

Crepinlore and the 30-50 random games 90% of fandom has never heard about

This post, like everything else about this blog, is very self-indulgent. I discovered many things, during its making. I shall begin with something you likely have literally never heard about, and go to more popular things from there:

KROSMASTER ARENA 3D

Krosmaster arena online was a video game it seems nobody played, and honestly, I am mentioning it here because I fear that if I don't document it, it will disappear, and it will turn out that it was simply a vision I had, as if in a David Lynch movie. Evaporating, like tears in rain.

I don't think anyone ripped/tried to rip/found a way to rip the models from it — and considering the fact they're pretty... mobile ad-core, not much may have been lost.

Anyway, here's Keke beating the shit out of some guy.

Wakfu Les Gardiens

Joris appears in the quest "The Tree of Life" of this game, which, as far as I'm aware, was updated in time with Wakfu episodes.

Even back then, Ankama knew that 1. Joris is very sus and 2. you cannot let him get close to you during a battle, or it's OVER.

It's all very cute.

There is some interesting I have to say about this sprite, actually!

An alternate version of it exists, made as a concept for the Dofus MMO. I am assuming it was Juien Druant elaborating on the ways Joris might look in the game. The first two designs are: baby Joris (probably not used because he looks too young to be a 200 year old man...) and Welsh & Shedar 60yo Joris. They were combined to make the iconic Dofus MMO-era 200yo Joris design.

I'm quite sure that this sprite references the Les Gardiens one very heavily.

One More Gate: A Wakfu Legend

The first game in this list that actually has implications for real lore, and yet its plot is literally "it was all a dream that Oropo was having while inside the Eliacube"

For this reason, the events of this game are not entirely reliable — but are probably based in some way on the memories Oropo has.

The main contribution this game has to Crepinlore is a third Crepin, who might be an ancient ancestor of the brothers, whom Oropo met and remembered, some sort of cousin, or he might be based entirely on fiction, and inspired by Kerubim (though ehhh I severely doubt Oropo would care so much about him that he'd hallucinate a guy like him within Eliacube's fake world).

I really want to headcanon that the events of the game are based on something he really experienced, waaay before forming the brotherhood. But that's just my brain disaeses.

Here we can see the store itself.

Krosmaga

I saved the best for the last — Krosmaga.

A video of the casts of Dofus and Wakfu beating the shit out of each other

There are characters besides Atcham, Joris, and Kerubim in this game — Julith, Jahash, Lou... But I choose to concentrate on my favorite three ones. Or I will die fr.

If this Ecaflip gives the impression of constantly having a bad hair day, it's precisely because he doesn't have any! Brother of Kerubim Crépin, Atcham is fiercely jealous of the man he considers his worst enemy. And how could he not be, when not only does he occupy the prestigious position of Ecaflip's favorite son, but also displays his dense, silky fur without any modesty or sensitivity?

Here are his three forms:

I'm.,. unwell about the white one. I have to draw Atcham in a Bontarian getup one of these days.

They're really giving a fight to this Joris costume recolor from a Christmas event in one of the MMOs... (Now I want to see Kerubim in red too!)

On topic of Joris,

Adopted son of Kerubim Crépin, Joris is a curious and mischievous little boy. His favorite pastime is listening to the childhood adventures of his beloved "Papycha". And when he's too busy serving customers in his antique store, he's off playing with his best friend Lilotte! An avid boufbowl player and fan of Khan Karkass, Joris also hopes to become a star of the horned ball. While his destiny may already be mapped out on the stadium pitch, his origins are much less clear… But the good thing about not knowing where you come from is that you can imagine anything! For the little boy, there's no doubt: his parents were great boufbowl players, and it doesn't matter if it's true or not!

Here are his alternative forms:

I LOVE THE WAY HIS ADULT SELF IS DRAWN IN THIS GAME... I'm insane.

And now, last but not least: Kerubim.

Judging by his adventures, Kerubim seems to have had more than 9 lives! From small-time opera rat, to Bontarian police officer, to lawyer: the least we can say is that during his youth, the man Joris calls his Papycha never stopped working! So much so that today, the owner of the antique store Aux Trésors de Kerubim takes advantage of his free time to purr quietly in his armchair, or to tell his adopted son about his past adventures. Past? Well, not quite! Because when the terrible witch Julith arrives to retrieve Jahash's Ivory Dofus, and seems intent on attacking Joris, the old tomcat doesn't hesitate to get in her way. With Kerubim, there's no age limit to being a hero!

Once again, it is confirmed that the store's name s literally "Aux Trésors de Kerubim". Sorry, I'm insane about the name of the show being the name of the store.

And his alternative forms:

He's beautiful.

#sidegames #wakfu #dofus #krosmoz

[antianakin]

@theneutralmime

First off, don't watch the Ahsoka show and even if you do, it's immensely anti-Jedi so none of it should be considered worthwhile content in figuring out how relationships work between the Jedi normally, especially since Ahsoka herself doesn't consider herself OR Sabine Jedi (she doesn't even WANT Sabine to be a Jedi). The only other Master/Padawan relationship in the Ahsoka show is Baylan and Shin who also don't consider themselves to be Jedi.

Here's the thing with "found family" as a concept. A lot of people like putting people into certain labels and going for a basic nuclear family mom/dad/kids kind of set up. But it does not HAVE to be that way. A "found family" can be a bunch of people who consider each other friends, with no familial feelings at all. It can be literally anything.

Rebels does go for more of a sort-of mom/dad/kids deal, particularly with Kanan, Hera, Sabine, and Ezra. Zeb however lives in a somewhat more nebulous gray area where you COULD see him as a fellow "child" in the dynamic, but he doesn't really care for being considered a child during the episode where he and the other Lasat find Lira San and he's clearly older and more experienced than either Ezra or Sabine, so he could just as easily be considered an "uncle" of sorts if you wanted to, or an older cousin or something maybe.

The other thing to consider with Rebels is that, while the group does include two Jedi, none of these relationships would necessarily be typical representations of how Prequels Jedi relationships would have looked or how they would've thought of each other. Kanan and Ezra's relationships to the rest of Ghost crew is impacted by that difference, especially since Ezra specifically did not grow up in the Temple among other Jedi and spent most of his childhood and early teens in a very different situation. And Kanan, by Rebels, would've spent more time WITHOUT any relationships with other Jedi than he would've had WITH them.

So with all of that in mind, I think that the Jedi's relationships aren't NEARLY as clear cut as people seem to want them to be. They're a family, yes, but they're a family that is 10,000 strong at least. I don't know about you, but I have a hard time keeping like less than 50 members of my family straight, what their names are and who they're related to, much less ten thousand people. I think it's very likely that all Jedi would feel a kinship to fellow Jedi, but that they probably don't personally know every single Jedi. In TCW, Ahsoka seems to need to be introduced to Tera Sinube for the first time when she's 14 years old. So while she might see someone like Plo Koon as a closer parental figure, she's not going to feel the same way about Tera Sinube who she barely knows.

I think any Master/Padawan relationship is going to sort-of vary depending on the individuals involved. Some of them might be quite close, some might be more professional. Some might be pretty close in age and so their dynamic leans closer to friends and siblings than it would parent and child. Others might have a larger age gap and so the dynamic could lead closer to parent/child or even grandparent/grandchild. Some of them might shift over time, too, or have layers of more than one of these dynamics. For example, Anakin calls Obi-Wan "the closest thing he's ever had to a father" in AOTC, but Obi-Wan calls him a brother twice in ROTS. So their relationship may have had shades of both dynamics given the age difference, the relationship dynamic could have shifted over time from a more parent/child relationship to a more sibling relationship, or they each may have seen the relationship slightly differently with Anakin looking more for a parental dynamic while Obi-Wan is perhaps going more for a relationship of equals (at least by ROTS). It could be any of these three things combined, too.

There's a comic where Obi-Wan is asked whether Anakin is his son and Obi-Wan responds that no, Anakin is his Padawan, his student. While this isn't strictly canon, I think it fits quite nicely into my interpretation that the Master/Padawan relationship is its own specific kind of dynamic and while it can be SIMILAR to other kinds of relationships, it is very much its own thing. It's not a static relationship, it's not just the Jedi version of parents and children, it is a distinct relationship that changes and grows with the individuals. There is no 1:1 comparison for all Master/Padawan relationships.

As for Ezra and Jacen, you could apply a similar concept. Kanan, much like Obi-Wan with Anakin, fills a parental role for Ezra, but he's also growing and developing ALONGSIDE Ezra and could be considered a younger brother of sorts, too. Jacen is family to Ezra, but I don't think you HAVE to place a particular label on what that dynamic is, whether they'd consider each other like brothers or whether Ezra would be more of an uncle. And it doesn't even have to specifically be defined by their respective relationships to KANAN, either. Jacen and Ezra might come up with their own dynamic that has nothing to do with how they each feel about Kanan and is specific to their own relationship. I don't think you have to be super specific about saying that because Kanan was Ezra's Master, this automatically makes Ezra basically his son and so Ezra and Jacen should consider themselves like brothers and never have an uncle/nephew dynamic. I think Ezra and Jacen can be whatever you want them to be to each other.

#star wars #star wars rebels #rebels #ezra bridger #jacen syndulla #kanan jarrus #jedi #jedi culture

[vriskaserketdaily]

a fankid you say?? tell me more pleaseee.

i've actually talked about her before here and here!

tldr they end up adopting a grub as old ladies and their daughter grows up to be a normie prep against all odds (chronic "raised by grandma" syndrome)

spider dragon is The Baby of the extended family network of my postgame au, because . . . most of the people who were going to have kids did so in their late 20s/early 30s and not in their mid-50s(? who fucking knows how troll lifespans work point is vriska and terezi are gleeful old hags & loving it) which means she has a lot of older cousins and second cousins(? children of cousins) close enough in age for her to consider them cousins. unfortunately being surrounded by old people means she's a nerd from birth. and because she's a troll being raised by Literal Gods/Actual Alternian Trolls instead of a lusus like normal ppl, she's already somewhat isolated from other kids her age.

it turns out the reason no lusus would take her as a grub is that spider is a teal-cerulean cusper; a natural variation in troll genetics that only becomes a problem in cases where they're so smack in the middle of blood colors that no lusus of either caste will bond to them (or, worse, when a lusus of each caste bonds to a cusper---the two lusii will attempt a fight to the death on sight, which is obviously very upsetting for all parties involved). she doesn't have cerulean mind powers, nor does she have whatever psychic gift teals can develop (smellovision?). on alternia, she would have probably died or been culled for being a mutant, but on earth C she pretty much lives a normal life because 1) kanaya didn't know cuspers were a thing until spider dragon came along (& doesn't cull healthy grubs on principle) and 2) earth C does not have much stratification along the hemospectrum, if any.

spider only became aware of her cusper status as an adult. vriska and terezi were both like "huh, that explains a lot," and never brought it up again. spider also only became aware of how unusual vriska and terezi's relationship is as a teenager and young adult---it's almost like the serket-pyrope relationship is beyond quadrants compared to normal troll dating. very odd to find out that not only are your parents gay by human standards, but also by troll standards. as if uncle karkat hasn't been trying to explain that literally every time they get together. someone has to give this young troll a proper education of romance, discretely arranged in four non-overlapping emotional spheres. she probably still has some of the helpful charts he made for her tucked away somewhere.

anyway she is a private school kid because of course vriska's daughter is getting the 8est education money can buy, and of course terezi's daughter is going to an ivy league school with an excellent law program. never mind that she majors in history. it's fine. terezi's not disappointed at all that earth C's best mind just went into alternian studies instead of criminal law. it's. fine.

#vriska serket #mod 8 #daily vriska serket #vriska #daily vriska #homestuck #terezi #terezi pyrope #vrisrezi #fankid #i should probably make a tag for her . . . #also btw old kk is bald or balding. you look at that boy and tell me with a str8 face that he keeps his hair after age 45. i wont believe u #*age 45 IF HE'S LUCKY #sorry ive already said so much abt her next time yall will have to be more specific What about her (& my postgame au)

[karizard-ao3]

Clueless Teens all grown up headcanons

I guess technically as the author I could declare this all fic canon but I think it's more fun to leave it open-ended so people can imagine their own things. Still, this is what I was picturing for them in the future. (Actually, for some of the couples, the kids I imagined for them got recycled over to my single parents au. Not Eremika's kids, but the other ones for the most part.)

Historia and Ymir have one daughter who they spoil the fuck out of. They also plan elaborate vow renewals approximately whenever they feel like it. When I was considering writing a one shot of them all grown up it was going to be everyone gathered at one of Yumihisu's destination vow renewal ceremonies.

Reibert. Oh gosh. They were going to "no homo" their way right to the altar and be very happy together.

Connie. He does not end up with Mina. I was of two minds with him: Either he is trying to find a milf to settle down with, or he is married to Sasha's cousin and they are struggling with fertility so he's the cool uncle with all the dogs and the secret pain of wishing they could have a child. I don't know why this is the case. It's just what I feel. Connie would be pretty much the ideal stepdad, imo.

Nicosasha. Again, I was of two minds! It's not realistic to have this many high school couples end up together in long term relationships/ marriages, but I also don't want to make anyone break up. Still, I can see Sasha and Nico having some kind of separation for a few years. Maybe getting married and then divorced and then marrying each other again ten years later or some shit. Why? I don't know. They are clearly very much in love, but that doesn't always last. Still, out of everyone I can see Sashe remarrying her first husband, with maybe a second husband in between. Greedy.

Aruani. These two go on their little date after Armin graduates and then proceed to not get together for another four years. Like, they still talk all the time and probably hook up when they see each other but they're like, "Meh, let's not do long distance. Let's keep it casual and if we still want to be together after college, we'll move in together immediately." It works for them and they eventually have a little boy, but Eremika are absolutely scandalized because they could never be so hands off.

Eremika. As you know, they have four kids super close in age. Mikasa makes a living streaming (she's the breadwinner. She's got that Azumabito business sense and Ackerman gaming skill) and Eren does civil rights law. So they have a pretty comfortable life and they spend a lot of time with their families. Eren walks around shirtless a lot, which is very popular on Mikasa's streams and he likes to come up and read the chats while she plays. If anyone tries to hit on her or says something sexual, he immediately loses his shit and starts threatening to find them and kick their asses. Mikasa is very pleased when she finally makes enough money to be able offer to fund Armin's dreams of opening a comics and games shop.

Pokkopiku. I think they also are the type to be parents to an only child. I'm thinking a girl. Pieck is very busy with her journalism career and Porco is living the stay at home dad dream. Maybe he becomes an influencer. He definitely keeps taking photos at every opportunity and he's got a bit of an online following. I think he might manage to book some gallery shows. When their daughter gets older he might get back into doing photojournalism again, and eventually they become a journalistic team once more, kind of like when they were in high school except this time with globe-hopping. I could see Pieck deciding to homeschool their kid so the whole family could go on assignments with her. In single parents au, I gave Porco twins, though (he's only in a couple scenes and we never meet his family, but he mentions them), and so I also kind of like the idea of Clueless Teens Pokkopiku having boy/girl twins. The point is, Pieck is willing to delay her career advancement long enough for one pregnancy and no more than that, so if they're going to have more than one kid, it has to be a multiple birth.

Am I forgetting anyone? I feel like I'm leaving someone out. I don't know! It's getting late and I have a few more things I want to work on before I go to be, so let me know who- Jeanmarco.

8. I don't really know if I think Jean and Marco end up together. I don't think they ever admit they have any kind of romantic feelings for each other because Jean is not totally comfortable with admitting to being bi at this juncture in time. I think they stay friends but Marco eventually moves on with a nice guy and Jean meets a nice woman who didn't know what a skeeze he was in high school and settles down with her and then eventually comes out when he's older and it's less taboo. He also does not revert back to being a creep.

Okay, now I think that's everyone. But let me know if I left anyone important to you out!

(Read Clueless Teens here)

#clueless teens #my fics #headcanons #fic headcanons #eremika #aruani #reibert #yumihisu #pokkopiku #jeanmarco #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #annie leonhart #connie springer #nicolo from attack on titan #sasha braus #historia reiss #ymir freckles #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #porco galliard #pieck finger #jean kirschstein #marco bott #longfic #attack on titan fanfic

[randomthefox]

Apparently, at an official event, Iizuka said that Eggman is younger than Maria and is in his late 40s.

If you look up "eggman age" on Twitter, you'll probably find it.

So assuming this Google translation is accurate enough to go off of and assuming this is an accurate recounting of what Iizuka said, which considering he probably answered the question himself in his native language I am willing to think that it is:

The question was "is Maria older than Eggman and did Eggman know Maria." Iizuka said that Maria would be older than Eggman if she were still alive and that they had never met.

This is pretty much exactly what I had also thought lol. Nothing about this answer asserts that Eggman was not yet born when Maria died, only that he was younger than her. He also says that Eggman is "probably" in his 50s or younger, putting the age range anywhere from maybe 46 to 55+. The number 50 is even explicately used in the Japanese text of the answer, so I don't know where anyone's getting "late 40s" from. My conclusion had been that Eggman and Maria were both alive at the same time, whether Eggman was anything from a newborn to being maybe around ten years old when Maria died is the part that is open to interpretation. Iizuka's answer supports this conclusion.

Also notable details that Eggmans and Gerald never knew each other which we obviously could figure from the way Eggman talks about him in SA2, and again the idea that they were both alive at the same time doesn't mean they'd have ever met personally. And Eggman mentions in Sonic Frontiers Egg Memo that he never knew Maria and that everyone talked about her like she was very special. He also calls her his cousin so like, obviously there were multiple kids coming from Gerald involved. (I'm reminded sadly of that person who thought that Maria was Gerald's daughter instead of his granddaughter and I am weeping).

Anyway yeah. I assume people are already playing internet telephone with this and spreading a bad faith inaccurate recounting of what was said considering you presented this ask with "Iizuka said Eggman is in his 40s" which is very explicately NOT what he said. But the answer Iizuka gives here pretty much lines up with my own interpretation of Eggmans age.

If you assume that based on SA2 the ARK raid takes place "50 years ago" and that no time has passed since then, then Eggman is probably in his mid 50s. If you assume time has passed since the events of SA2, which they definitely have, then he's probably much older.

#eggman #dr. Eggman #i so rarely have to explain that word of god does not replace the text when it comes to iizuka and sonic #because iizuka seems to understand his property and these characters very well and never says anything contradicting of the text #maria robotnik #takashi iizuka #word of god

[laylajeffany]

What's your favorite piece of Addams Family media? P.S. be warned I have a list of all my burning questions about your amazing fic

The original comics featured in The New Yorker and in compilations over time by Charles Addams are my favorite. I write Wednesday just slightly more in line with that interpretation than the 2022 series in CftF (including her extra toe 😘).

Layla doesn't know how write anything short, so here's more on my opinions of The Addams Family interpretations over time:

I frequently watch the ’64 Addams family television series, have been through it in order with the DVD box set a few times (the very first time I ever saw it, I was five and a flower girl in my cousin’s wedding and I was the only child in the limousine and the adults were boozing and wild - my parents were not there - and my cousin put on the TV that was in the back and The Addams Family was the only thing that would come in on the signal. I was TICKLED by Cousin Its and told my dad about it and he would sometimes find reruns it on TV and tell me to come watch because he was a big fan growing up when it was originally airing). It’s also on free on its own channel on FreeVee 24/7 in the USA with Amazon Prime and I fall asleep to it. If you’ve not watched - like, let’s remember this was filming literally at the same time the Civil Rights act of 1964 was passed so it’s not going to completely fall in line with today’s views of race/gender/culture, etc. For the time, the Addams Family was considered progressive for showing a loving couple on television and poking fun at traditional US expectations (Morticia and Gomez are horrified when Pugsley wants to join the Boy Scouts, for example). In this version, Morticia is far less cold and detached than she is in the comics. She’s sweet on Gomez even if she rolls her eyes at him regularly and when the kids are actually present (Pugs&Wednesday are often not in episodes at all which is probably for the best given we know about everything with children on television sets) she is far warmer than in the original; I probably write her closer to this Morticia than the original or W22. 

Next I’d say Addams Family Values, followed by The Addams Family ‘90s movies, and then Wednesday 2022. I think that the ‘90s movies were a pretty “bold departure from the source material” (to quote the Beetlejuice musical lol) on Wednesday’s character, in particular, than either of the previous media, and then it seems like the ‘90s version of her is what T.B. was running with for her characterization in W22.  I’m not keen on the musical (though I wish I could see Michelle Visage as Morticia in the West End) and I don’t care for the animation style from the 2019 movie so I haven’t watched it and I haven’t ever seen the ’92 animated series. 

I think like anything that’s been done and redone, you can enjoy each interpretation for what it is, understanding it’s more inspired by the source material, rather than a 1:1 match of it. Much on the source material and if you like it, you like it - if not, walk away. I LOVE all three versions of Beetlejucie for completely separate reasons and they all barely mirror each other besides the actual character names and premise (not so sure about this new movie though IGBH, I will be going in with ZERO expectations). In the opposite lens, I ONLY like the ‘90s sitcom of Sabrina and don’t care for the original comics and (believe it or not) I don’t like the Netflix series. These examples are just that this sort of genre is for different audiences at different times, and sometimes you’ll like it and sometimes you won’t. I think taking this fun/macabre genre that is for us weirdos and giving it new life every few generations is a nice way to include other people in on the gags and the kooky and the spooky who otherwise might never have given it a try. IDK - I’m just down to clown with the Addams Family in a variety of ways and there’s really fewer families I’d personally fit in. ☠️

#ask #layla answers questions

[thatseventiesbitch]

If Donna and her parents moved to Point Place, and into the house neighboring the Formans', the summer between 8th and 8th grade: how would her relationship with Eric (Hyde, and Kelso) be different? How would it be the same? How would it develop?

Thank you for the ask!

Ooh, interesting. If Donna and Eric didn't grow up next door to each other, but instead Donna moved to Point Place in middle school, I think...

Donna and Eric

Their families wouldn't be close in the same way they are in canon. Red & Kitty and Bob & Midge used to vacation together and be very close when their kids were smaller, it was only later/into the '70s when Bob and Midge started falling in with all the fads of the time that they became 'weird' to Red & Kitty and grew apart (sort of). Hence I always imagine Eric and Donna having an almost cousin-like relationship when they were growing up - the others' parents were their second set of parents/second home, their two families shared traditions, they were raised together and went through childhood together, giving them an almost familial bond. I think if the Pinciottis had moved to Point Place later, that relationship between the two families (and thus, between Eric and Donna) would've been very different. I don't know that Red & Kitty and Bob & Midge would become friends at all. They'd probably just be those crazy new neighbors next door to the Formans.

Eric and Donna, however, would still become fast friends. Their relationship might start out contentious (like it did in canon), maybe based on some sort of misunderstanding, but Eric's sincerity quickly wins Donna over. He realizes she's lonely and doesn't know anyone in town yet (not that she'll say that, stubborn girl), maybe she's always out playing basketball alone in her driveway, and Eric invites her to the basement and brings her into the gang.

Eric (and the other guys) would have a raging crush on her right from the get-go, but Donna would make it clear she only has platonic feelings for any of them. They'd become a tight-knit little gang before middle school was over - sort of 'Wendy and her lost boys' (which is pretty much what I imagine in canon, too). Eric would always defend her when the other guys (ok, mostly Kelso) blurred those boundaries or made her feel uncomfortable. That's how he wins over her trust.

By high school, Donna's developed full-fledged feelings for Eric but doesn't know how to express them/what to do about them. She's afraid of making a move or revealing her true feelings, and their friendship changing. From here on out, it pretty much matches canon. 🤷‍♀️

Others

I think Kelso, Hyde, and Eric would all be infatuated with her when she first arrives, and they'd all develop varying ranges of crushes on her.

Hyde's crush on Donna might escalate quicker than it did in canon - considering Eric and Donna don't have that 'childhood sweethearts' backstory - but I think it would have the same ultimate outcome: Donna tells him she just doesn't have feelings for him like that, but sees him as a good friend. Hyde struggles to accept this - even more so when Donna and Eric start to date in high school. He's hurt by her choice, her rejection, and for awhile he passive-aggressively takes it out on both Eric and Donna until they all eventually resolve it.

I actually think Donna and Kelso's relationship would remain pretty much the same. Ditto to her and Jackie, who would still join the gang around Donna's junior year of high school when she starts dating Kelso.

#thanks for the ask! #that 70s show #that '70s show #eric and donna #eric x donna #otp: mom and dad #eric forman #donna pinciotti #red forman #kitty forman #bob pinciotti #midge pinciotti #michael kelso #steven hyde #ask #answered #those70scomics

[overly-dramatic-artist]

💖Week Two: Relationships💖

The primary relationship that overarches the entire story and evolves the most significantly is Angela and Bruno. From a young age, they declare each other to be the best of friends, almost always at each other’s side or poking gentle fun at the other. To be perfectly clear, neither see the other in any sort of romantic view for a long, long time, and even when it starts to develop, they are quite blind to it, brushing off their feelings as just being a very strong friendship. They have the kind of rapport where they can be talking back and forth over each other passionately without any sort of irritation, or sitting in complete silence together either reading or crocheting, just passing the time in the presence in each other’s company.

When Angela is 19 and Bruno is 20, their relationship….changes for lack of better words. There’s a spark. A shift in the stars. An awakening of senses that ties the strings of their friendship into an irreversible knot. And despite this ‘change,’ they still promise to remain friends and just friends; only friends. She is still processing the trauma of her last romantic relationship, and Bruno (who I HC as demiromantic) doesn’t really want to take the deep dive into romance. So, they are friends. Just friends…who happen to sometimes kiss and look at each other a little too longingly.

For a more immersive and in depth experience/explanation of their relationship, I suggest reading my fic Why did it have to be me?

Angela is also quite close with Julieta and Pepa, as well as Agustin and Felix. As young teens, Angela and Pepa are in the church choir together, with Felix and Agustin who act as instrumentalists for the group. Julieta and Bruno will occasionally be pulled into the musical antics. Of the sisters, Angela is probably slightly closer to Julieta, mostly for her ability to read Angel like a book and is able to hone in on what’s going on with the girl. Pepa on the other hand has her head slightly more in the clouds so to speak when it comes to understanding the shifting moods and feelings of her friends, mostly because she has such a huge responsibility already of trying to regulate her own emotions. Julieta has always suspected something going on between her brother and Angela, is eventually proven correct when the relationship becomes difficult to keep hidden. She was mostly just suspect of her brother harboring a bit of a crush on Angela, but just being in denial about it for many years to the point where it had been completely repressed.

(Forgive the old art, I definitely need to update these ones :0 )

Angel loves the Madrigal kids with her whole heart, and though she wouldn’t say it out loud, she considers them as her nieces and nephews (and technically speaking with the whole common-law marriage contingency, they *are* her sobrinos more so than her cousins kids). She is closest with Isabela and Dolores given that they spent more of their formative years with her more than the other kids, but if you ask her, she will adamantly deny having a favorite.

When they were little, Isa and Dolores loved when Angela and Bruno would watch them for an afternoon/evening, because they would make a production of keeping them entertained with outlandish stories, complete with melodramatic acting and costumes (they especially love getting into Angela’s wardrobe of fancy things, and Dolores especially loves Angela’s would-have-been wedding gown that she keeps tucked away in her closet, but when Dolores finds it and gushes about how pretty it is, she’s able to let go of some of the bad feelings surrounding it). The girls get involved in their fable telling, inserting their own takes of action into the plot (which is completely welcomed) (very much like that episode of Bluey with uncle Rad and Frisky). Once Dolores gets her gift though, loud and intense storytellings get overwhelming for her, especially with the addition of the other kids. So, from this point on, Angela would do private story-time for Dolores, most often done when she would braid her hair. Isabela, on the other hand, liked to take on a directorial role, and was adamant about her vision for plots. Early on, the girls’ favorite stories were La Fada Morgana and the tale of Ariadne.

Angela, for better or worse, sees a lot of herself in Isabela as she grows up. The pressure to be perfect and splendid all the time is far from unfamiliar for her, and she tries, though not terribly successfully, to curb the pain of having to fit into a predetermined mold by giving Isabela some creative outlets to express herself. Initially, Isabela is able to get some of her feelings out through art, but overtime becomes scared of the consequences for just having negative feelings, so she only ends up creating in a very limited manner.

Luisa was an armored by Angela’s dancing when she was very young. When Luisa was around four, Angela returned from a long trip wherein she had learned to dance the Bolero, and little Luisa fell in love with all of the twirls and movements of her tía’s long skirt and cape. Angel would take Luisa’s hands and spin her around the floor to the sound of Agustin’s piano playing, and lift her up in the air like a true prima ballerina. With Angela, Luisa was able to indulge herself in her desire for the soft and girlish things of life, like chiffon skirts the swish around when she spins and pretty ribbons decorating her hair in elaborate styles. Unfortunately, time for the frilly trivial things lessens as the demand for Luisa’s gift grows. When traveling, Angela tries to find little trinkets like earrings or hair pins that Luisa can wear will working so she can still feel some bit of fun femininity.

Camilo and Mirabel both thought that Angela and Bruno were married when they were itty bitty. It only got brought up at one point: Camilo had just turned five, Mirabel in a few months preparing for her gift ceremony. The family is in the dinning room/ kitchen, and Mirabel asks Angela why she never wears a ring like her mama or tía Pepa. She’s a little confused at first, like what are you talking about, why would I wear a ring? Cue slight tense atmosphere of gently explaining that they are in fact not married, and the awkwardness that ensues afterwards of the kids insisting that they must be married because they’re in love and if you’re in love you should be married. This adds a mountain of tension on the pair as well as her relationship with Alma, especially given she leaves for a long time after Mirabel’s gift ceremony.

Angela teaches Camilo to play guitar when she comes back from a trip from DR when he’s seven. She gifts him her old guitar, telling him it’s charmed to never go out of tune, but in reality, she and Félix take turns tuning the strings when Camilo isn’t looking. He doesn’t catch on until he’s thirteen.

She also teaches Mirabel to embroider when she returns from her first cruise six months after her gift ceremony. Mirabel is in a concerning depressive spiral considering how young she is, and Angela offers to take her out of the magic house for a little bit to be in her family’s shop. She tells her that she can find magic in the ordinary things and thus starts teaching her little thread decorations and embellishments. She’s able to cultivate a bit more happiness in Mirabel through crafts and tailoring.

Antonio, given his very young age, does not have many solid memories of Angela, but loves her regardless. When she comes back for Dolores’ wedding, he is still shy, but quickly acclimated to her presence (the rats have nothing but good things to say about her). She held him a lot as a baby, but her traveling and almost permanent move away kept her from being around when his consciousness evolved from baby brain to child-with-object-permanence brain.

Now for the enormous family tree!!!

The great grandparents don’t play much part in the story, so for sake of simplicity, I will skip over them. Quinuama Ixchel Maria Estrada - Villca Gonzalez and Raymundo Hernan Antonio Estrada - Rodriguez Villca are Angela’s maternal grandparents (they are primarily who raised Angel), who have children: Beatríz Adriana Pilar Carvajal - Estrada Villca, Naylay Ezekiel Hernan Estrada - Villca Ruiz, and Anamaria Yaamil Quinuama Morales - Estrada Villca. Beatríz marries Lucio Fernando Simoné Carvajal - Silva Estrada, and they have two children: Imelda Constantine Adriana Manuel - Carvajal Estrada and Dominic Simoné Lucio Carvajal - Estrada. Naylay marries Ramona Xiomara Laura Estrada - Ruíz Allard, and they have three children: Remedios Yoselín Magdalena Márquez Estrada Ruiz, Nicolás Raymundo Ezekeil Estrada Ruiz Vargas, and Narcisa Esther Xiomara Mendoza Estrada Ruiz. Anamaria marries Guillermo (listed below), and their only child is Angela Leilani Yaamil Morales Estrada.

On Guillermo’s side of the family there are the great grandparents Enele Aulii Taito and Kanani Sofia Anacoana Taito Flores Tuigamala, Chimalmat Itzamara Morales Canul and Matteo Guillermo Morales Delgado Canul. The two relevant children from these couples are Guillermo’s parents, Leilani Maria Onosa’i Morales - Taito Flores and Babajide Jacobo Matteo Morales - Canul Taito. Guillermo was distant from his family, setting out at a very young age to live with one of his uncles, Enele Kahiau Luis Taito Flores (Leilani’s brother) to learn the trade of raising goats. Enele sadly passed away years before the formation of the Encanto, leaving Guillermo to raise himself on his own since he was 16.

Of Angela’s five cousins (in order of age): Imelda Constantine Adriana Manuel - Carvajal Estrada, Remedios Yoselín Magdalena Márquez Estrada Ruiz, Dominic Simoné Lucio Carvajal - Estrada, Nicolás Raymundo Ezekeil Estrada Ruiz Vargas, and Narcisa Esther Xiomara Mendoza Estrada Ruiz; she is closest to Remedios. Narcisa, despite begin the closest in age, has an odd relationship with Angel from a young age, the two of them mixing like oil and water. Narcisa enjoyed teasing Angela as a child, and they would often get into little fights, sometimes escalating to crying and yanking on each other’s ponytails. Narcisa’s sardonic personality settled with age, and she became much kinder to Angela by the time she’s an adult. Remedios has a….reputation in town for her coquettish behavior and ‘revolving door’ of lovers. Angela is closest to Reme because of the older girl’s honesty and acceptance of things deemed ‘improper.’

Her relationship with her father is difficult to say the least. Guillermo became extremely detached and emotionally distant after the passing of his wife. He’s a man of very few words, even with his family. He’s one of those fathers who doesn’t want their kid to grow up, who would just keep them forever as a child if he could. It stems mainly from the fact that his wife died so young and seeing his daughter surpass his wife’s life breaks his heart.

Some other relationships include her three exes: Roberto Montoya, Aureliano Torres, and Esteban Cesare Moscote Suarez. Roberto is a sweet boy that Angela projected her desire for romance on to when she was 12 (totally based on my own experience of picking a relatively cute boy to have a crush on so I could feel normal) who was exceeding kind to her during their little relationship, but both ultimate decided that it just was not what either of them wanted, and Roberto came out to her saying that he had kind of done the same thing in ‘picking a sweet girl to project his feelings on to.’ Aureliano was the emotionally unavailable son of the cantina owners, who sauntered his way into Angela’s heart with a blasé smirk and several glasses of rum. She broke it off with him when a lie was revealed. Esteban was a seemingly kind gentleman who was the picture of perfection upon meeting him, but evolved into an extremely manipulative and abusive partner that Angela became engaged to after he put her on the spot in front of half the town with a proposal (Don’t worry though, she breaks it off after finding her strength).

I’ve probably talked way too long about this now :)

@encanto-extended-edition

#encanto oc appreciation #encanto #writing #encanto oc #encanto oc event #encanto extended edition #wdihtbm #Angela morales Estrada #bruno my beloved #bruno madrigal x oc #bruno madrigal #mandys drawings #angel morales estrada

[basics-academy-yum]

Info dump about the students in high school. Do they go to the same one coincidentaly? Are they still in touch with the teachers?

prepare for an unskippable cutscene <3

SO SO SO SO SO!!!! Most of them do go to highschool together, considering they don't live to far from each other in the first place... And to answer your second question... yes. They are still in touch with the teachers. More than you might think :]

Playtime, Paisley, and Andrew (Baldi's son, for those unaware) honestly treat each other like cousins. Paisley's legal guardian is Micah, Playtime's stepdad is Prince... and Prince and Baldi are best friends, so those 3 are super close.

Paisley Playtime Andrew Art Billy

I'll give you little bio of each of them :]

Paisley - 15 (she/her) Super overprotective of Playtime. Stays out late hanging out with Andrew. She's finally on medication for her OCD so she rarely ever has hallucinations anymore!! Yippee!! She's pretty mature actually, for a 15 year old.

Playtime - 15 (she/her) Gonna be so real, puberty hits this poor kid like a truck, some days it takes ever fiber of her being to not curl up in her bed and cry. She's super studious and loves laying in bed watching magical girl anime. She's very into soft harajuku styles as well (like yume kawaii and a bit of lolita and stuff <3). She does get relentlessly bullied, but luckily she's got some pretty cool friends that tend to beat people up a bit too much–

Andrew - 15 (he/him) In a bunch of AP and honors courses and is burnt the hell out!!! He's pretty depressed and constantly beating himself up... Paisley will help him escape all the work and ruminations and just be a teenager sometimes. It's pretty awesome :D

Art Audrey- 14 (she/her) She's a very reserved art student, but believe it or not she's been managing her anxiety pretty great! She's been dating Billy, and boy does that kid have some enemies for protecting the LADIES in his life. Speaking of which...

Billy - 14 (he/him) He's still got anger issues, but he's learned how to be a lot more true to his feelings. Any time he sees his girlfriend or his childhood friend, Playtime, getting bullied, boy does he let them have it. Anyway, him and Audrey love to make comics and stories together, they have a huge universe with the craziest plot– it's super nifty 👍

Now I know what you're probably not thinking, but I've gotta bring it up. Playtime's bestie, 1st Prize!!! They stay best friends of course but... gosh, there's really no good way to put it. Philip (that's 1st Prize btw) passes away when he's about... 17. Playtime visits him all the time, of course. Some days she'll sit by his grave for hours, doing homework or telling him how her week has been or plots to her favorite anime... she'll also visit his mom sometimes and just hang out with her :]

Another big thing you've probably noticed is AUDREY!!!!!! Yeah, she's trans, pretty cool B) Now, as for interacting with her in the current timeline of the blog (pre-transition), it's best to still just use Art and he/him, solely because at 8 years old he's like "damn being a girl would be so awesome, too bad that's impossible" (if anyone wants to throw little asks at him about said topic tho to help him figure things the freak out, i cant stop you 😳🤭)

Anyway those are the basics (no pun intended), but if you guys wanna know more i will GLADLY tell little stories with them (idk about drawing them but i can write them 🤭!!) also feel free to use this knowledge as you wish, you can ask questions to them as highschoolers or as elementary schoolers, you can bring things up to try to figure out how they get for point A to point B.... all sortsa fun stuff!!! go go!! :D!!!

#baldis basics #bbieal #baldis basics in education and learning #baldi ask blog #ask blog #bbieal ask blog #baldi au #bbieal au #asks open #ask box open #TYSM FOR THE ASK #like seriously #i wanted to SCREAM #i love when people let me infodump #also andrew and paisley are so very mlm wlw solidarity #infodump #bbieal hs au