#does that later turn into conscious thinking... no because he's immediately breaking free now.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - July 30

 Hi friends!! So someone (hi @till-i-get-back-punk )  commented on last week’s bonus rec list, surprised that I’m @areiton​ so--as a reminder, your friendly neighborhood rec curator is indeed arei! I started the STW because I love reading and was running out of fic recs and occasionally that’s still true---so always feel free to send me new things to read via asks. I don’t do requested rec lists often, mostly because I’m crazy busy, but I’ve been thinking of a series of mini-lists for the holiday season--more on that later. 

Now on to this week’s list--as always, remember to share the love--comment/kudo if you’re enjoying the fic! 

~*~ 

poor flesh and fluttering hearts by deathsweetqueen

Steve blushes so adorably when Tony walks into the kitchen, staring down at the plate of pancakes that he made for himself and the rest of the team.

His brown wings, the colour of burnt umber, shake out before folding around his broad form.

For a moment, Tony is confused and then, he looks down at himself, noticing the way he strode into the kitchen in just a pair of silk boxers, arc reactor and shiny red scars on vivid display.

He shifts uneasily on his feet and immediately hates himself for the action.

Why should he feel so awkward, so self-conscious just because perfect fucking Captain America finds him an absolute mess of a person?

The Way of Things by Sineala

The Avengers have been around a long time, and they have a lot of traditions. But when Steve finds out that the team has a tradition he's never been informed of, he learns that there's something Tony hasn't been telling him, either.

Fixer-Upper by imafriendlydalek

Tony leads the way up the steps to the house, and as the door swings open with a long creaking sound - note to self: oil door hinges - Steve’s eyes widen. He steps inside, turns slowly on his own axis as he looks around.

“Tony, this place, it’s…” There’s a sense of wonder in his voice. Tony smiles inwardly. It is just the kind of thing Steve would like. Steve, who has a keen appreciation for fine aesthetics, who has a healthy - okay, sometimes more than healthy - sense of history and an acute desire to preserve things he deems worthy.

“This place is a dump.”

Well, so much for that, then. Tony shifts his weight to one leg as he takes an appraising look. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, yeah, I’ll give you that, but it’s not past saving. Just needs some TLC.”

Steve uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Well listen, you ever want an extra set of hands with some of the work, just give me a call.”

Big Boy Toys by extantecstasy

Steve finally gets fed up with Tony’s juvenile pranks. When Tony models for a sex toy, Steve seizes the opportunity. Or, it seizes him.

Glitch by iam93percentstardust

And I'm not even sorry, nights are so starry

Blood moonlit

It must be counterfeit

I think there's been a glitch, oh, yeah

~

“Ms. Potts, my name is Steve Rogers, and I’m Justin Hammer’s roommate," Steve says.

“Oh, what does that asshole want now?” she asks.

“I don’t think he wants anything—except to make a quick buck and ruin Mr. Stark’s reputation.”

Trust Fall by Sineala

Tony needs someone who cares about him, bandages, a jacket, ibuprofen, dinner, a lasting romantic relationship, a nice time in bed, and assistance committing federal crimes. He gets them. In that order.

Tony Stark vs. the Heteronormative Agenda by sweatervest

Nat leans her hip against the table and folds her arms. “Short of making out in public, I don’t think anyone will make the jump to ‘they’re dating.’”

Steve glances at her and then over at Tony.

Nat follows Steve’s gaze. “You did make out in public.”

“Steve never got his Time’s Square victory kiss,” Tony protests.

--

Or, five times the general public was determined to believe Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were just close friends, and the time Tony made sure they knew otherwise.

through thick and thin by earliebirb

“We should break up,” Tony declares, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window of their bedroom. The colorful twinkle of lights of the New York City nightlife is truly a mesmerizing view.

“Why?”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve scoffs, utterly unfazed.

What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? by ceealaina

Steve’s going to ask Tony out for New Year’s Eve. Really. He absolutely means it this time. He just... has to work up the nerve.

The Emperor's New Clothes by Captain_Panda

No, Tony wasn't "flirting with him."

Tony was trying to drive him crazy. Steve Rogers would not stand for it.

Honey, I Can See The Stars by twentysomething 

"The most he'd ever cared about anything remotely related was his uniform, which, beyond the stylistic, was pretty necessary. But now his suit comes from a lab far more advanced than the basement of a Brooklyn antique shop, and the only decision he really gets to make is if his pants are too tight. (They were, but he doesn't really think they changed them. He doesn't know why, but he thinks that might have been on purpose.) That being said, he doesn't know what he's done to deserve the double take Tony gives him as he walks in the room."

The Most Amazing Things (Some Terrible Lie) by copperbadge

Tony's decision not to reveal his identity as Iron Man to the world was shrewd and calculated. Too bad it's about to backfire on him like a Jericho missile.

It Started with Two Men by Missy_dee811 for tarialdarion

Steve remembers and confronts Tony but there's more to Tony's confession than Steve had ever thought possible:

“Tony, I –”

Tony cut him off with the wave of a hand. “Why can’t you understand that everything I do, I do for you?” He was sobbing now into his hands, covered in blood. It was jarring to see Tony like this. Steve didn’t know how to respond. This didn’t go as planned, he thought to himself. He hadn’t expected a heartfelt confession. In truth, he had expected more lies, more deceit. He felt like the world’s greatest asshole for using his best friend as a punching bag.

Make It Clap by shetlandowl

Steve is a sophomore at BU and Tony is finishing his graduate degree at MIT when they begin their relationship. This story is told as 31 snapshots from their first two years together. The story is told in sequential order, though not always in sequence (i.e., some chapters capture events only hours apart, while some chapters are from events weeks or months apart).

Ice Ice Baby (The Hockey Fic) by youcancallmearrow

Tony Stark is a star center, sidelined by a slip in sobriety. Steve Rogers is a goalie, suspended for a punch thrown off the ice.

When the two meet, they're trying to get their lives back on track, both off and on the ice. It turns out, the saying is true: A burden shared is a burdened halved. At least until Howard Stark gets involved.

(A get together fic full of fluff, supportive friends, dad Rhodey, and hockey! But if you know nothing about hockey, you'll be fine, because neither does the author.)

Tonight we're gonna make it all come true by gottalovev

Steve Rogers is one of the best players in college football and is ready to prove it. The road towards becoming a professional football player? Is totally crazy. Falling in love with Tony Stark, the young quarterback from Stanford, may be even more life changing.

i don't have a choice (but i'd still choose you). by frostfall

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

#stevetony weekly #stevetony fic #stevetony fic recs #rec list #fic recs #fic rec list #stevetony #stony fic #stony fic recs #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america

[ssahotchhner]

reckless endangerment

the reader can't let go of the trauma of aaron being kidnapped and tortured six months ago.

pairing: hotch x reader

warnings: kidnapping, torture, smut, dom!hotch

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

It was stupid to jump on the helicopter that contained at least two terrorists as it took off that roof in Manhattan. Even stupider that you had done it alone, Aaron’s voice screaming for you from behind. You weren’t sure he would forgive you for this if you survived so you supposed it was a good thing you weren’t planning on surviving.

Why did you jump on the helicopter, you may ask, and that would be a reasonable question. Perhaps it was your hero complex finally getting the better of you, knowing the helicopter was planning on flying straight into the Empire State Building, loaded with explosives. Or perhaps it was because these terrorists were part of a group that had tortured Aaron for hours a few months ago when he was on assignment in Pakistan and you had always believed fully in revenge. Aaron did not, he was much better than you.

“Hold your fire!” Aaron had yelled when it was clear you weren’t getting off that helicopter, “Federal agent on board!”

“With all due respect, sir, but you said that helicopter was headed for the Empire State Building where there are thousands of tourists and--”

“I said hold your fire.” Aaron snarls at the leader of the SWAT team. He knows he’s being ridiculous, letting emotion cloud his judgement, but how can he let them blow up a helicopter that you’re on? And why the fuck had you jumped on it in the first place?

The SWAT agent glared at him, “That helicopter gets within a hundred yards of the building, I’m ordering my men to shoot it down.” And then he walked away.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, the rest of the team not far behind him, “What the hell did she do that for?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He responded. He was furious with you, so much so he couldn’t think straight.

JJ steps closer, the panic evident on her face, “She’s not responding on radio.”

He looks at the rest of the team, all of them one step away from absolutely losing their minds over the fact that one of their own had gone on a suicide mission without consulting any of them, and then he looks back to the helicopter that’s getting smaller and smaller by the second.

***

SIX MONTHS AGO

You take a sip from your glass, “I miss you.” You say to your computer screen.

On that screen, SSA Aaron Hotchner smiles back at you, “I know. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“When you get back,” You say slowly, “Can we… Can we tell them? About us?”

By them, he knew you meant the team. He gets quiet, the smile falling off his face, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Hotch, they’re like our family. I feel terrible keeping things from them. It was fun in the beginning, but I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

He swallows, but then nods, “Okay.”

“Really?”

He smiles, “Yeah, of course. I don’t like hiding you either.”

You’re about to tell him you love him when there are suddenly men in the tent, “Aaron?” He looks around and scrambles for his gun, but he’s too late. One of the men hits him in the side of the head with a blunt object and he’s out, “Aaron!” You yell and then the feed cuts out.

***

It was surprisingly easy to disarm them, you supposed because you had surprised them. You easily knocked the gun away from the one who wasn’t piloting, ducked some of his punches before kicking him square in the chest, causing him to fall down. He hit his head on a hard metal handle on the way down, knocking himself unconscious. The Empire State Building was looming closer and closer and you knew if you didn’t stop it, SWAT would shoot down the helicopter. It would lead to less deaths than crashing directly into the building would, but people would still die from fallen debris. You wouldn’t let that happen. You pointed your gun at the man in the cockpit.

***

“Garcia, is her body cam on?”

“No, sir, but I can turn it on.”

Seconds later, the team was viewing the inside of the helicopter. You had knocked one of the men unconscious and handcuffed him to a handle, but you still had to get control of the helicopter.

“Can you hack the helicopter, Garcia?”

He hears the frantic typing of the technical analyst, but she huffs on the other end, “Not under these time constraints no, by the time I get in it’ll be too late.”

“Agent Hotchner, the snipers have locked in on the target.”

“Just give her another minute.”

“We don’t have another minute.”

He sighs, “She’s about to take control of the cockpit.”

“Does she know how to fly a chopper?”

“She’ll figure it out. Stand down, I won’t say it again.” Hotch’s radio goes silent after that.

***

You waste no time getting the team together and forty minutes later you’re sitting in the conference room, styrofoam cup of coffee warming your hands.

“You were video calling Hotch? At 10 PM?” Reid asks. From anyone else, it would sound accusatory, but you knew he was just genuinely curious.

“10 PM here is 7AM for him. I caught him right before he started his day, wanted to ask him about a case.”

Spencer frowns, “What case?”

Your mouth falls open as you try to fumble for something, but it’s already too late. “I knew it.” Rossi says quietly.

You grind your teeth together, “I’m sorry, is dissecting my love life more important to you guys than finding Hotch after he’s been kidnapped by a terrorist group?” You stand, squashing the empty styrofoam cup in your hand and toss it in the waste bin as you walk out of the room.

Moments later, Spencer’s standing next to you and you immediately feel guilty, “I didn’t mean to pry,” He says, “Honestly, the two of you being romantically involved was the last thing I would have guessed.”

The corners of your lips turn up just slightly, “I didn’t mean to snap in there, I know you meant nothing by it, I just… Right before he was taken we talked about telling you all. Together. Once he got back.” You sniff, “Part of me feels like all of you figuring it out without him here is the universe saying he’s going to die out there. I know that’s silly, but…”

“It’s not silly at all. When you’ve witnessed something traumatic, like a loved one being taken away in front of you with no way for you to help, your brain looks for anything to rationalize it. Even the universe predicting the outcome.”

Spencer's voice throwing out facts was actually fairly soothing, “Thank you, Dr. Reid.”

“Come on.” He squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s bring Hotch home.”

***

“Slowly put your hands up and back away from the controls,” You say, flexing your fingers on the gun, “Now!” You say when he doesn’t move. You’re running out of time. Finally, he slowly raises his hands, but at the last second turns and lunges for you. The helicopter tips as you fall over, your gun misfires at the ceiling before tumbling out of the chopper, and you’re free falling until your face slams on the floor and your hands grab the outside edge of the helicopter so hard you’re sure you ripped out your fingernails. Dangling, you grunt as you scramble to hook your feet on something. The pilot, already assuming you’re dead, had gone back to the cockpit.

Finally, you haul yourself back inside and run to him, ripping him out of his seat. He’s bigger than you, though, and quickly overpowers you. His hands wrap around your throat as you’re pinned to the floor and you’re choking, suffocating. All you can think is at least you’ll die before the chopper goes up in flames. And then, in a last ditch effort that’s more involuntary reaction than conscious choice, you’re able to knee him in the groin. His hands immediately leave your throat and instead of taking the moment to catch your breath, you kick him off you and he rolls to the open door. You reach for him, but you’re too late, he falls.

You wanted revenge, but you didn’t want to kill anyone. But you had no time to think about that now. You cough a few times and then stumble over to the cockpit. For the first time since you jumped on the helicopter, you turn your radio back on.

“I don’t suppose one of you knows how to fly a chopper?”

***

When you reenter the conference room everyone’s watching the last few seconds of the video call. They look at you apologetically and you nod in acknowledgement. You have to close your eyes at the sound of your own screams.

“Who was he working to take down while he was there?” Morgan asked.

“The leader of the Kashmir Jehad Force, his name was Syed Khan.” You said.

JJ frowned, “He told you all of this? Wasn’t it classified?”

You nodded, “Hotch asked to bring me on a few weeks ago when they were stuck. I was debriefed, but then they had a break before I could get on the plane. They finished the operation a few days ago, Hotch was supposed to come home in the next couple of days.”

“So Khan is dead?” Rossi asked.

You nod, “No one was supposed to know it was the US Government who did it. They wanted it to look like an accident. They shouldn’t have known Hotch was there.”

“Are you thinking there’s a double agent?” Emily asked.

You shrug, “It’s either that or Hotch was sloppy. Which one would you bet on?” The room is silent. “Exactly.” You say quietly.

***

They don’t have time to be relieved about the fact that you single handedly re-hijacked the chopper because now you need to figure out how to safely land it and you’re a football field length away from the Empire State Building. Reid jumps into action, apparently having read a lot about helicopters when he was younger.

“I’m assuming he had it on autopilot, the button will be glowing green on your left, turn it off and then get ready to steer.”

You sigh, “Spencer, I am so happy to hear your voice.” You flip off the switch like he said and the helicopter immediately starts beeping at you and plummets. You try and remain calm and pull it up and then turn the helicopter in the opposite direction from the building and sigh. “You know how to land this thing, right Reid?”

“Yeah, I’ll walk you through it.”

Hotch has to walk away from the conversation because he’s so caught up in feeling relieved that you’re alive and absolutely furious with you for doing what you did. He thinks he knows why you did it. You had been absolutely torn up when he had been taken while in Pakistan and you had been on edge this whole case knowing the terrorists you were after had been a part of the group that had tortured him.

***

When Hotch wakes up, he’s chained to the ceiling by his wrists, shirtless. He can feel a migraine blooming from his temple where he was hit, but he knows the real pain hasn’t even begun yet. He can hear talking from the corner of the room and before they can see that he’s awake, he begins detaching himself. He pictures your face, smiling at him on your first date. The way you smile sleepily at him when he kisses you first thing in the morning. The way you scrunch up your forehead just a little when you’re thinking really hard. The first time you told him you loved him. And then he’s with you and no one can touch him, no one can hurt him.

***

“Do you know where they would keep him?” Strauss is sitting in the conference room now, looking at you, “You were debriefed, is it enough for a profile?”

You sighed deeply, eyes darting back and forth as you tried to recall all the information you know, “I know most of the profile for Kahn, but we never focused on the group as a whole because we wanted to find him alone when we neutralized him.” You tap your fingers on the table, “I have no idea what a group without Kahn would function like, even knowing what I knew before, the fact that Kahn is gone would change the whole profile. We don’t know who took over.”

“And what do you know about the group?”

“Um,” You blinked a few times, you were having a hard time focusing, “They were all followers, none of them would have been capable of leading. Whoever is in control now was outside of the group.”

“Maybe our double agent?” Emily says.

You nod, “That would make sense.”

Strauss frowns, “You think there’s a double agent?”

“There’s no way the group would have known Hotch was responsible if they didn’t have insider information.” You say.

“What you’re proposing is that a terrorist somehow infiltrated a Top Secret US Operation, waited for us to kill a terrorist leader, then took over that same terrorist group and kidnapped the leader of our operation.” Strauss said and waited for someone to say something, “Does that not sound ridiculous to anyone else?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” You ask sharply.

“Yes, that Agent Hotchner left something behind at the scene that pointed the remaining group in his direction.”

You’re shaking your head, “If you’re so certain that’s the case, then check their old stronghold. If it’s a new guy, they would have abandoned it, which I’m certain they did. But be my guest, waste our time and your men.” You storm out of the conference room for a second time.

***

You find yourself in Aaron’s office and you tilt your head to the side, stretching out a kink in your neck before sitting on the couch. You look around the office, well decorated with plaques commemorating his work in the bureau. When you get up and walk around to his side of the desk, you notice a small gold frame that hadn’t been there before. In it is a small picture of the both of you sitting on the beach at sunset. When had he put this here? When had he decided that it was worth the risk of your coworkers noticing that new frame? Seeing you propped on his desk like that?

And then you were crying and you couldn’t stop it and you just wanted to hold him. “Looks like you just outed your relationship to Erin.” You looked up to see Rossi standing in the doorway and wiped your tears, sniffling.

“Not like she can say anything considering you both make it a habit of checking in at the same hotel every weekend.” You snap, and then sigh instantly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” He says and walks over to put a hand on your shoulder, “You miss him.”

“A few hours ago we were talking about what we were going to do when he gets back, and now he’s gone.”

“He’s coming back, Y/N. We’ll find him.”

***

You had been right about the former stronghold being abandoned. All signs now pointed to a double agent. You tried to think of everything Aaron had told you about the team that would be a part of the operation, but you kept coming up empty. When a list was brought out with pictures of each you went over it again, every conversation you had had with Aaron since he left.

And then… there was one interaction, one interruption that you and Aaron had both dismissed at the time.

A man walks up behind Aaron while he’s talking to you, debriefing you back when they thought you’d be flying in. At the look on your face, Hotch had turned around to face him, “Can I help you with something?”

The man had simply shook his head and left, but you could have sworn for the rest of the call, he had lingered. Listening. Aaron had explained to you that most of those involved in the operation hadn’t known the full details of the plan up until they had left, in order to prevent situations like the one they were in now.

There were times when Aaron was talking to you on the phone and he told you he felt like someone had been watching him, but you both dismissed it as paranoia. And when the pictures and names were presented to you again, you pointed to the man you were sure you saw on that one video call. “What do we know about him?” You asked.

And the look of dread on Erin’s face when you pointed him out told you everything you needed to know. Garcia did what she always did and soon they knew every detail of his life. He was a textbook narcissist and sociopath. Incredibly charming, everyone loved him, he could convince almost anyone to follow him. He had an FBI background and rumor had it, he thought he was to be the one to lead this operation until Aaron showed up.

“So he takes over an entire terrorist organization just to take out Hotch?” Morgan asks, “We have to be missing something.”

You’re getting impatient, “Well let’s figure it out on the jet.”

“This team is not going to Pakistan.” Erin says firmly, “We will inform an extraction team that’s already on the ground when we figure out where they’re holding him.” You’re already rolling your eyes and preparing a retort and she notes that and continues, “If you can’t compartmentalize your emotions, Agent, I will have you removed from the case.”

You hold yourself back from yelling that you need to be the one who brings him home, because you know how ridiculous it sounds and you being stubborn isn’t helping Aaron. “Fine.” You say, “Here’s what I can tell you.”

***

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, giggling as your hair falls in your face. He reaches up to push it away and you grind your hips against his. “Hotchner.” You say, “You have to wake up.” He frowns. It’s not your voice.

And before he can stop it, your face swims away and it’s replaced by SSA Scott Carter. It takes him a few moments to realize that Carter isn’t here to help him and that he was probably behind this whole thing. “Carter?” He manages.

Carter smiles, “Ah, the darling of the BAU finally awakens. What were you dreaming about, Hotchner? Sounded juicy. Was it about your girlfriend?” His head shot up at that. If you were in danger, he’d kill this son of a bitch. “Oh, I hit a nerve.” He smirks, “Did you tell her you weren’t planning on coming home this week? That you had some loose strings to tie up?”

Hotch blinked, his brain was still fuzzy from what he assumed was a concussion, “You… You’re the one stealing the military weapons and selling them to the terrorist organizations.” He hadn’t told you he was planning on staying a few more days to figure out who was transporting the weapons, he had still been hoping to figure it out before his flight was scheduled to leave, but Carter had been his prime suspect. Apparently, Carter had figured out he was on to him. It was why he was able to get Khan’s men to drag him from his tent this morning.

Carter gives him a slow clap, “You know, for a profiler, I’m disappointed you hadn’t figured it out sooner, Hotchner. Really, I’m very torn up about it. I have half a mind to fly to Quantico after you’re dead and demand your position.”

Aaron laughs, “You’re out of your mind if you think my team won’t figure this out in a quarter of the time it took me to.”

“What did you tell them, Hotchner?”

“I haven’t been in contact with my team in weeks.”

“Oh, but your girlfriend. Did you think I’d forget she’s a federal agent in the BAU as well?”

“She doesn’t know anything, the mission was classified, you know that.”

“You never mentioned your suspicions of a lucrative weapons trading operation?”

“No.”

Carter hums and takes out a knife, “I don’t believe you.”

Hotch doesn’t flinch, “Then go ahead and carve me up, Carter. You won’t be the first.”

***

With Reid’s help, after working through the night you were able to narrow down the possible holding sights to three places and Strauss ordered three separate teams to check each place. Now the only thing left to do was wait.

You’re sitting alone in Hotch’s office when Penelope, JJ, and Emily all walk in, JJ holding a tea for you. You give her a small smile of thanks as you take it, “You guys don’t have to sit with me, I’m okay.”

“Did you think we were going to just let you gloss over the fact you never told us you were dating Hotch?” Penelope said.

You manage a genuine smile and look down at your tea, “We weren’t sure when or how to tell you guys. Or if it would make things weird.”

JJ shrugs, “We’re already family and families are weird.”

“Not the point,” Penelope interjects, “We need all the details now, who made the first move?”

“He did, actually,” You smile recalling the memory, “He asked me if he could call me outside of work hours and I said sure, he could always call me to discuss a case. Then he got really red and I asked him if there was something else he would want to call me about. And he cleared his throat and asked if he could call me to ask me out to dinner sometime and I laughed and said yes.”

Emily shakes her head, “Hard to imagine that man getting flustered over anything.”

You laugh, “Yeah, he gets really awkward around women he likes romantically, it’s kind of endearing.” You clear your throat, “Thank you guys for trying to distract me.”

JJ nods, “They’re going to find him. Alive.”

You nod, “Yeah. I just wish it was my face he was seeing first.”

***

You had somehow managed to fall asleep at some point, head in JJ’s lap with her fingers gently combing through your hair.

“Guys.” Spencer’s voice jolts you from sleep, “They found him.”

All of you jump up, but you’re the first one out of the room, trailing Spencer, “He’s okay?”

“He’s injured, but yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Your legs almost give out, but JJ and Emily come on either side to grab your arms as you walk into the conference room.

“They’re airlifting him to the hospital, he was stabbed a couple of times but they were shallow, some burns, looks like he was waterboarded as well,” Erin Strauss smiles, “But he’s fine. They’ll transfer him to DC first thing in the morning.”

“What about Carter?” You ask.

“It turns out he was stealing weapons from the military and selling them to terrorist organizations and Hotch was onto him. That’s why he took him. Not because of Khan. He wanted to know how much Hotch knew and if he had told you anything.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t know anything about that.”

Strauss nodded, “Carter has people here. Hotch didn’t mention it to you on purpose. So that they wouldn’t take you if something happened.”

You close your eyes. That man, always trying to protect you. Always being the hero. You could have found him hours ago if he had just told you. But that was the man you had fallen in love with.

***

You insisted on being on the roof of the DC hospital when the chopper landed and you charmed all the nurses into allowing you into every room he was wheeled in until he was settled. They had sedated him for the long flight and it seemed he would wake at any moment. You slid your small, cold hand, into his large, warm one and waited.

“I know that ice cold hand,” He said slowly. His voice was gravely and it brought tears to your eyes to see that he was trying to smile. “Oh, hey, don’t cry.” He reaches his hand up to stroke your cheek and you turn your head into his hand to kiss his palm, sniffling.

“I’m very happy to see you.” You manage, choking down your sobs, “I didn’t think I was going to see you again.” His smile grows, “It’s not funny!”

“It’s very funny, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry over anything and certainly not me.” You glare at him through your tears and he chuckles, “Ah, there she is, tough guy. I know the only thing holding you back from punching me in the shoulder is that I’m injured.”

“Oh, I’ll still do it if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

He smirks, “Promise?”

And finally you break into laughter and lean over him to kiss his mouth, “You should’ve told me about Carter.” You say, “You could have at least told me you were in danger.”

“And what, have you worried from an ocean away when it might have been nothing? I needed more evidence.”

You bite your lip, “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life, watching you get taken like that.”

“I came home.” He says softly, “I’m okay, I promise.”

You swallow, “Did they get Carter?” He nods, “And what about the guys that took you in?”

“Sweetheart, that’s a whole terrorist organization, no they didn’t get them.”

“They kidnapped a federal agent!” You say indignantly.

“And the federal agent is alive.”

“But—!”

He puts a finger over your mouth to quiet you, “Don’t make me argue with you like your unit chief right now. I just want to be your boyfriend.”

You sigh, “Okay,” Leaning over him, you rest your head on his chest and he begins stroking your hair. Having not slept at all since Hotch had been taken, you fall asleep like that. Finally at peace.

***

You hadn’t really been able to let it go, even when Hotch was better and back to work, he could tell you were harboring real anger about his kidnappers.

And on that morning, the morning you jumped on the god forsaken helicopter, when the BAU was asked to come to New York to investigate a possible terrorist threat, he debated telling you not to come. The government had suspicions that they were here to take revenge for Khan and he knew you’d be upset with being benched.

“Hotch, I’m fine. I’m not angry.” You had said when he pulled you into his office after debriefing the rest of the team.

“If you even hint at taking impulsive, reckless risks I will suspend you immediately, understood?”

You sigh, “I hate when you use your boss man voice with me.”

“Y/N—” He starts impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah, fine, understood. No being reckless. Got it.”

His eyes scan your face to see if you’re lying, “Good.” He says finally and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Let’s go then.”

He should have known you were lying. It was only the previous night you had woken him up tossing and turning from a nightmare. When he had finally gotten you awake you practically flung yourself at him, arms twining themselves around his neck as you caught your breath, “I thought you were gone again.” You had said breathlessly. And he had wordlessly held you to him, running his fingers through your hair until you were asleep again. It hadn’t been the first time he had had to comfort you. You had had far more nightmares about him being taken than he had about himself being tortured. Truth be told, he had been through far worse than being kidnapped and tortured for 24 hours. He knew it made you feel weak, the nightmares, when you weren’t even the one who had been tortured so he never brought them up. Never made you talk about them. But they worried him all the same. You relived the trauma again over and over, nearly every night. How were you expected to let the anger go when you were still living through it?

He should have known, but he let you out in the field anyway. Would that not put in question his ability to lead? His ability to lead with you on the same team?

He can barely see through his anger as he turns back to where Reid is instructing you to land. When you successfully land and jump out of the chopper, the rest of the team gathers around you to hug you, but Hotch stays back, watching.

When you notice, you walk over to him, “Hotch, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have--”

“You’re suspended for at least a month, if not more.” He starts, “You’re lucky I don’t remove you from this team all together.”

You frown, “Aaron, I was able to detain one of the suspects, now we can learn more about the group--”

“By doing what you did you put yourself and hundreds of civilians at risk. We could have shot down the chopper, but because you jumped onboard I had to instruct them to stand down. Which, by the way, I had to do several times because they were more than willing to kill you to get that chopper down, do you have any idea the damage you caused? What could have happened if you didn’t get control of that chopper when you did?”

“I… Baby, I’m sorry--” You reach your hand out to put on his arm, but he pulls away.

“Don’t talk like that, I’m not your boyfriend right now, I’m your unit chief. Now give me your badge and gun.”

You know you can’t blame him, he had warned you he would do this and you had disobeyed him intentionally. But still, your hands shake as you hand over your gun and badge. You don’t say anything else as you leave the roof, heading down all the way to ground level to get a taxi back to the hotel. And then you wait. You lay on your back and wait for the sound of the door opening and when it does hours later, you push yourself up and sit cross legged on the bed.

“Hi.” You say softly when he walks in.

He spares you a glance before heading to the bathroom without a word. You sigh and fall back on the bed. When you hear the shower running you decide to undress yourself and head in.

He sighs when he realizes you’ve joined him, but doesn’t object when you wrap your arms around his waist and press your face to his back, “I’m sorry.” You murmur.

“You keep saying that, but I know if you were given the opportunity to do it all again, you’d make the same decision.”

You pause at that, “You’re right, I don’t regret what I did, but I’m sorry I had to disobey you to do it.”

He turns in your arms and looks down into your eyes, “Do you not see the problem with that? You did what you did out of revenge. You let your emotions get the best of you, you broke the number one rule of being in the BAU.”

“Those men were prepared to die at all costs, I just didn’t want them to get off that easy. I want them to pay for what they did to you, and this way, at least one of them will. Would you not have done the same? Did you not murder Foyet after he had given himself up because he had killed your wife and threatened your son?”

“Don’t.” He warns.

You scoff, “You have this God complex sometimes, Aaron, and it’s so frustrating. You can do whatever you want because you always have a reason and from your standpoint you’re always right. But whenever one of your toy soldiers falls out of line, it’s a different story--”

“What I did with Foyet did not put myself or civilians at risk.” He says firmly.

“You went in alone.” You said, “You didn’t wait for backup.”

He looks down and shakes his head, “You cannot compare what you did today to the things I’ve done because I would never endanger hundreds of innocent people just for some petty revenge.”

He thinks your eyes water, but it’s difficult to tell in the shower, “It wasn’t petty, Aaron. Not to me.”

He sighs and bends his forehead to yours, bringing both hands up to cradle your face, “Honey, I’m fine. You have to let it go.”

You close your eyes at his touch and lean up just slightly to capture his mouth with yours and as he sighs into your mouth you pull away, just slightly, “If it was me… If I was the one who was kidnapped and tortured in a country thousands of miles away, what would you have done?”

He swallows, and searches your face, “There wouldn’t have been a single protocol that I wouldn’t have broken to get you home safe.”

You nod, “I’m sorry. I understand why you’re upset, I put others in danger. It won’t happen again.”

He kisses you hard on the mouth, “You’re still suspended.”

You hum and he pushes you against the shower wall, his hand coming up to rest on your throat, “Are you going to punish me?” You asked breathlessly.

“Maybe.” He leans down and scrapes his teeth against your neck, hand tightening around your throat just slightly in warning when you squirmed. “I’m still angry with you.” He says, his eyes looking up to meet yours, tightening his grip on your throat again.

You can barely breathe through his grip, “For disobeying you?”

“No.” He says roughly, “For nearly getting yourself killed.”

You manage to swallow, “And that would have upset you?”

The desire immediately fizzles out of his eyes and he drops his hand, “Of course it would, how could you ask that?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I just…” You shrug, “I don’t know, forget it.”

“No,” He puts his hands on your shoulders to keep you from leaving, “Do you really think I wouldn’t have been upset if you died?”

“Aaron,” You say slowly, “You are the love of my life. But Haley was yours. And that’s okay, I don’t expect anything else, but it’s just a fact of our relationship that I love you more than you love me.”

He stares at you blankly for another moment, and then looks away to turn the shower off. He leaves you standing there, wet and naked as he climbs out of the shower and towels himself off silently.

“Aaron.” You say after he’s been silent for so long, stepping out of the shower and wrapping your own towel around yourself.

“You think there can only be one?”

You blink, “What?”

“A person can have more than one love of their life, you think you just get one and done?”

You frown, walking over to the bed and lowering yourself onto it, “Yes, that’s the whole concept.”

He scoffs at you, “I forget how young you are, you think you know everything there is to know about relationships, you have no idea.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, “Don’t patronize you, you’re the one who just tried to convince me you know more about my feelings, about who I love than I do. That’s quite patronizing, wouldn’t you say?”

You look down at your hands, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

He sighs and walks over to you, crouching in front of you, “Haley was the love of my life, that’s true. But in my head,” He swallows, “There’s the me from before Haley, and there’s the me from after Haley. And you,” He brushes his index finger over the tip of your nose, “Were the person who made the me after Haley believe I deserved love again. You are just as much the love of my life as she is and I have no idea where I’d be right now if I hadn’t met you.”

You finally give him a little bit of a smile, “Probably even more insufferably miserable than you are now.”

He chuckles and you relish in the sound, bringing your fingers up to lightly stroke his cheek, “I’m sorry. For everything today, being reckless, bringing up Haley… I’m sorry, I was out of line.”

“It’s okay,” He says softly, “But you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll fire you.”

“Yes sir.” You say, smirking as you lean in to kiss him, twining your arms around the back of his head. Gently, you tug and pull him back on the bed, on top of you and you feel him smile into your mouth.

Since you’re already naked from the shower, he can’t stop his hands from wandering across your soft skin. His hand grips your thigh, lifting up your leg and allowing him to squeeze your ass. You gasp into his mouth just the way he likes and he bites down on your lower lip. “Aaron,” You whine.

“Did you want something, sweet girl?” He whispers in your ear as his hand slides between your legs.

It’s not fair, he knows when he works you up like this it’s nearly impossible to get a coherent word out of you. You manage only to moan his name again as he slowly, torturously, rubs over you again. “Come on, baby, use your words.” He teases and you can hear the smile in his voice. Bastard.

He runs a single finger down your folds, “Should I make you come with my fingers?” He slowly dips a finger inside you, eating up your reaction as your mouth falls open and a moan claws its way up your throat. “Or,” He pulls his finger out and you glare at him, “I could do it with my mouth.” Your eyes roll back when he licks you and you physically ache at his touch. But then he stops, “Or maybe,” He crawls back up to kiss your mouth and you can taste yourself on his tongue, “I won’t let you come at all since you’ve been such a bad girl.”

“Please,” You whine, “Please, I’ll be good. I promise.”

When he pulls back to look at you, his pupils are blown out and you feel such a rush seeing your effect on him. “We’ll see.” He says softly and without warning thrusts into you. Your back arches against the mattress as you curse. When your eyes meet his, he has a look of such confident satisfaction it nearly makes you come undone right there. “I think,” He pulls out slowly, “I’ll take my time with you tonight.” He reaches up a hand and wraps it around your throat again, “Is this okay?” He says softly, breaking his role for the first time.

You nod, “Please.” You say again, knowing how he loves when you beg. He scans your face once and then he grins again, tightening his hand around your throat until you’re gasping. “Good girl,” He whispers in your ear and slowly pushes into you again, gently biting your ear.

“Baby,” You manage with what little air you’re able to take in. He immediately stops, taking his hands off you, but you shake your head and pull his hand back to your throat, “Harder.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Fuck,” He curses, wrapping both hands around your throat, “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

And you smirk as he pushes down on your windpipe before slamming his hips into you at full force, you’re rapidly approaching climax, but Aaron can tell. You don’t know how he can tell, but he immediately slows his hips and takes his hands off your throat. You gasp at the sudden release and cough a little bit, “I didn’t tell you you could come.”

“I didn’t,” You say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

“You almost did, and you would have if I didn’t stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you and tilts his head to the side as he watches you, “Turn around.” He says calmly.

You hide your smile as you do what you’re told, turning on your knees, letting your forearms and face fall to the pillow. He roughly pulls at your waist, repositioning you and pulling your ass up even farther. He runs a hand over your ass, “Look at you, so pretty for me.” He says softly before pulling back his hand and smacking it hard against your ass. You moan into your pillow and then he’s inside you, a fistful of your hair in his fist.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” He asks breathlessly.

“Yes.”

He slams into you roughly making you yelp, “And you’ll never disobey me again?”

You swallow, “Never.”

He releases your hair and leans over you, sweetly kissing your shoulder and you can feel his smile against your skin, “That’s my sweet girl.” He reaches his arm around your front and begins to massage your clit as he thrusts into you. “Come for me, baby.” He says and speeds up his movements. It’s all the permission you need and you’re immediately unraveling. It takes everything in you not to collapse onto your stomach until he’s also climaxing, brought to his edge by the pulsing of your walls. He swears and collapses fully onto your back, your knees giving way under his weight.

You both lay there like that, him resting on your back in silence for a few moments, catching your breath. Then, Aaron sits up quickly, hands searching your skin, “I’m sorry, baby, did I hurt you?”

“No.” You say, but he presses kisses all over your skin anyway, immediately entering aftercare mode.

You sigh sleepily and pull him to you, wanting to snuggle with him. He obliges, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into your neck. “I love you.” He murmurs into your skin, “So much.”

You hum, “I love you. Thank you for not firing me.”

“If you ever end up getting yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”

You chuckle and kiss his temple, “Noted.”

#mine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x reader #hotch angst #hotch fluff #aaron hotchner #hotch smut #hotch imagine

[race-week]

Paddocks Power Couple? We’re too Ordinary.

Times article - here in full.

Susie and Toto Wolff are the power couple of motorsport, although mention it to them and Susie will grimace and explain why she hates that label.

“It sounds so corny,” she says. “This idea that we’re a power couple, I don’t see it. We have struggles that normal couples have of managing family logistics, especially with our jobs involving so much travel.

“We support each other massively. Obviously there has been success along the way, which we’re not just proud of but grateful for. So no, I don’t relate to this power couple tag.”

They certainly have achieved success. Toto is in charge of Mercedes, who have won the driver and manufacturer championships in Formula One for the past seven years and are in contention to make it eight this season. The 49-year-old Austrian oversees all Mercedes’ motorsport programmes, including Venturi Racing in Formula E (FE), which Susie, a 38-year-old Scot, is in charge of. A few weeks ago they found themselves at the FE season finale in Berlin, both covered in champagne with reasons to celebrate.

Nyck de Vries had just won the drivers’ championship for Mercedes, while Norman Nato had won the race for Venturi and was joined on the podium by Susie, who took over the reins in 2018 and has turned around the team’s fortunes. It was a double celebration for Venturi as their other driver, Edoardo Mortara, finished second in the championship. There was no big party, however. They had promised their four-year-old son, Jack, that they would be home that night and he had been allowed to stay up late to wait for their arrival. “We’re not really good at celebrations,” Toto says. “For us what we do is just to be there for each other. That evening, flying back to Jack who was waiting in his pyjamas and then we had a late dinner.

“Though, wait, maybe if I tell you about my alcohol consumption the other day,” Toto says as he lets out a big laugh, and who could blame him for allowing himself a day off?

They are speaking while on holiday in Sardinia, where they have managed to find a week to spend together as a family. The final FE race fell in the middle of the F1 summer break and Jack was sent to stay with his grandparents in Scotland while the couple both worked. They have a rule that Jack is not allowed at the track when they are working.

This is because they think that it is unfair on Jack and the staff, who travel so much and cannot bring their own families to races. You get the sense that their style of management is as similar as their sense of humour.

The interview is conducted over video but their camera is turned off, which Susie explains is the result of her pale Scottish skin now being the colour of a lobster. Her husband joins the conversation a minute later and jokingly disagrees with the lobster comparison, saying her skin resembles the Austrian flag, courtesy of the tan lines from her swimsuit. This makes the man from Vienna and his wife laugh a lot.

The pair continue to bounce off each other throughout the interview, something that comes from their ten years of marriage. Toto is also quick to praise his wife’s talent as a team principal and says that he would happily work for her one day.

“I would work for her immediately,” Toto says. “If she comes up with a good project and she pays me well and I can have a share of the business, yeah, I will do it in a heartbeat. And I mean it seriously.”

The feeling, though, is not reciprocated and Susie is adamant that she would maintain her independence. “For me it was a conscious decision not to work for Toto, because as his wife it would have been seen as nepotism; also I had to stand on my own two feet,” Susie says. “I had to find my own project.

“So that’s why I went off to find my own challenge. But when I was discussing it with Toto, this idea of maybe doing something in Formula E or becoming team principal, he said, ‘Go for it, absolutely go for it.’ ”

Jack was only one when she took the job, but starts school next month in Monaco, to where they have recently relocated from Switzerland. They live down the road from Lewis Hamilton. The Mercedes driver has already been over for dinner and plays with Jack, even giving him one of his helmets.

“Jack asked the other day when [the next] race is, as he realised there hadn’t been one for a while,” Susie says. “I told him how many sleeps away it was and he said, ‘OK, because I’m thinking that maybe I’m going to give Lewis my helmet.’ I said no to him and explained Lewis had given him his helmet and you don’t have to give it back.”

Most children are in awe of the best drivers, which explains Jack’s disappointment upon discovering that his dad does not actually drive the cars. “I say I’m going to my race cars, and then he can relate to that, to the race cars,” Toto says. “Until like, one year ago, he thought that I was actually driving the car. So that came a little bit as a disappointment that I wasn’t.”

He is impressed, though, to know that his mum used to race. Susie became the first woman in 20 years to take part in an F1 weekend when she drove during free practice at the 2014 British Grand Prix. She was a development driver for Williams, which is how she met Toto, who was an investor in the team before he moved to Mercedes in 2013.

With F1’s second half of the season packed full of races, the Wolffs are enjoying the last day of their holiday and preparing to go to the beach.

With two parents who are such big names in motorsport, it seems likely that their son will follow them into it. But for now it is time for the one thing that they have made clear they both prioritise over anything else: their family.

#I honestly forgot I have a times subscription so here is the article in full #sorry if it’s formatted weirdly #Toto Wolff #susie wolff #f1 adjacent

[nctsworld]

meet me at the borderline

☆ jaehyun x reader | dance au | enemies to lovers | smut | 4k   

→ summary: although you and jaehyun are rival dance team captains, you two end up talking with your bodies in the dance studio one evening. → warnings: smut, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), table sex, mirror sex, some praise kink, swearing, some angst → rating: explicit → notes: part of a longer fic that i yearn to write one day, but until then… this is what y’all will receive 

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

It’s 8pm on a Friday night at the university’s main dance studio. Everyone on campus is either attending frat parties, at the clubs downtown, or at home, so you’re taken aback when you walk in and are greeted by the one and only Jung Jaehyun. 

He immediately stops dancing and hurries over to his phone on the floor to turn off the music playing. The panting dancer holds your gaze through the wall-sized mirror and takes off his cap for a moment to wipe his sweat away before putting it back on. 

“I was here first,” he states firmly with a squint of his eyes, anticipating for you to leave, but Jaehyun knows to expect less of you. With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you stride into the room, hearing the door click behind you, and cross your arms with a shrug. 

“Did you book the studio for tonight?” 

He tenses, “No, I didn’t, but—” 

“If you don’t have another excuse for me to go, don’t be such a baby and I’ll make sure to stay out of your way.” 

The dance captain eyes you sauntering towards the back corner of the room, setting your backpack down. As you sit on the floor and begin to change shoes, he appears in front of you.

“Look, I’m trying to practice the set for the competition. I hate to be a dick—”

“No, you don’t; you love being a dick.” With a bitter, wide smile, you look up at him, still putting on your sneakers.

Jaehyun glances up for a second, as if in deep thoughts, with pressed lips. He then raises an eyebrow and nods his head side to side. 

“Perhaps, but anyway, I didn’t bring my headphones today and we shouldn’t even be seeing each other’s choreo before the show—” 

“Well, good news,” you stand up and begin to tie up your hair. “Unlike you, I brought headphones, so you can practice in peace. Oh, and I hate the sight of you and your flat ass, so I won’t even look at you dancing. We good?” 

You fold your arms once more. From one captain to another, you hold his stare, not wanting to back down from this mere fight. All you want is to get in some practice before the weekend with a proper mirror, is that too much to ask for? 

It takes some time, but the opposition yields to you, tilting his head to the floor and grumbles under his breath. As he walks back to his side of the room, you’re surprised he backed down so easily without a snarky response. Maybe Friday nights were his off days too.   

“At least I have an ass,” Jaehyun’s holler echoes against the walls. 

Ah, you spoke too soon. Placing your headphones over your ears to drown out your surroundings, you start your usual warm-up. Shortly, both of you dive into your separate worlds of melodies and movement. 

About half an hour later, you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor for a water break and set your headphones aside. You take a sip from your bottle and go against your word from before, indulging in a glance at the other dancer in the room.

Even though Jaehyun is an ass (and lacks one),—and you’d never tell the following to his face—he’s still a pretty sight to see, especially when his shirt occasionally rides up to flash his abs. 

When he catches on that you’re taking a longer break than usual, he pauses his music.  

“Were you practicing your set too or were you freestyling?”

Caught off-guard by his conversational piece, you squint at him coming closer to you. You could answer honestly, but opt to hold your ground against his seemingly innocent question. 

“Why do you care?”

He scoffs, “Cause your footwork’s a mess, like always, and if you, as a captain, dance like that for your piece, I can’t imagine what your whole team looks like.” 

Your nose twitches prior to the clenching of your jaw. You’re fully aware of your weak points when dancing, as most dancers are, but to have the audacity to bring it up unprovoked? You slam your water bottle against the floor, the echo reaching all ends of the room, then stand to match his stance. 

“Well, you’re one to talk.” You stomp your way over, closing the empty space in between, and are now only a few steps away from him. “You’re tense with all your upper body movements. You’re like a hard stick from the hip up. It’s like you have no control over your core—”

“Whoa, hold on,” he holds a palm up and rushes to lift his shirt up. “Look at my abs and tell me I don’t have a good core.”

You’re definitely looking, a little longer than you should because you’re finally getting a close-up glimpse of his abs, and they’re the type that you could wash clothes off of. But it’s not like you haven’t seen abs in your life nor do you want to stroke his ego, so you maintain your demeanor and roll your eyes. 

“I didn’t say that. I said you have no control over your core.”

Jaehyun lets out a huff. You can’t detect it, but it’s laced with a tinge of disappointment over how unfazed you are. He frees his shirt and jogs over to his phone. A few scrolls later, he finally blasts music that you’re fairly certain isn’t part of his dance team’s set for the competition (you may have also gone against your other word and listened to what he was practicing to, but only for a little bit). 

“Fine, I’ll show you.” 

At this point, you’re amused because never in a million years you’d expect Jaehyun freestyling in a room alone with you. He starts off by feeling the sharp beats and flowing rhythm of the music and when he has a handle on it, he makes a deliberate effort to add body rolls, chest pops, and more in his freestyling to lay out his case. 

While taking mental notes, out of habit, you’re grooving along with him too with modest rolls, head nodding, and taps of your feet. He can tell you’re holding back, but Jaehyun smiles, basking in how you seem to be enjoying this from the smile reflected on your face as well. 

When he stops, he cocks an eyebrow at you, awaiting for your new verdict.

“Maybe you’re not as bad as you were before.”   

He grins, hard enough that his dimples show, and you dig a hole to hide away the underlying flutters of your heart. 

Still an asshole, but a cute asshole.  

“Now, show me what you got, Captain,” Jaehyun crosses his arms with a nod.  

You’re shaking your head, not wanting to be judged by Jaehyun any further.  

“Unless... you’re scared that I’m right about how shitty your footwork is?”  

If there’s anything stronger than the fear of judgement, it’s the power of spite. 

The song’s already onto the next, but the melody flows easily through you. Similar to Jaehyun, you place emphasis on your footwork, being conscious of switching your weight between the balls and heels of your feet and slowing your moves in order to be more sharp, more clean, but all the while purposefully hitting the beats and giving meaning to the moves. 

Your body’s out of control, owning all the floor space around you. When your body leads you to end up in front of Jaehyun, you snag the hat off his head and put it on. While you stick your tongue out in response, he’s laughing, thinking how you look better with it on than him, and he realizes how he’s never seen you in this element. 

“My footwork still shitty?” you ask, still dancing. 

“There’s room for improvement,” Jaehyun breaks his fixed stance, now beginning to dance along with you. “But you’re not that bad either.” 

Soon enough, you two are entangled in an unspoken dance battle, trying to one up the other with harder, stronger, better movements than the opponent. The moment Jaehyun drops his breakdancing skills, you bite back with your own strengths—fierce, sensual motions and dare to invade his personal space, in hopes he becomes flustered. 

And he does, because he freezes at the sight of your bent ass, which is practically against his hips, and how your fingertips ghost the floor, then you shoot straight up and roll into his body. You lean your head back onto his shoulder, glancing up at him with shallow breaths, restless from the ongoing battle. 

“Care to beat that?” you whisper, suddenly aware of your hands tugging the fabric of his track pants over his thighs. Your chest heaves, and Jaehyun’s drawn to the view in his proximity. 

Despite his crude ogles, he’s super conscious of ensuring that his hands are not touching you, fearing he’s reading the situation wrong, that perhaps this was only due to the adrenaline and anger you’ve both pented up over time. It’s not as if you’d ever want him, even if he was the last man on Earth.

Although you can’t read his mind, Jaehyun’s absolutely right. 

So why do you inch closer to his face?

Time slows as he begins to meet you halfway. Both of you are breathing in sync, hearts beating almost as one. You turn to grasp the crook of his neck, while he steadies you by your waist.  

However, when your lips crash into his, time speeds up and it feels like it’s slipping away. All your movements are rushed as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The kissing—open-mouthed, hungry, and needy—doesn’t falter anytime soon. 

When you drop your touch from his neck, he runs his hands through your hair before caressing your cheek, deepening the kiss with more pressure. You’re sighing, humming into each kiss, and as Jaehyun pulls away to kiss your neck, you’re melting, knees feeling weak amidst your soft moans and eye rolls. 

Not wanting to actually melt in front of him, you tug at his shirt in between kisses, prompting him to follow you towards a small table on one side of the room. Once you’re there, you sit atop the table and continue kissing Jaehyun, who’s standing in between your spread legs. The handsome figure reverts back to kissing your neck, but this time feels adventurous, letting his hand snake under your t-shirt and grasp the side of your stomach. He embraces the smoothness of your bare skin, adores how you feel with every contact.   

There’s not much thinking happening, just lust coursing through each of your bodies. The lust distorts you so much, you don’t hesitate to take off your shirt and toss it to the floor. Jaehyun takes in your beauty for a brief second, before he follows suit and takes his shirt off too. His mouth captures yours again, while his hand kneads your ass and tugs you closer to his hips. 

Throughout his kisses that span all over your body, your hands roam and grip the entirety of his toned upper body. Almost instantly, you feel what you can only assume is his growing hard-on pressed against your core, causing you to moan.

“Can I finger you?” Jaehyun asks the filthy question with a certain air of courtesy, leaning his perspired forehead against yours. You nod fervently and squeak a simple, “Yes.” 

As you stand to get rid of your shoes and to wiggle your panties and leggings off, you notice Jaehyun laying the t-shirt he was wearing on the spot where you sat. He answers the confusion plastered on your face. 

“These tables are used for everything in this building; you never know what could be on them.” 

Today truly marks a day where you’ve never seen this many sides of Jaehyun before, but you don’t let yourself dissect the moment for too long. Since you still have your sports bra on, you opt to strip it off too, and jump back onto the table.  

Because you’re completely naked in front of him, Jaehyun takes more of his sweet time to bask in the sight in front of him, unsure if he’ll ever see you like this again. 

“Are you gonna keep staring,” you cusp his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. “Or are you going to finger me?” 

“I’ll do what I want when I want to,” he seethes along with your name. Without warning, his fingers hover under your exposed warmth, making you gasp. 

Jaehyun chuckles deeply, “You’re dripping wet for me and I haven’t even put my fingers in yet.”

His fingers continue to painfully tease you, rubbing long, horizontal lines back and forth across your folds.

You bite your lip, fuming, “Jaehyun, stop teasing and put them in already,” 

“Tell me I’m a good dancer.”

You sigh a half-chuckle and roll your eyes prior to muttering, “Fuck you.” 

The tease dips his fingers just slightly into your sex, then pulls out right away. And again, and again. You’re getting more frustrated by the second, pouting with piercing eyes. Jaehyun always liked it when he had an upper hand on you during arguments, but he likes it even more like this.

“Tell me I’m a good dancer, and I’ll put them in.” 

“Fine,” you scowl. “You’re a good dancer, but you know that alre—fuck.” 

He plunges two digits deep into you, and your walls clench in gratification. 

“You’re right. I know I am, I just wanted to hear you say it.” 

You want to kiss the smirk off his face, but instead, you’re leaning your head back and gripping the edge of the table, reveling in the sensation of his fingers filling you. The music from his phone may be still playing, but all Jaehyun can focus on are your heaven sent moans and the way your body writhes, all due to him. 

With his free hand, he trails his nails lightly down the spine of your back, making your sex pulse around his fingers even more. He palms the middle of your back as he begins to plant kisses on your clavicle, down your chest, then on one of your nipples. The label of a tease sticks with him. He dabs his tongue lightly here and there, barely traces a circle around your tip. 

When he decides you’ve had enough, he puckers his lips tight and his cheeks become sunken. And when he’s not sucking, his tongue flicks as hard as the suctions, like strobing lights. You react in a frenzy, hands reaching towards his hair, to stuff and tug them between your fingers.  

“Oh, God, Jaehyun...”

When Jaehyun takes your other breast into his mouth, your moans tether further as he also increases his fingering pace, causing you to grip onto his hair harder. You fear that it might be too rough, but then again, he deserves a little pain for all the fights you’ve had.  

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, still with your nub surrounded by his teeth. He maintains his rhythm, enthralled with the obscene sounds of your pussy taking his fingers. 

Feeling a little conscious, reasoning that his hand must be drenched with your juices, you stutter, “S-sorry.” 

“No,” he pulls away from your mound, shakes his head, and pulls his hand from your back to caress your neck tenderly. “It’s fucking hot.” 

Jaehyun kisses you with intensity, the speed of his wrist never relenting. You can’t even properly kiss him back because the pleasure is overwhelming, so much that if moans were a shade of paint, yours would be splattered all over the studio’s walls. You reach your peak with cries of his name, your honey glistening over his fingers. 

After he pulls them out and you’re coming down from your high, he runs over to his backpack and rummages through it. Your eyes flicker, noticing the little silver package in hand. Jaehyun wastes no time in coming back to your side. He places the condom next to you on the table and strips off his clothes in record time. 

Before he has a chance to open the condom, you jump off the table to grasp onto his wrist, gesturing for him to lean his backside against the table. He’s in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him.  

You stroke his hardened length, admiring his size, but waste no time in tasting him to avoid Jaehyun’s potential banter about how big he is. However, he’s not even in the right mindset to do so; he’s in a trance, stuck on everything you’re doing. 

Subconsciously or not, everything’s a competition with you two, so you showcase what you’re capable of doing with your tongue. Like him, you begin to be a painful tease, only giving small kitten licks on his cock. Then the next laps of your tongue are broad, but gradual.  

Wanting to see everything you’re doing, he holds your messy hair in a makeshift ponytail since the hair tie you had on must have flown off during the former scenes. Jaehyun grunts sharply as you ease him into your mouth, the warmth welcoming and encircling him wholly. After you bob and swirl your tongue concurrently, giving him a sneak peek of what you’re able to do, you stroke him lackadaisically and meet his eyes.  

“Now, you tell me I’m a good dancer,” you command.  

A brief chuckle escapes from above, “I don’t think you’re in the same position to ask me of that.” 

You challenge his words by taking his possession within your mouth once more. Holding him by the base to cover the area your mouth can’t, you jerk your head fast. With each bob and each swipe, more and more of your saliva covers Jaehyun’s desire. The slurps are so loud, so lewd. His face trembles and his grip tightens on your hair, the pleasure rising within him sooner than expected. 

“Okay, okay. You’re a great dancer—fuck, fuck. Slow down. I don’t want to come just yet.”  

You pull away, an extended line of your spit mixed with his precome draws out from your lips. Perking an eyebrow with a smolder, you light up your wrist rapidly. “Do you mean it?” 

He’s breaking apart from your actions, baring his teeth and grimacing. “Yes, yes. I fucking mean it.” 

With a smirk, you immediately drop him from your hand. He drags you upward into a mad kiss, in retaliation for the edging. Breaking apart from one another, you hurry to your original spot on the table. Jaehyun eases the rubber onto his cock and tugs you by your hips, having your ass laid on the very end of the table. 

He raises your legs up, to be partially extended in the air and engulfed around his body. You have one elbow perched on the table and one hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. Jaehyun stabilizes you by having a grip on the fold behind your knee and hustles to line his possession up with your sex. The moment it is, his hand meets your waist and he inserts himself fully into you. 

Your back arches from his girth hitting you. Both of your moans expel, mingling with each other. He thrusts experimentally, testing the waters to see how you like it. Determined, deep thrusts. Shallow, swift thrusts. A mix of both. 

It didn’t matter, because you cry in ecstasy either way.   

Being aware of the music still playing from his phone, he wonders if he can plunge into you to match the beat. The current song was electronic and bass-heavy, making it difficult for him to truly match it, but your broken whimpers and name-calling don’t object to the fast thrill. 

God, he can feel the way your pussy contracts against his inches. 

“You know,” he pants heavily. “If I didn’t have good core control, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” 

It takes a bit of effort to come up with a response. All you muster up is, “N-not necessarily,” before you lapse into your elation. 

As you emit your endless moans, you spot your reflection in the wall-sized mirror. The sides of your bodies are parallel to it, and your eyes can’t tear away from the spectacle of you getting fucked by Jaehyun from another angle. It’s unbelievable how fit he is, but you see every flexed muscle and tendon in the mirror—from his neck to his ankles. 

“Do you like watching me fuck you?” 

His gaze confronts yours in the mirror, and you whimper with barely a bounce of your head.  

Jaehyun’s thinking about how beautiful you are, but he holds his tongue back. Rather, he grasps the nape of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss, except the kisses are hardly materialized because your lips are constantly parted. Your hot breath fans against his face and he’s attentive to how close you are to him. Not just physically, but beyond that too. He can’t explain it, but it’s as if you’re under his skin. 

He knows this will inevitably end, it has to, but he also knows he’ll want you again.  

Jaehyun’s officially hooked—to your taste, to your scent, to your air, to your everything.  

And he’s not the only one who feels that way too.  

You inform Jaehyun that you’re nearing again, and he readies himself for his own little death too. Once you disintegrate, he kisses you for the last time, followed by spurts of his seed, releasing himself into the condom.  

The two of you are heaving, sticky messes. Regardless, both of you hold onto each other for a little bit longer. Eventually, you must withdraw and you do.   

The tension in the room seems to shift as you both begin to catch your breath, like everything that just happened was a dream. You don’t regret it, neither of you do, but reality blankets over. You’re the first to reach for your clothes and begin to put them back on. Jaehyun peels off the condom and follows your footsteps. 

“This stays between us,” you express from afar, averting his eyes.  

“And it’s only a one-time thing,” Jaehyun adds, but is immediately unsure if he should’ve said that.

“Exactly, it’s like you read my mind.” 

Your chest clenches for a beat as the words come out of your mouth. You shake your head, trying not to think about it.  

“Are you going to stay in the studio a bit longer?” 

Reading his question as a simple inquiry, you don’t pick up the hopefulness in his tone nor do you see the look in his eyes.  

“No, no. You can finally get the studio to yourself. I’ve had enough practice for the night.”

Already dressed, you hurry to grab all your gear and stuff it into your backpack, prepared to leave. You’re practically out the door in an instant as you mumble your good-bye.

“I’ll see you around, Jaehyun.” 

While you’re walking home, Jaehyun’s still sitting on the floor of the dance studio with his hat in his hand, remembering the way you looked with it on.

At the same moment, you’re both trying your best to stop thinking about the other. 

Keeping this a secret between the two of you, you could do. If your team knew what went down, the best case scenario would be that you lose captaincy. The worst case was that you wouldn’t be a part of your team anymore. However, in either case, your best friends, who were also on the team, would likely question your loyalty and dedication, wondering why you’d ever do such a thing in the first place. The same applied to Jaehyun. 

Seeing Jaehyun again was inevitable. Your teams often collided during practice hours and sometimes fought for the studio. Although it’d be awkward, it’d be manageable. At least, you hope it would be. 

But the only thing neither of you could truly promise, nor did you two desire, was keeping this as a one-time thing, especially now, when you’ve had a taste of each other and yearned for more. 

One more month until the competition. 

What more could possibly happen between you and Jaehyun until then? 

#jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x reader #nctcreations #nct #jaehyun smut #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #mywritings #myfanfics #jaehyun x reader

[no-droids]

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

No, his robes are blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—the projecting.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh—oh, Maker—

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

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

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

The sound of it breaks through everything else.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You… find him in your quarters instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t respond, and no.

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

He doesn’t look reassured.

He looks… alienated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And him… allowing it.

“Master, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Maker, he’s lovely.

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

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

And then you go… lower.

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

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

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

Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wields a blue saber.  Not a green one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A compromise, then.”

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

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

He shakes his head.  “I don’t see h—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, well.  He… makes a valid point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—wait, did he just…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lovely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[levisgirll]

hi mina! i'm back again to make a request for you because you write so wonderfully i can't-! it's okay if you don't want to write it tho :D

may i ask for some prince jean headcanons/scenario? maybe something like the reader is his maid or modist, and he's kinda in love :D (this is just an idea, feel free to modify, i trust in your magical writing skills!)

sorry for this messy request and thanks! take breaks and care sweetie <3

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐲 (𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐔)

text: omg HII ANTI <3 I’m glad ur back with another request and I would happily write this for you cutie c; thank you for also finding my work nice ahh this really makes me happy that someone out there likes my writing and ideas djkjsk 🥺❤️❤️ okay but this is such a cute idea- its my first time writing a royal au so i hope it turned out okay and u liked it :,) make sure to also take care of yourself too bae 😌✨ okay I decided to make the reader a strong willed bodyguard instead of a maid cause I had some ideas for that instead so I hope that's alright 😭

synopsis: y/n has started to work for the kirstein royal family and due to their many great skills, abilities, attention to detail, and great self defense training, y/n was hired and trusted to be prince jean’s personal bodyguard! They have always admired prince jean and how handsome he is, later did they know not only y/n is developing feelings for jean but so does he, and he falls in love with y/n instantly! Although, something happens along the way....

fluff, lil bit mention of blood/knife, royal au ♡ —

Erwin has hired you to join the Kirstein royal family army, after two years training to be a solider to defend the country against the Jaegerists which were a rebel faction that wanted Eren to be the next king instead and to create a ‘New Jaeger Empire’. Also, wanting to protect the prince, which was one of your goals. You really admired prince Jean of how affectionate, kind, honest, and straightforward he is, you wanted to stay and be loyal to him.

Everything changes though when you graduated from the military training with your friends Connie and Sasha. Erwin had suddenly made you prince Jean’s personal bodyguard. “With your great skills y/n, and how loyal and strong you are, I think you will be a perfect choice to have the role as his personal bodyguard!”

You stood there, shocked, and your eyes were wide open. “M-Me Commander?....Of course! I would be honored to!” You will finally see jean, and be by his side! The thought of that would make your cheeks go red...it’s cause you are loyal to him right?

Erwin escorted you and took you to Prince jean who you spotted was sitting on the dinner table hall. “Erwin...! Huh? Who’s that?” Jean was quick to notice your presence, and he was quite taken aback with your presence.

“Your new personal bodyguard Prince Jean. With how bad the situation is going, you never know who will come and attack you. So, Y/N here is going to be by your side and make sure they protect you. If you also ever need anything, you can ask Y/N.” Erwin patted on your back and you went forward and saluted to Jean. “A-At your service Prince Jean!”

“O-Oh...alright then, whatever.” He got up and walked past you both, leaving the dinning hall, you could have sworn you saw his cheeks went a bit red. “He is usually like this at the beginning, but he seems to like you!”

As the days passed, you and Prince Jean actually got along pretty well which made your bond stronger. He seemed to be the kind of person who wouldn't care from the outside, but you realized he cared about everyone and when it came to you...he would always ask if you are doing well. Things seemed to be fine at the moment, for now.

“Young master! You have a meeting with the chairman at Trost District soon.” You said as you were next to Jean, catching up with his pace. “Okay, let's get going then!” He gave you a grin which made you blush, as the both of you approached the carriage, he went ahead and opened the door for you! “Well, are you getting in or not?” You felt all eyes on you, and heard some gasps. ‘It should be the other way around!’ you thought as you got inside while feeling so embarrassed.

You were both alone sitting down in the carriage and you could feel Jean’s eyes all over you, “Young mas-” you were stunned when he held your hands and you looked at his eyes that was searching your gaze. “Don't call me that when we are alone....Didn’t I tell you that?” You couldn't hold it, you were a blushing mess now!

“Okay...J-Jean, why did you do that? People will get the wrong idea..” Lately, Jean has been very affectionate towards you, although you had to admit you had a crush on him, but you could never say that to him.

“So? Y/N...I don't care what others think about us, I care about what you think instead.” He started to caress your hands while still looking at your eyes, “M-Me?” He nodded, waiting for your answer but you pushed away gently and looked away. “Well, it’s my duty...to protect you and serve you.” You tried to change the subject while still looking outside the window, but....you noticed something off? Where is this carriage heading too?

“No! Y/N that’s not it...I meant I...” He came closer to you, too close to your face while he was blushing madly, you touched his chest to try and push him back a bit, and you felt his heart beat like crazy. Is he...nervous?

“Jean. Not now I-” As you tried to finish what you were trying to say, the carriage stopped suddenly which made you and Jean fall. “What the hell?” He yelled out and looked at you immediately, full of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Young master stay inside!” Before he could stop you, you open the carriage door and stepped out, while shutting it tight. You brought your sword out and examined the area and situation. ‘The carriage man is gone...we are in the woods...and I sense someone, but who?!’

“Come out, whoever you are...or perhaps you are a Jaegerist?” As soon as you said that, a sword was seen to be thrown out at you and you quickly stopped it by slashing it to hit on the other direction with your long strong sword.

“Hmph, you seem to be smart.” You head turned quick to the direction where you heard the voice. You saw a middle aged man with a tousled auburn hair “And? Who the fuck is asking?” You pointed your sword at him with a stoic expression, showing him no fear. “It’s Floch, and if you could do me a favor how about you just leave and let me deal with the Prince okay?”

You let out a chuckle, then gave him a death glare. “Make me.”

“Fuck, you are stubborn, let me just finish you off!! Don't you get it? This crappy prince doesn't deserve to be the next king to rule us!! It should be Eren!” He yelled out and brought out a knife and charged at you, you put your sword away and decide to do hand-to-hand combat on him. You took your stance and when he was near you, Y/N pushed the knife down and then quickly did the grappling technique, which took him down completely.

“Young Master! Call the headquarters for backup, we were tricked and put in a trap!” You said as you were trying to hold on to Floch, not letting him escape. “O-On it!”

“It’s quiet....too quiet no way this guy came alon-” You looked up and you saw someone charging at you with their sword, she was fast and you quickly got up and brought your sword to stop her attack for defense.

‘F-Fuck...that was close.’ You backed away and looked at the carriage, ‘He needs to be safe...’  you wondered and started to worry.

“About fucking time Mikasa!” Floch shouted out as he rubbed his hands which you held on tightly earlier. “Wait...I know you! Ackerman right? It's a privilege to meet you.” Mikasa Ackerman, she was one of the Ackerman that stood behind and did not serve the Kirstein royal family, but instead stood by Eren’s side and believed in him.

“And your Y/N, the strong bodyguard. Please step aside.” She sounded very serious and looked strong. The rumors were true, she did neglect the royal family and went with the Jaegerists rebel group.

‘Ha...who would have known this mission would be a complete disaster!’ You thought and as you were preparing to attack, until Jean came out of the carriage with his sword and pointed at them. “Don't Hurt Y/N!!”

Your eyes widened as you turned your head to look at him. “Young Master! What the hell are you doing? Don’t come out and run away!”

“B-But...” Jean stuttered and looked at you, he did not want to leave you behind and run like a coward, leaving behind....the most important person to him that he cared about the most. “No! I promised to protect you, so ru-” Being distracted by Jean, everything now seem to have stopped for you and there was a pitch silence. You looked in front of you and felt what seemed like a dagger stabbed towards your side waist, blood was dripping and the one who stabbed you was Floch!

“Floch...! Why?! That was not part of the plan!” Mikasa yelled out, and what seemed to be shocked by his action. Everything was going too quickly for you, you placed your hand on his shoulder and shoved him away which made him fall back. You gripped your waist and yelled out, “I-If it’s meant to protect the Prince...Then come at me!”

You heard lot’s of horses approaching and you finally spotted Erwin’s squad who finally came for backup. You noticed Levi by Erwin’s side and as soon as he saw you bleeding, he got provoked and got off from his horse and charged at Mikasa. “An Ackerman with an Ackerman, Hm? Traitor, let me deal with you.”

You let out a sigh, now knowing the Prince is safe and Levi and Erwin’s squad was here to help you guys out. Jean ran towards you and held on to you as you fell down on your knees “Y-Y/N!!”

“Why....Why didn’t you run away?” You said softly and trying to stay conscious, Jean quickly placed his hand on your cheek while the other arm was used to hold your body, “Cause I care about you Damnit!”

You gave him a weak smile and held on his hand that was placed on your cheek, “Did I do...my best to serve you?” Was all you could say and you slowly passed out due to the blood loss you had and you heard Jean's voice drifted slowly.

After a couple of hours have passed, you woke up what seemed to be in a hospital, and you were wrapped around bandages. You moved a bit which made you wince at the pain from your side abdomen.

“Don’t move around! You are still injured and you haven’t healed yet.” A girl with long beautiful blonde hair said, full of concern in her tone as she came closer to you and checked up on you. Her large blue eyes were examining your injury to see if the wound was closed up. “A-And you are?”

“I’m Historia! A nurse who is looking after you. Doctor Hanji told me to stay by your side until you wake up.” She said with a big smile and she looked like an angel to you.

“W-Where is the Prince! Is he okay?!” You said all worried and started to panic. “Haha, Don't worry! He is fine, thanks to you protecting him! He told me to notify him when you wake up but I think you need to rest a bit longer.”

You let out a sigh, ‘At least he is fine...but I want to see him.’ You wondered and looked outside the window to let your thoughts run around your mind as you slowly closed your eyes to rest.

“Y/N...Hey Y/N wake up.” You felt a rub against your shoulders and you opened your eyes to see Prince Jean looking down at you with a relief escaping his mouth. “I’m glad you are looking fine, but are you doing okay?”

You slowly got up which Jean held on your arm for support, “Y-Yea, thanks for stopping by...Jean.” You were blushing at how he suddenly started to caress your arm, then up your shoulders. He went in closer and gave you a tight hug around your shoulders. “Damn it! I thought I was gonna lose you today, that’s it...I'm not backing away with this anymore.” He pulled back, and was looking at your face. “J-Jean...What do you mea-”

“Y/N, I love you. I loved you ever since I first saw you coming and you were always by my side, but in a way that made me feel calm, good and I felt your warmth all the time it would make me fall for you even more everyday...Being with you feels right to me!” He stopped talking and looked away, he was clearly embarrassed on what he just said, the prince was confessing to you and he was finally saying that he was falling in love with you!

You were shocked, was he actually saying this all? Was the Prince actually confessing to you? You couldn't help yourself but smile to what he said and you finally held his hands, “I...I feel the same way too!” You let out now a big smile and tears started to form on your eyes, you felt so happy and so did he.

He looked behind to make sure the door was closed and then looked back at you who was now approaching your face closely and he started to give you a passionate kiss, you held on his hands while he was holding your face, lifting it up and he kept on kissing you. The night had a nice cold breeze and the window was slightly open which made the wind come in and that made your hair flow slowly as you both continued to kiss slowly and gently.

Jean pulled back and you both were breathing heavily, by the looks of it, you could tell you were Jean’s first kiss. He wanted to kiss you again and again, “I’m now love sick cause of you.”

The night went out so peacefully and you both enjoyed each others company while holding hands and caressing each others cheeks when talking about various topics and he went on explaining how brave and strong you were today when you stood up and fought against Floch and Mikasa. He found your confidence very attractive. He felt like a lucky man to have you by his side and he promised you that after he becomes king he would make you his.

𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬 : Usually in the evenings, he would sneak into your place because he begged that he wanted to see you and stay at your place for a couple of hours to cuddle and kiss you. It was his favorite place in the world cause it was just y/n and him, alone. “Okay Jean, you have to go now!” You said blushing at how clingy Jean was towards you, hugging your waist. “Please just another 5 minutes babe, besides come on it’s just you and me tonight.” Jean would say playfully while he would give you a soft kiss on your scar that was on your waist ♥

okay but this was a really fun royal au I wrote up and I'm kinda glad how the first time I'm writing it went well! thanks anti for the request again and I hope you liked it <3 and if anyone else did please then leave a like or a reblog! it would mean a lot c:

#jean #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschtein x you #jean aot #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean x reader #jean headcanons #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean kirsten x reader #jean kirsten x y/n #royal au #attack on titan royal au #aot royal au #attack on titan jean #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan fan fiction #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #jean attack on titan #jean kirstein fluff #jean kirstein royal au #historia reiss #levi ackerman #erwin smith #hanji zoe

[study-coffee-chicago]

Drunk Face (A Halstead brothers + Halstead sister! Imagine)

"Bye Y/N," Jay started as he grabbed his last duffle bag from beside the kitchen table. "Make good choices. Don't do anything stupid. Will's on shift tonight, but best believe I will find service if I get a call from him saying you got brought into Med or from a fellow cop saying that you got picked up."

"Jay, relax. I'll be fine. This isn't my first weekend staying home alone by myself," you said.

"Yes, but it's the first time you'll be home alone for the weekend when you're 21. That's what I worry about."

"Who says I didn't drink when I was home alone before I was 21?"

"Excuse me?" Jay asked, setting his duffle back down on the floor.

"I'm kidding. I wouldn't try that with you as my brother. If it was just Will, maybe."

"Nice to know I'm the stricter one."

"Jay, babe," Hailey asked as she walked back into the apartment, "you ready?"

"Yeah, just telling Y/N to make good choices," he replied as he picked up his bag once more.

"No, he just doesn't trust me, that's what this is, Hailey," you said.

"Jay, be nice to Y/N. She's a good kid. She'll be fine," Hailey said and brushed her arm up against Jay.

"She's 21."

"Pretty sure she only drinks seltzers. It's hard to get drunk super fast off of those unless you shotgun them."

"What's that?"

"Nothing!" they both exclaimed.

"Okay, okay. I'll just google it." Jay opened the door and let Hailey out first and then followed her out. "Have fun! Use protection!" you yelled before you closed the door.

"My God," Jay laughed. "You've been spending way too much time with Adam."

"Leave! Make smart choices!" Then, you closed the door behind them for a weekend by yourself.

A few hours later you got home from the liquor store with your premade mango Jose Cuervo margarita. First, you grabbed a lemon-y kind of beer from the mini-fridge where Jay kept all the alcohol. You drank that with your dinner. Then, you turned on your favorite tv show and poured yourself a glass of that mango margarita.

***

God, you didn't even feel that drunk. You had drank a can of that beer and two and a half glasses of that mango margarita...which was about 1/2-2/3 of the bottle...and it was a big bottle.

You walked upstairs to go to the bathroom. You were a little buzzed, but not as bad as one time when you drank a margarita and three white claws. And, you drank those fast and you just fell asleep with a dopey, drunk smile on your face. You were hungover the next day, but you were just tired; you'd never thrown up from drinking before. You just kept your buzz going for a bit.

But, when you sat on the toilet and started going to the bathroom, you felt sweat start to bead on your face. "Aw, shit," you muttered.

You took a deep breath and stood up to wash your hands. As you were standing up, you started to get hot and your stomach started to hurt. The world seemed to spin a bit, too. So, after you washed your hands, you just laid down on the fluffy, light blue rug of the bathroom, breathing in and out slowly and occasionally groaning in pain.

Eventually, you decided to stand up, grab some water, and made your way to your room. Since you were already in your pajamas, you just went right to bed, after all, it was after midnight.

You laid in bed and tried to get the pain in your stomach to stop by changing positions and jamming your knee into your stomach.

Bad plan.

You felt the familiar feeling of a lump rising in your throat. But, you were so tired and buzzed that you hoped this wouldn't happen.

But, then it did, all the alcohol came up and out of your mouth, leaving you with the stale taste of margarita in your mouth and vomit all over your shirt and bedsheets.

God, you thought of just falling asleep right there. But, that was disgusting.

So, you grabbed your phone and made your way to the bathroom. You were still sweating, practically panting at this point while you leaned over the toilet, just trying to keep it down.

This was hell.

This had never happened before...and you had drank the same amount before.

Something was wrong.

Maybe it was the fact you just started a new acne medication a week ago. Yeah, that was probably it. It had to be that, it just had to be.

You heaved and then puked again.

Once you were finished, you grabbed your phone from the bathroom counter. You couldn't call Will. He was on shift and if he had to come, he'd most definitely tell Jay and then he'd never let you stay home alone overnight again.

So, you chose a different number: Kim Burgess.

"C'mon...pick up..." you muttered.

"Hello?"

Shit, that wasn't Kim. It was Adam. Had you called the wrong number? Were they sleeping together? You knew they were basically together, but to find out in this kind of way was kind of weird. Were they--

"Y/N? Hello?" Adam asked again.

"Y/N's calling?" you heard Kim say in the background.

You felt the familiar lump in your throat and puked again.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Are you there?" Adam asked frantically.

"Put it on speaker," you heard Kim say.

"Y/N, you're on speaker. What's going on?"

You wiped your mouth. "I- I drank too much and I'm on a new acne medication and I'm throwing up and I can't call Will because he's working and I don't know what to do," you rushed out before you could puke again. "Can you come over?"

"We'll be right there. Hang tight, kid," Adam said. "Me and Kim are on our way."

"You need us to stay on the phone, Y/N?" Kim asked.

"No, I- I should be fine until you get here."

"Okay, we'll be there soon."

One of the two hung up the phone and you started to feel hot again, but your stomach didn't hurt. And, even though laying on the rug of your bathroom with alcohol-smelling vomit on your shirt wasn't the best idea, you did it anyway because you were so tired.

***

"He's gotta be the stupidest person alive to put his spare key above his door. That's where everyone puts it. Dumbass," Adam said to Kim as they stood outside your apartment door.

"Adam, just open the damn door," Kim told him.

Adam reached the key and unlocked the door. "Alexa, play Drunk Face by Machine Gun Kelly," Adam joked.

"Adam! Not the time!"

Kim started walking around the apartment, trying to find you. "Y/N, where are you? It's Kim and Adam, no one's broken in. It's just us. We're here to help."

"Kim," Adam whispered. He nodded his head towards the bathroom door.

Kim threw herself to the floor and looked through the tiny crack. "She's in there. She's laying down."

Adam immediately went to open the door.

"Shit," he said when he saw you lying there with your eyes closed, vomit all on your shirt.

"Mhm, don't tell Will and Jay," you groaned.

"Oh thank God, she's conscious," Adam said.

"Y/N, can you stand up so we can get you out of these clothes? Maybe take a shower?" Kim suggested.

"Tired," you told her.

"I know, I know you're tired. But we have to get you out of these clothes before you can go to bed," Kim said. You groaned again. "How about Adam goes and grabs you a new shirt and then I help you into the shower. How does that sound?"

"Okay."

"Adam?"

"On it."

When Adam went to your room, he was immediately hit by the smell of vomit. You had planned on washing your sheets once you had cleaned yourself up, but you felt so bad, that you had just left it and figured you'd get to it when you finally got yourself up and out of the bathroom.

He quickly rifled through your dresser and found a t-shirt. Then, he went back upstairs to find the door closed, so he quickly knocked on it.

Kim had helped you take your shirt off and had thrown it in the sink. You were currently standing up, back facing her, as you waited for Adam to come back with your clean t-shirt.

"Babe, I grabbed the shirt. She okay in there?" Adam asked.

"Just about to take a shower," Kim answered. "Hand it to me when I open the door."

Kim opened the door and Adam handed her the shirt and then she handed it to you.

"Am I good to leave here, Y/N? Or do you need help?" Kim asked.

"I'll be fine," you told her. "But please don't tell Jay or Will."

"Y/N, you got drunk and went over your limits everyone does it. It's—"

"Please," you begged.

"Just, take a shower. We'll figure this out later."

"Okay."

Then, Kim left the bathroom and you took a shower.

"She puked on her bed," Adam said.

"She doesn't want us to tell Jay or Will," Kim said at the same time.

"Okay, wait," Adam started, "say yours again."

"She doesn't want us to tell Jay or Will," Kim said.

"Why not? Everyone does it at least once when they first start out drinking."

"I don't know. Maybe she didn't want to disappoint them?"

"Could be. So, do we tell them or not?"

"I mean, she asked us not to, and I don't think we should. She trusts us enough to call us, so I think we shouldn't break that trust."

"I guess you're right. But, we have another problem."

"And what's that?" Kim asked.

"She tossed her cookies on her sheets."

"Shit, okay," Kim sighed.

"Hey, thanks for coming," you said as you walked out of the bathroom five minutes later in clean pajamas. It's not like you had to wash your hair or anything, just your body.

"You're welcome," Kim said. She pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and sat down. "Honey, Adam saw your sheets when he walked into your room to grab you a shirt. Do you need any help with that?"

"No, I was gonna clean it up and then I puked and I got hot and then I took a shower and—"

"Y/N, it's okay. We know you're exhausted because you just got all sick. So, how about you strip your bed and throw your sheets in the washer and me and Adam will make your bed. How's that sound?"

You nodded. "Thank you guys so much. And, you guys can take the margarita mix if you want. I never wanna taste that stuff again."

"Don't mind if we do."

"Adam!" Kim smacked him on the chest.

"What? Free alcohol."

"God, you're a college kid in a thirty-year-old's body."

"That's right. Now, let's get this college kid to bed."

***

"Ruz, where'd you get this?" Kevin asked when he saw the leftover margarita on Adam's desk that he brought to share with the unit.

"Oh, Y/N gave it to us when me and Kim went over to help her Friday night when she got shitfaced and puked all over," Adam answered casually.

Kim smacked his chest. "Adam!" She glanced over at Jay who was making his way over to them, an angry expression on his face.

"Y/N got shitfaced this weekend?" Jay asked as he crossed his arms over his chest and gave Adam a stern look.

"Well, it wasn't really shitfaced because she was still fully conscious and lucid. She was a bit buzzed, and she puked."

"And you know this how?"

"Jay," Kim started, "she did the right thing. She didn't know what to do, so she called an adult."

"She called both of you?" Jay asked.

"Well, uh, she called me but Adam picked up since we were at my apartment..." Kim trailed off.

"Gotcha," Jay said. "Well, I'm glad you helped her. Thanks for that. But me and Will will definitely be having a conversation with her tonight."

***

"So, how was Wisconsin?" you asked as you, Jay, and Will sat down to eat some paninis you and Jay had cooked up later that night.

"It was great," Jay answered.

"What'd you do?"

"Went on the boat, slept in, jumped off in the lake, Hailey made cinnamon rolls, the usual," Jay answered.

"Do you two remember when you guys had me jump off in the middle of the lake without a life jacket?" you asked.

"Oh, yeah," Will laughed. "We had our asses handed to us by Mom after that."

"We gonna jump off, Will?" Eight-year-old you asked your oldest brother who had just come home from college for summer break.

"Duh," Jay replied. "That's the best part, silly!"

"Yes! That's so much fun!" You grabbed your little life jacket and Jay helped you into the boat because sometimes you'd get scared you'd fall into the water in the space between the boat and the dock.

"When can I drive the boat?" you asked as you sat down next to Jay and Will sat in the captain's chair and started backing the boat out.

"When you're eighteen," Will answered.

"But that's ten years!" you protested. "That's too long!"

"It'll go by fast," Jay promised.

"No, it won't." Jay just laughed at your remark.

Ten minutes later, you were out in the middle of the lake and Will was dropping anchor while Jay set up the ladder.

Once that was all set, Jay jumped off the boat without a life jacket. You followed him, but with a life jacket of course. After a few jumps, you took your life jacket off while you took a sip of your red kool-aid. You didn't have to wear your life jacket unless you were in the water. The boys were currently standing on the boat about to jump off again, but they started whispering amongst the two of them.

"Hey, Y/N," Jay started, "What do you think about jumping off the boat without a life jacket?"

"So, like you Will? Like big kids?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

"Exactly. Will would be in the water and I'd be up here and you'd just jump to him."

"I dunno. Mom and Dad always told me to wear my life jacket when I jump off. I don't wanna get in trouble."

"You won't."

Will jumped in the water and swam a bit further away than usual so you had room to jump in. "C'mon, Y/N! You've taken swimming lessons, you can do it!" he encouraged.

"I- I dunno, Will. How deep is it?"

"Um," he faltered. "Maybe ten of me?"

There's no way you'd be able to touch that!

"You'll be fine," Jay reassured. "Will will be right there. But, you gotta swim to him."

"He won't catch me? But, what if the water monsters get me and pull me under?"

"There's no water monsters," Jay told you.

But, if the water was as deep as Jay said it was, then how does he know?

"I changed my mind," you said quickly. "I want my life jacket back."

"Y/N, you'll be fine," Jay told you.

"No!" you wailed and reached for your life jacket, but Jay grabbed it and threw it in the water to Will.

"If you want it, you have to get it from Will," he told you."

"No!" your lip started to tremble and tears started to form in your eyes. "You get it!"

"Nope, it's yours. You get it."

"But you threw it!"

"And I'm gonna throw you in!"

You tried to run away, but it was too late. And, where would you go? You were on a boat after all.

"J--" You tried to yell, but you were already flying through the air and into the lake without a life jacket.

You hated the feeling of falling into the water without getting pulled back up immediately because of your life jacket. You had swallowed water, too so that wasn't helpful. You kicked your little legs as hard as you could to get back above the water, and when you did, you coughed and sputtered, trying to get the water out of your mouth and take in some much-needed air.

"Shit, Jay!" you heard Will yell as he quickly swam over to you with your life jacket and grabbed you by the waist. "Why'd you do that?" Then, he turned his attention to you. "It's okay, you're okay. Just breathe. I've got you. I've got you."

He set one hand on your back as you started climbing the ladder and then climbed up after you. Then, he shoved Jay in the water.

"What the hell, man?" Jay exclaimed when he broke the surface.

"Dude, I didn't know you were gonna throw her in! Mom's gonna kill you!"

"No, she's gonna kill us! You just swam there and let it happen!"

"You didn't jump off the boat without a parent there for a long time after that," Jay stated.

"And for good reason! I could've drowned!" you argued.

"Will was there. He would've gotten you."

"That's not the point! And I'm pretty sure that's the same logic Mom used when she took your car keys away from you for the rest of the summer and didn't let Will's girlfriend stay over when she was visiting him."

You ate your food for a bit and then Jay turned to you. "So, Y/N, we need to talk."

You gulped. There's no way Adam and Kim told him what happened! They promised!

"About what?" you asked.

"About you getting drunk on Friday night and calling Kim and Adam because you got sick," Jay explained.

"I don't know what you're--"

"Cut the bullshit. Adam told us in the bullpen today. So, I suggest you explain what happened."

So, you explained because you knew not to argue with Jay when he used that tone.

"Y/N, do you know about proofs on alcohol?" Jay asked.

"No, what are those?"

"It's the amount of alcohol in a drink. For example, seltzers typically have 3-5% alcohol in them, but margaritas like the one you apparently bought that Adam has now, has about 19% alcohol."

You widened your eyes. "So, I can't just go on how many glasses I'm drinking?"

"No way. Why do you think shots come in tiny glasses? Because they have lots of alcohol in a small volume."

"Oh, oops. Sorry."

"Y/N," Will started, "This isn't an oops thing. You could've seriously died from that if you kept drinking." You furrowed your eyebrows. "There's this thing called alcohol poisoning. It's when you drink too much alcohol in a short amount of time, so your body can't filter it in your liver fast enough. And, you just got on a new acne medication, so that's also filtered in your liver. Because of this, your liver's working overtime, which could be why you didn't feel super drunk but still threw up."

"Oh, okay." You knew you sounded dismissive, but you were embarrassed about what you'd done.

"Don't you get that this was dangerous?" Jay asked. "You could've died if you kept going!"

"Jay--"

"No, she needs to know this, Will. If you kept drinking, then you could've gotten seriously sick and had to go to the hospital! That's why bartenders cut people off: so they don't get sick because people can die from alcohol poisoning!"

"I'm sorry, okay! I'm embarrassed because I didn't think I even had that much and I didn't even know what a proof was!"

Jay's eyes softened. "Y/N, we're just trying to protect you. Why do you think we told you all that stuff about not leaving your drink unattended at a bar or watching the bartender make your drink and not just taking it from someone? It's because we're trying to keep you safe, Short Stack."

You nodded. "You're right. I really am sorry. And, you don't have to worry about me drinking a lot until I'm off that medication...or ever really."

Will chuckled. "Yeah, we figured as much."

A/N: I threw a few requests together and this is what I came up with. I wrote this in a day btw. (Also, I did get drunk like this once and I'm pretty sure it was because of the combination of the acne medication and the alcohol. Always drink responsibly and only drink if you're of the legal drinking age.) Anyway, thanks for reading and please reblog/like and comment and tell me what you think! As, always, just tell me if you want to be added to my taglist and I'll add you!

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies@brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e @i-like-sparkly-things @herecomesthewriterwitch

#jay halstead #will halstead #jay halstead imagine #will halstead imagine #jay halstead fanfic #will halstead fanfic #will halstead fanfiction #jay halstead fanfiction #kim burgess #adam ruzek #chicago med #chicago pd #chicago pd imagine #chicago med imagine #chicago pd fanfic #chicago med fanfic #chicago med fanfiction #chicago pd fanfiction #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my writing #writer #halstead sister #halstead sister imagine

[tardis-ghost-blog]

Did that feel real to you? (Simm!Master x Reader)

Rating: E For explicit sexual content Summary: The Master and you share a dream. Literally.

-0oOo0oOo0oOo0-

Ever since he had found out that being near you caused the drums to be a tad bit quieter, the Master had hired you as his personal assistant. Most of the time you only had to tidy up on the Valiant now, or make him tea. And in return you allowed him to connect your minds every so often.

At first it had been a strange, almost frightening experience, but after a few times you came to enjoy it. Nothing was happening, you two only sat there, the Master with his hands around your head and sometimes his forehead on yours. And sometimes you just watched his face becoming calmer, peeked at his lips that were so close to yours...

You had quickly found out about the drums and about his origin. You also learned that he could become downright insane if the sound in his head became too loud. And those times frightened you, because you could never be sure what might happen.

So when he came in that day and you spotted his deranged look, you were already about to quickly leave the room. But he grabbed you, tried to drag you back into the room and managed. You still wanted to get away, only help him later, when things had calmed down.

But the Master caught you again, pushed against your shoulders, making you drop backwards, where your knee pits hit against something. You got out of balance, fell over the sofa rest and onto the soft fabric. The Master rushed to you, his eyes were dark, clouded by madness. Hastily you got to your elbows and crawled backwards a bit, but he was already at your side, knelt in front of the sofa to grab your head within in hands.

"Make it quiet," he demanded and brushed his mind against yours, not waiting for your barriers to loosen, but simply tearing them down.

You couldn't hold back a sob as you felt his energy surging through your head. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, but one that made you feel so horribly vulnerable. And it drained you like nothing you had ever experienced before. The few times you had shared minds hadn't been that intense, not that forceful. Not so desperate.

Tiredness overcame you, no matter how hard you tried to fight it. A silent battle, you lying stretched out on that sofa, him kneeling next to you, shivering as if it were ice cold in the room. The image faded, slipped away into a black void.

"'M sorry," you heard the Master whisper, his voice strangely clear and free of the previous madness. "I need this. Just for a while."

Him apologizing... that was a first. But you no longer felt drained, only wanted to sit there for another while with closed eyes.

"You could have just asked," you mumbled back and felt weirdly... light.

Why were you sitting anyway? Just now you had been lying on your back. When your eyes opened, you found yourself suddenly in a completely different place. Perplex you looked around the silent forest, dense green spread all around you, soft grass grew under your fingers. The Master sat next to you, hands clawed into his hair. Some moments later he relaxed, threw his head back to sigh out a painful breath.

"Master?" you asked. "What... is this? Where are we?"

He looked back and opened his lids, blinking tiredly at you, then your surroundings. His eyes widened in mild surprise. "Huh? Mhm... right. Seems like I... slipped into your dreams."

"My... hey!" you protested and slapped his arm. "Those are private, you jerk!"

It appeared he was feeling a lot better now, according to the mischievous chuckle he answered with. "Och, don't whine. You might be the first human to have this experience." Cheekily he stuck out his tongue and got to his feet. "Although... I'm not entirely sure in whose head we are. Probably a bit of both."

You grunted annoyed and got up too. "Then wake me up again."

The Master turned, grinned.

"Nope!"

He let out a childish laugh and jumped from a stone, striding deeper into the forest.

"Hey! That's not fair!" you shouted after him. "First you overpower me like that and then you keep trampling over my private stuff."

"Mine too, just for your information."

"Okay, whatever." You crossed your arms as you halted near a clearing. It actually looked really nice. The vibrant green, the small creek that ran through the grass. "Wait... if this is a dream and we are aware of it... does that mean we can manipulate it?"

"Mhm..." The Master tilted his head a little. "Usually yes. But since we share it..." His eyes closed for a moment and the scenery changed. Trees vanished into dust, grass melted into the ground and suddenly you stood within the overgrown ruins of what once might have been an advanced civilisation. "Okay, that works..."

The scenery was quite beautiful in its melancholic state of long gone destruction. But right now you were not in the mood for something like that.

"Let me try!" you inquired and also closed your eyes. "Where could we go?" You thought for a moment, but your subconsciousness seemed to have picked up on your wish a lot faster than you. The smell of salt and water caressed your nose, a soft wind made goose bumps form on your forearms.

"The sea?" The Master asked, a smile audible in his voice. "Always a good choice. Bit boring, though."

A smile widened on your face as you took in the surroundings. It wasn't a place you knew, more like a collection of images, or rather the idea of sea that lived in your mind. There wasn't that much sand, more rocks, actually. You loved to climb around and be sprayed by the hitting waves.

And the weather was amazing! Perfect temperatures. Not too hot, not cold, either. Your ire was forgotten in an instant and you didn't even mind the Master following you as you explored the shore for a bit, picked up some seashells to admire how real they looked - and felt. As did everything else; the water, the wind, the sun.

You sighed happily and pointed at a round pool that had been formed between the rocks, too perfect of a spot not to investigate further.

"Let's go for a swim there, shall we?" you asked, beaming over your face. "Everything feels so real! I bet the water is amazing."

"Probably." The Master laughed and you joined in, happy to see how relaxed he was now. Here, the drums didn't seem to bother him and you had learned before that he could actually be quite the nice company in moments like these.

"But wait... I need some proper clothes." Again your eyes closed and you imagined the most comfy bikini you could think of. Nothing too revealing.

And still you suddenly felt eyes on you, wandering over your form. When you turned you found the Master not only staring at you with a subtle smile, but also now wearing only swimming trunks. Black, of course.

"Like what you see?" he wanted to know, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You snorted out a laugh and pointed down into the round basin. "I might be impressed if you jump down from here."

"Here?" The Master didn't seem impressed as he glanced down. The pool was maybe three or four meters below you. "That's not even a challenge," he mocked and promptly jumped.

Surprised you squeaked, your mind running a million scenarios at once how he might smash his head on a rock or maybe... No. This was still a dream. Immediately you relaxed and giggled to yourself. Nothing could happen to you here. So you did the only logical thing and jumped down too.

Air rushed around you, followed by the cool grip of water. You resurfaced with a happy laugh and swam around a bit until you found the Master again. He stood nearby, the water reaching only his waist. Behind him was wet rock that he leaned against with folded arms and still this calmly, satisfied expression on his features.

"Nice idea," he complimented. "Haven't been to any sea since... a long time ago."

It was seldom that he spoke about the past and you weren't going to ruin the moment by digging deeper. Instead your eyes wandered over his form, curious if you would find anything that set him apart from humans. This was the first time you saw him with so little clothes after all, his skin glittering with water drops, hair dripping.

"You look completely human, you know that?" you mocked and trod in front of him. "I had almost awaited you'd have... I don't know... scales maybe?"

A grin split his mouth and he let out a laugh. "Maybe I do and just altered my appearance in the dream?" He poked out the tongue between his teeth.

"Nah, I don't think so." You chuckled and couldn't resist running a finger over his forearm, feeling the skin and muscles.

He let you, simply watched as you trailed up and halted, raising your hand right over his chest, before gently placing it over the spot between his hearts. It was just a dream after all, no harm done in exploring a little.

When you looked up, the Master hadn't moved, but the black in his eyes had widened, was fixated on your face.

"Everything feels so real," you finally stated, your voice weirdly thick. A nervous laugh escaped you. "Strange to think this is only a dream."

He huffed. "You never had a dream before that was so real you had trouble distinguishing it from reality after waking up?"

"Yeah, but... it's different being conscious in it." You ran your hand through the water in front of you, almost so close to the Master that it brushed against him. "I wonder," you mumbled, thinking about just how close you stood together. "if everything feels so real."

The warmth pooling into your belly definitely did. And the heat you felt shooting right to your core when the Master suddenly grabbed your hip with both hands also did. His thumbs stroked along your sides, his eyes darkening a little more. Your gaze wandered down, wanting to break through the crinkled surface of the water to look between the two of you. Curiosity.

His hands left your hip and instead were on your arms, slowly caressing your skin until they reached your fingers. You let out a sigh, happy about the cool water so he wouldn't see you flush. Or did you anyway?

"That feels real too, doesn't it?" the Master murmured, almost absently. His hands left you and he used them to heave himself on a flat piece of stone nearby, his lower half still hidden under the water's surface. "Enjoy the water." The smile was back. "We're actually not in a hurry."

"Won't we wake up anytime soon?" you wondered, boldly stepping closer to him.

"Not if we don't want to." A mischievous twinkle was in his hazel eyes, the boyish smirk arousing you more than it should.

Shit. You shouldn't be aroused at all. He was still holding your entire planet captive. And no matter how nice he sometimes was to you, he still could be mad and dangerous and... You felt eyes on you again and only then realized your hand was again playing with the water between the two of you. When had you stepped so close? His knees were barely a finger width away from your belly. And your hand... Would this feel so real, too?

"I didn't even know you Time Lords can share dreams."

You stepped even closer, right between his legs, your skin touching the stone on which the Master sat. His head slightly tilted backwards, but his now clearly dilated pupils kept staring at you as if he was just waiting.

"Now you know," he said. "It's a nice thing. You can do whatever you want. Experiments, just having… fun."

"And no real consequences," you finished the thought. For a moment your eyes locked with the Master's.

His lips twitched slightly. It seemed he was perfectly aware of what you contemplated doing. So you did, dipped your hand below the water and let your fingers brush over cloth and the obvious bulge in it.

The mere fact shot another wave of arousal straight between your legs. Another, bolder movement along his erection didn't help either and when you sheepishly glanced up the Master had his eyes half closed, his breath hitching when, instead of your fingers, you let your palm run over his length.

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest all of a sudden and he leaned forward, catching your hand. "You've always been staring at me. You want me so badly, little one?" Was there really a hint of threat in his voice?

"Experimenting." The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. "It's only a dream, innit?" Your free hand crept forward, wrapped itself around his dick through the trunks.

His eyes rolled backwards the tiniest bit, his head dropping against yours as a grin blossomed on his lips. "Didn't know you were dreaming about me," he teased, breath shuddering delightfully when you started to slowly stroke him.

God, you wanted to feel him without those trunks, suddenly yearned to let your fingers wander over every inch of him, teasing, fondling, feeling every vein, every ridge. "Right now I do," you said breathy. "Don't worry, 'm pretty sure this is the first time."

Again he shuddered, hot breath ghosting over your lips. Then, with a swift movement that took you completely off guard, he grabbed your sites again and dragged you upwards, right into his lap with a loud splash. Both of you were hidden below the surface still, the water on your skin shimmering in the sun. A moan escaped your lips when your clit rubbed against his length, the wet cloth only adding to the friction.

Before you could even form a thought his lips crashed onto yours, one hand on the back of your head, the other slipping into your bikini pants. When you wanted to do the same to him, however, the hand vanished, grabbed your thigh and dragged you so flush against him that you had no chance to get anywhere near him. His lips were soft and warm, coaxing another moan from yours right as his fingers slipped back under your cloth and brushed against your swollen clit. Another finger slid down below your folds, teased the entrance for maybe a second too long.

You squirmed from your own need, opened your mouth and deepened the kiss, tongues stroking sensually against one another. His fingers finally pressed into you. The Master swallowed another moan, moved back and forth inside your heat, added a second finger and kept his thumb on your clit.

All of your senses were overblown with need and want and the smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue. You couldn't help but rock against his hand and also his erection in the same movement. He groaned, tried to keep you from moving while his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Somehow, though, you managed to slide back enough to fit your own hand between the two of you and promptly use the opportunity. Teasing fingers moved to the waistband of his trunks, slipped inside when there was no protest. Your hand wrapped around his dick firmly and finally you could do to him what he did to you. And he felt great in your hand, sliding up and down your palm, your thump teasing the slit and the sensitive area below. Even through the water you could feel a drop of precum, imagined how it dissolved in.

A low growl of pleasure rumbled through his heaving chest, his second hand vanished from your head, his mouth retreating. You wanted to look, wanted to see what you did to him. Damp hair clung to the Master's forehead, a perfect match for the glimmering sheen of sweat and salt water on his skin.

Again you firmly stroked up his length, hyper aware of his shuddering breath and jittering eyes. His free hand was between your breasts, the bikini simply gone. Carefully he pushed against your torso, bending you backwards a little, so you would have less opportunity to move on him.

His sight, the position, the thumb massaging your clit in firm circles, the fingers pumping in and out, hitting at all the right spots inside of you, it made you want to move again, made you desperate to find out whether or not you could really climax in a dream.

But the fingers vanished. You whimpered when you realized he wasn't going to continue. With both hands he grabbed your head and kissed your wet lips, fierce and hungry and groaning into your mouth when you boldly continued to stroke him.

Seconds later the Master broke the kiss, panted. "That real enough for you?"

All you could do was to swallow and nod with gleaming eyes. His mouth hovered over yours, hot breath ghosting your lips, his eyes fluttering shut. But there was also a blossoming grin and suddenly you realized that you were both completely naked now.

Right in that moment he grabbed your bum, lifted you up from him and sat you on the stone while he slid down from it. You wanted to protest, wanted to grab his arm, but he didn't vanish, as you had feared. Instead the Master positioned himself between your legs, grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to him on the wet stone so his dick could stroke through your folds and rest at your throbbing entrance.

If there hadn't been water you would have laid on your back, but now you kept yourself upright on your elbows, watching, enjoying how the Master teased your entrance. His eyes sought out yours. "You're ready?"

"Are you kidding me?" you moaned, too far gone for any modesty.

The Master chuckled, leaned forward, snaked an arm around your middle and pulled you up for another kiss, the head of his shaft still at your entrance, almost slipping inside when you moved slightly. But he wouldn't let you, held you in place and grinned against your lips at your desperation. The height of the stone aligned you perfectly and again you shifted your bottom, felt him slip into you the tiniest bit, already enough to spike the pleasure, the anticipation.

"Make me," he ground out, breathing heavily, almost restrained.

You let out a moan, tried to push yourself closer and him deeper. The Master gasped, pressed you against him for a mere second, but pulled out of you again, his look as desperate as you felt, breath quivering.

And you knew what he wanted, your brain still somewhat functioning, maybe more than his, in this very moment. Despite his own urge for control he slightly rocked forward, silently groaned when your centre swallowed the tip of his dick again. You could feel how much he had to hold back, how he still couldn't help but let himself sink in just a bit deeper, fingernails lightly scratching your back.

"Master," you moaned and felt him twitch against your folds. He wanted to be in control. He needed you to fully give it to him. "Master," you almost whimpered and he slid even deeper, not yet there, but also not horribly far away.

He carefully pulled out again, not all the way, only a little. "Beg me," he ground out. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you." You swallowed a groan when you felt him slightly move again, wondered how long you both could continue this without bursting. You had no intention to find out, leaned closer to his ear, muttering, "I want you to fuck me, Master."

And that was enough. He gripped your hip with both hands, pressed you flush against him, his length finally slipping inside. Both of you let out moans and for a short moment the Master stopped, his breath heavy and somewhat shaky. One hand dropped to your bum, his lips crashed on yours again and he moved, made you moan into his mouth when he pulled back out, only to slam back inside. He repeated it a few more times, building a rhythm that was both desperate and controlled.

You were barely aware of the water around you, of the sun and the wind. All you felt and wanted to feel was the Master moving in and out of you. You cried out when he hit an especially sensitive spot and he tilted you slightly backwards to get a better angle, the kiss getting sloppy as his pace sped up, stopped completely after a moment, both of you lost in the building pleasure. You let out a small groan each time he hit that spot inside of you. His hand slipped down your front, thumb circling firmly on your clit, adding to the tightening coil.

"Master, please," you groaned.

And he sped up his pace, kept his thumb moving. You sensed how close he was, felt that spot again, and again and you cried out, clenched and panted as the climax rushed through your body and set every nerve within it on fire. Your nails dug into his skin, you walls clenching around his slowing dick and with shuddering breaths you moaned out the orgasm, could feel its aftershocks ripple through you each time the Master thrust himself deeper. He was still slowing, still aware of your oversensitive state, but unable to stop himself, and you encouraged his action by rocking against him, another aftershock making you shiver when you felt him hit you deep inside.

It felt just too good, you wanted him to snap, started to speed up your own rhythm until he dug his fingers into your sites and almost stilled, suddenly capturing your lips, but only to make you swallow his groans while he pulsated and spilled himself inside of you.

The sound of wind and waves returned to your ears as the Master released your lips. Breath still calming, heart still racing. The Master pulled out of you, turned and hopped onto the stone next to you.

The scenery changed, but only slightly. Suddenly you lay next to each other on dry ground, flat stones, heated by the sun, your feet splashed by nearby waves once in a while. Both of you wore clothes again, light summer trunks and shirts.

You sighed content, still feeling your body calming.

"Okay,that felt real," you muttered with a smile. "I wonder what happened to our bodies."

"Sleeping." The Master answered.

"No shit." You laughed and slapped his arm playfully. "I mean, uh… you know."

He chuckled and looked at you, head resting on folded arms. "You might wake up a bit aroused," he teased. "But that's it. Nothing new while being around me."

A wink was cast in your direction, made you laugh. "Don't get high on it. When we wake up, first thing I'll do is slap you for being such a prick before."

His face darkened in an instant, eyes darting away almost as if… he felt guilty? Probably not.

"Is it quiet now?" you asked softly and his gaze returned.

"It never is. Not fully." He smiled and the expression was warm. "But it's so much more bearable with you around."

"I'll still slap you." You poked the tongue out. "And maybe laugh at you for having a morning boner."

The Master grinned and turned around to lay his head right next to your ear. "Dangerous idea."

"Oh?" You turned too, facing him. "Why would that be?"

Instead of an answer he snaked an arm around you and pulled you flush against him. Definitely no need to wake up, here, you realized. The wolfish grin on his face also didn't help. Neither did, that he grabbed you with both hands to turn you both and in a way that you ended up sitting on him.

Alright. You grinned back. No waking up yet, then.

#the master x reader #doctor who fanfic #fanfiction #smut #doctor who #the master #reader insert

[moonlightserenadeeznutz]

Top Surgery

Oneshot about (trans) Remus Lupin getting top surgery. Bit of wolfstar as well.

Disclaimer: To all my trans boys/trans masc people reading this. You are no less trans, nor are you no less male/masculine if you decide against top surgery, or if you don’t/can’t get top surgery. This goes for bottom surgery, binding, hormones, etc. Your body doesn’t define your gender, nor does what you decide to do with it. <3 ~ Remus wasn’t allowed to get top surgery until he was seventeen. Well... “top surgery” was the muggle name for it. In the wizarding world, a simple spell would do the trick. But there was a law in the wizarding world stating that parts of the body weren’t allowed to be removed from an underage wizard or witch unless said body part was detrimental to the child’s life, say, an unfixable limb, or a gangrenous leg. And despite Remus’ adamance that his chest was a detriment, specifically to his mental health, (when would the wizarding world take mental health seriously? He regularly thought to himself), the law disagreed. So he had to wait until he was of age.

In the meantime, he simply wore a shirt with a binding charm put upon it, which did the trick to make his chest look flat with his clothes on, but he was desperate to just be able to take his shirt off, in the hot weather or in bed. He forwent ever swimming in the lake with his friends because he couldn’t swim with his binder on, but he didn’t want his chest to be noticeable. So he had to sit by the edge of the lake instead, his feet dipped in and his friends splashing at him from within the water.

Another problem Remus faced was that, even when he did turn seventeen, he had no idea where to go to get top surgery. He lived in 1970s Britain. There were simply no resources, muggle or wizarding, and he didn’t have the money anyway. And Madam Pomfrey couldn’t do it. She was a school nurse, she wasn’t allowed to perform procedures. She could only give out potions and fix up bones. Procedures were for St Mungos. And St Mungos didn’t have top surgery as an option.

The days leading up to Remus’s seventeenth birthday made him rather depressed. He’d soon be of age, but it wouldn’t make any difference. He was stuck. Stuck in the wrong body, and there was nothing he could do.

Of course, he had been on hormones since second year, or at least the wizarding version of hormones, which was just a transfiguration potion, and luckily for him, it wasn’t against wizarding law as long as he had his parents’ permission, which he did. And the potion had changed his body considerably. His voice deepened, he had facial hair and he tried hard to work out so he had abs and muscles, which he knew wasn’t exactly necessary, and he didn’t go overboard, but really he was just trying to offset the dysphoria he got from his chest by making the rest of him look as masculine as possible.

He was in a similar situation with bottom dysphoria, but at least he was able to hide it. Getting surgery for that wasn’t as pressing as his chest, and because of the potion he at least didn’t have to worry about his periods anymore.

Compared to Remus’s misery before his seventeenth birthday, Sirius, James and Peter were clearly happy about something, but they wouldn’t tell him what it was, even when he threatened to hex them; a threat he regularly used but never went through with, so it didn’t do much to get them to talk.

But he soon found out what they were whispering about on the day of his seventeenth. Sirius handed him an envelope, unlabelled, and said “It’s from all of us.”

“You know, for two rich people, you guys can be real cheapskates.” They just continued smiling expectantly until Remus opened up the envelope and looked inside.

There wasn’t a card like he was expecting, but some sort of advertisement, or pamphlet. He read through it, and his eyebrows knitted together as he read further down the page. The ad was for a wizarding clinic, specifically aimed at trans wizards and witches. It was set up by a guy named Gray Jacobson, who was a trained Healer, and trans himself, and offered all different kinds of things, including top surgery.

“I... don’t get it?” Said Remus eventually, pushing down any hope that was making its way up through his body.

“What’s not to get?” Exclaimed Sirius, no longer containing his excitement. “It’s a secret clinic, away from the ministry and St Mungos and shit, and surgery is affordable. Free even, if you really can’t pay. But don’t worry about that, because we all chipped in-” he was talking a mile a minute.

“Woah, woah, slow down, Padfoot,” interrupted Remus. ““How do you know this clinic is trustworthy.”

“If we didn’t think it was trustworthy, mate, we wouldn’t have shown it to you,” said James. “We’ve been researching it for months, Sirius and I even visited it last half term. The guy, Gray, is really nice. He told us all about it. He can tell you as well. The procedure for getting rid of your chest is so easy. Takes a few minutes, then you have to take a potion every night for a week until you’re all healed up. But then it’s done! No more chest!”

“No more binding!” Grinned Sirius. No more chest. No more binding. God it sounded brilliant. Too good to be true.

“Really?” Was all Remus could manage.

~ Half term was already upon them, so Remus and his friends were able to visit the clinic the next day. And James and Sirius had been right, Gray was very nice. And Remus loved meeting someone else like him. He’d never met another trans man before, and Gray gave him hope for his future. The man seemed happy, content. Remus wanted that.

It didn’t take long for Remus to view the place as perfectly legit, even with his usual paranoid, distrusting self. And according to Gray, the spell really did only take a few minutes, even if he did have to be placed under a sleeping charm while it happened, and he wouldn’t be able to see his chest until a week later. That didn’t bother him at all. What was a week after six years of waiting?

He booked the next appointment for the following Monday, and he really couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this excited. When he left the clinic, Sirius immediately hugged him, and James joined in, until Remus couldn’t even move under their combined weight.

~ The day of the appointment, Remus was nervous. Excited, but nervous. His friends had all agreed that it would be a little overwhelming if they all came with him, so it was decided that Sirius was to be the one to accompany Remus. He was Remus’s boyfriend after all, and besides, wild centaurs couldn’t stop Sirius from being there to support his best friend.

Remus didn’t know what to wear, and he couldn’t help but feel very self conscious at exposing his chest, even for a few minutes. But it was the price he had to pay, and he chose a button up shirt and jeans. Nothing special.

“Here’s the sleeping potion,” said Gray, handing Remus a bottle of silvery liquid. “You’ll be asleep in a matter of minutes, and then awake in another matter of minutes. The only difference is, when you wake up, there’ll sure be a huge weight off your chest.” Sirius snorted from behind the man, and even Remus grinned at the stupid joke. It was definitely something his friends would say.

They were in the clinic now; they’d arrived around twenty minutes ago, and hadn’t needed to wait that long. Sirius held Remus’s hand the entire time, though he seemed to be more nervous than Remus was. Remus was nervous, but the nearer the surgery came to actually happening, the more impatient he felt. He wanted this to be over with, so he could finally feel like himself.

Remus uncapped the potion and drunk it down in one, and within seconds he started to feel light headed and drowsy. Gray helped him to lie back on the bed that he was sitting on, and the last thing he saw before falling asleep was Sirius giving him a very cheesy double thumbs up.

Somehow, within only a few minutes, his brain managed to conjure up what felt like hours of dreaming, although it was so nonsensical that Remus couldn’t make heads nor tails off it, and by the time he’d woken up, he couldn’t remember anything.

It took him some time to come round properly, drowsy as he was, but when the fog from his head finally cleared, he immediately looked down at his chest.

It was wrapped up in bandages, but one thing was certain: his chest was flat.

He ran his hand across the bandages. Yup. Absolutely flat. He almost started crying right then and there.

“Hello, love,” greeted Sirius, seeing that Remus was now awake. Remus stared up at him.

“It’s flat,” he croaked. Sirius grinned.

“It sure is.” Gray walked over to them. He’d been tinkering around with some vials, and he handed one to Remus.

“Take a sip of this every night for a week, it will help your chest to heal fully. Then you can remove the bandages. And if you need anything else, any help, or you have any questions, you know where I am.”

“Thank you.” Remus hoped the man could see just how grateful he was, as he was unable to form full sentences for the moment, the affects of the sleeping potion still lingering. But Gray let him and Sirius go on their way, and like last time with James, Sirius waited until they were out of the clinic, this time using the floo network in the clinic’s fireplace to take them home to their tiny apartment, to throw his arms around Remus. This was it for Remus, and he couldn’t stop himself from breaking down in tears. Good tear of course. Happy tears. If this was what he was like now, he’d be a wreck after a week.

And if Remus was impatient before, he certainly was now. Sirius had to constantly stop him from trying to unwind his bandages early.

“Keep doing that and I will personally pin you to the ground,” Sirius warned.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“In this instance it is solely a threat.”

“Fine.”

After what felt like years, the week was finally drawing to a close. And James, Lily and Peter arrived to see the big reveal. It was an audience that made Remus feel a little self conscious, but a part of him didn’t want them to miss this.

They were all crammed into the bathroom, the only place in the apartment that had a mirror. Rather than cutting off the bandages with magic, immediately revealing his chest, he opted for unwinding them by hand. His nervousness had returned to replace his impatience and he wanted to take it slowly.

As the last bandages fell away, he started into the mirror, and his friends cheered beside him. His chest was completely flat, and it looked exactly how he wanted it to look. It was a chest that could be shown off. A chest he could take a shirt off of and go swimming with. Finally. He never had to wear his binder again. He’d never smiled this much in his life, and it only faltered as he tried not to once again start crying. He failed. Sirius went over to kiss him, and soon all his friends were hugging him.

And the first thing he did when half term ended and lessons at Hogwarts were let out for lunchtime, was take his shirt off, and go swimming in the lake with his friends.

#trans remus #ftm remus lupin #remus lupin #wolfstar #top surgery #gender dysphoria #chest dysphoria #harry potter #sirius x remus #remus lupin oneshot

[august-anon]

Your Lips Create a Symphony

the first of many malec fics to come lol. while there a LOT of malec in my backlog atm, this is actually the first one i wrote, so i am posting it first, but the rest will just come out in some random order interspersed between other fandoms probably lol. Hope y’all enjoy!!

----

Fandom: Shadowhunters (TV)

Ship(s): Malec

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Alec/Ler!Magnus, brief Lee!Magnus/Ler!Alec

Word Count: 2235 words

Summary: Early on in their relationship, Magnus makes a little discovery while he and Alec are making out. He exploits this weakness to the fullest.

[ao3 link]

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Magnus sighed happily as Alec deepened the kiss, pressing him even further into the back of the couch. He reached up blindly and tangled his fingers in Alec’s hair, briefly tightening his grip as Alec nipped at his bottom lip. Alec hummed against his lips, quiet and happy, before pulling back just enough to pant for air in the scarce space between them.

Magnus pressed their foreheads firmly together and smiled. He and Alec hadn’t gone much further than kissing (really, it was closer to light making out, at this point), Magnus letting Alec take the lead for most of their relationship, but today Magnus was feeling confident that they were both on the same page.

He pressed a light kiss to the corner of Alec’s panting mouth, then another next to that, and another below that, kissing his way down to Alec’s jaw and neck. Alec shifted back slightly to give him more space to maneuver and Magnus took full advantage, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the column of Alec’s throat.

Alec tensed and gasped above him, but it wasn’t the gasp that Magnus usually associated with pleasure. Immediately, he pulled back, lightening his grip on Alec’s hips until he was barely even touching him anymore, giving Alec the ability to completely pull away. Magnus looked up and saw Alec biting his lip on a grimace.

“Sorry,” Magnus said, his voice far more wrecked than he had expected it to be after just a little kissing. “I suppose maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

Alec shook his head, his shoulders relaxing. “No! No, it wasn’t--it wasn’t bad.”

Magnus frowned and tilted his head to the side. Slowly, so that Alec could pull away if he wanted to, Magnus took Alec’s hand and laced their fingers together. Alec gripped back just as tightly.

“Alexander, what is it?”

Alec bit his lip again, going a little pink around the tips of his ears and across his cheekbones. Magnus couldn’t help but let out a small smile. It should be illegal to be that cute.

“I’m just a little ticklish is all.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow and raised his free hand to trail his finger down the length of Alec’s neck. Alec shivered and bit his lip harder, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly. Magnus smothered a grin.

“I think it’s more than a little, darling.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’m kind of a lot ticklish. Happy?”

This time, Magnus didn’t bother to bury his grin. “When I’m with you?” Magnus said, just to see that blush again. “Always.”

And sure enough, Alec's face flushed once more as he looked away, but not before Magnus caught sight of the goofy grin on his face. Magnus would do just about anything to keep that smile in place, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. His boyfriend was far too serious for his own good.

Magnus tapped under Alec’s chin to get him to look up again. “So, neck is off limits, then?”

Alec squirmed in place where he sat on the couch. Magnus raised an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t bad,” Alec said again.

Magnus searched his eyes for a moment. “So it was… good?”

Alec nodded.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

Alec nodded once more, but Magnus shook his head.

“I need a verbal response here, dear Alexander.”

Alec huffed, looking away from Magnus and petulantly adding a quiet, “Yes.”

That was all Magnus needed. He leaned in again, but instead of attaching his lips to Alec’s neck once more, he pulled Alec into another kiss. Alec let out a confused hum, but kissed back all the same, making Magnus glad they were sitting on the couch because he was sure Alec’s lips would’ve had him going weak at the knees.

Magnus dedicated his full attention to Alec’s lips for several long minutes, waiting until Alec had relaxed under the affection, and relaxed under it he had. The tension he’d carried through their conversation had vanished completely, his hands roaming Magnus’s body in a way that made Magnus completely dizzy, his lips now leading the kiss with a tender care that Magnus hadn’t experienced for a long time before Alec came along. He became so lost in Alec that he almost forgot what he was there to do.

The next time Alec pulled away for breath, Magnus kissed his way back to his jaw. For the time being, he kept his lips careful and feather-light, glancing up at Alec in his periphery and seeing his eyes closed, mouth parted in pleasure, still panting from their long minutes of kissing.

Magnus focused back on Alec’s skin, kissing down his face to the bare, unmarked side of his neck. He had plans for that rune, later.

The moment Magnus’s lips touched down under Alec’s jawline, he heard Alec gasp above him. Magnus hesitated, but didn’t pull back, continuing to softly kiss underneath the hard line of his jaw. Alec continued to make breathy noises, a mix between pleasure and something else, and his hands came up to tightly grip Magnus’s hips. 

Magnus added a little more pressure to his lips, pressing an open mouthed kiss just under the bolt of Alec’s jaw. Alec jolted and his shoulders shook for a brief moment, and Magnus couldn’t help but smile against Alec’s skin.

“Don’t be so smug,” Alec murmured, his voice breathy and wavering.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Magnus spoke against the skin of his neck.

His grin only widened when Alec jolted again and he let out a muffled noise, leaving Magnus unsure as to whether it was a whimper or an aborted giggle.

He added more pressure to his kisses from then on, moving his way down the side of Alec’s neck, only stopping when Alec’s shirt prevented him from going any lower. And even then, Magnus unbuttoned the top few buttons as he kissed his way back up to Alec’s jaw so that he would have more access on his next pass.

At this point, Alec was practically trembling underneath him, the breathy sounds getting louder and closer to laughter the longer Magnus continued. His hands were still tight around Magnus’s hips, arms trembling with what was probably the effort to not push him away. Magnus kissed his way back down Alec’s neck and hovered over his collarbone with a grin.

“Does it feel good?”

Alec hummed a shaky affirmative.

Magnus’s grin turned a little more mischievous. “Does it tickle?”

Alec made a frustrated noise deep in his throat. “You know it does,” he replied, his voice wavering and unsteady. Magnus could hear the smile in it.

“You’re holding out on me.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

Magnus rolled his eyes and started mouthing at Alec’s collarbone, no longer only pressing simple kisses to the skin. It seemed to finally break the dam, as Alec let out a shocked noise before tumbling into quiet, breathy giggles. His hands jerked at Magnus’s hips, pushing them away for a moment before he seemed to regain control of himself and pulling Magnus’s lower half closer once more.

And now that Magnus had gotten Alec to break, it seemed like he couldn’t stop. No matter what Magnus did, whether it be pressing more feather-light kisses to the skin or mouthing at it hungrily, Alec’s giggles came tumbling out. 

It was the most beautiful song that Magnus had ever heard in his long life, and he never wanted to be without it again. Sure, Alec laughed, but his usual chuckles were quiet and self-conscious, like he was trying to not take up too much space or bring too much attention to himself. But these giggles? They were bright and loud and bouncy and musical, and Alec couldn’t hide them behind his serious facade. They demanded to be heard, and hear them Magnus would.

Now that he had gotten Alec to crack, Magnus moved onto the main course: that damned rune on Alec’s neck that Magnus had been wanting to get his mouth on for ages.

Alec’s laughter jumped when Magnus’s lips moved over the tattooed skin, and Magnus knew he had saved the best for last. It seemed that runed skin was more sensitive, or maybe that was just an Alec thing, but he was certainly going to have to test that out more later, on a much larger scale.

Good thing Alec was quite tall. Plenty of skin for him to draw his runes on, and plenty of skin for Magnus to explore.

“Magnus, please--” Alec laughed out beneath him, his hands now scrabbling at Magnus’s back as opposed to gripping his hips.

Magnus chuckled against Alec’s skin, grinning at the squeal it earned him. “Please what, Alexander? Please… never stop tickling you?” He moved up to speak directly into Alec’s ear, letting his breath and lips brush across the skin. “Please kiss your neck all day long? Please keep drawing that delicious laughter out of you until you’re driven absolutely mad?”

Alec tossed his head back and shook it back and forth wildly as he laughed, mussing his hair on the couch cushions. Magnus wasn’t sure when they’d gotten in this position, Alec laying down on the couch and Magnus straddling his waist, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Especially when he leaned back in and attached his lips to Alec’s rune once more, the laughter jumping in pitch.

Magnus decided to experiment and moved up to the line of the rune just below Alec’s jaw and started sucking on the skin there. Alec seemed caught between his laughter and some noise of pleasure, and what came out of his mouth was such an endearing conglomeration of the two that Magnus couldn’t help but chuckle against his skin, making Alec squeal again.

“Tickles!” Alec shrieked.

Magnus chuckled again. “Well I would hope so, that is what I’m intending, after all.”

He moved back down and lightly scraped his teeth against the center of the rune, not hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to drive Alec crazy with the new sensation, and drive Alec crazy it did. Alec threw his head back, exposing his gorgeous neck in its entirety, and cackled wildly. His legs scrabbled against the couch behind Magnus and his hands gripped at his shoulders, seemingly torn over whether or not he actually wanted to push Magnus away. Magnus scraped his teeth along the rune a few more times to draw some more of those adorable cackles out before Alec finally gave in, shoving at his shoulders. Magnus leaned back immediately.

“How was that?” Magnus asked smugly.

Alec snorted, lowering his hands to rest on Magnus’s thighs. “Ticklish,” he said.

Magnus planted his hands on either side of Alec’s head to gaze down at him. Alec brought one of his hands up to run his fingers through Magnus’s hair, and Magnus figured the styling was already long-ruined so he let him.

“Did you have fun?”

Alec looked away and cleared his throat. The blush spreading across his face was already answer enough, but Magnus didn’t let the smile spread across his face until Alec nodded.

“What about you?” Alec asked.

Magnus cocked his head to the side. “What about me?”

Alec sat up, meaning Magnus had to sit up, too, still firmly in Alec’s lap.

“Are you ticklish?”

Magnus ignored the traitorous butterflies in his stomach and gave Alec a cocky grin. “All my years of life, and you think I’d still be ticklish? You’re welcome to try, but you’re in for some disappointment, Alexander.”

Alec pouted, but it quickly vanished as he leaned in to kiss Magnus again. Magnus certainly wasn’t complaining about the chain of events and opened up easily under Alec’s lips. When Alec wrapped his arms tightly around Magnus’s back and began trailing his lips down to his jaw, Magnus didn’t even think twice about it, tilting his head back to give Alec all the access he needed.

Alec let out a quiet hum, lips vibrating against his throat, and Magnus shivered, a smile twitching at the edges of his lips. It was gone just as quickly, dissolving into a quiet, open-mouthed gasp as Alec sucked on his pulse point. It seemed that, even when lost to laughter, Alec was a quick study.

Only then, Alec quickly kissed his way up to Magnus’s ear, a sensitive spot in more ways than one, and mouthed under and behind it. Breathy noises of pleasure escaped Magnus even as his lips began twitching up into a smile. He hoped Alec didn’t notice it from where he had buried his face, but those hopes were shattered when Alec suddenly took a deep breath. Magnus knew what was coming next and was powerless to stop it.

Alec blew a long, loud raspberry right near Magnus’s ear.

Magnus burst into loud laughter, squirming in Alec’s lap and gripping at his shirt and hair desperately. He hadn’t been that mean when he’d been tickling Alec, it wasn’t fair that Alec brought raspberries into the mix! Even so, Magnus couldn’t find it in himself to protest as Alec blew another loud raspberry slightly further down Magnus’s neck. Then another, and another, and another, until Magnus found himself gasping for air for a completely different reason than he had been earlier.

And based off Alec’s cheeky grin, it would be a while yet before Magnus’s lungs got any relief. Not that he was complaining.

#tickle fic #My writing #shadowhunters tickling #lee!alec #ler!magnus bane #ticklish!alec #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec

[janetbrown711]

Apple White didn’t have a clue what to think

First, she had pleaded to Raven for forgiveness after freeing her mom- the fricking Evil Queen- from her mirror prison, then they had some fruit for dinner and the next thing Apple knew, she was passed out. Then, she heard a voice that sounded so familiar and yet so distant, then something press against her lips, but... nothing. She returned back into her darkness. Moments later however, she heard another voice, far more clearer though she couldn’t make out what it was saying. It was smooth like silk and sweet as honey. Apple felt like the voice could ramble on and on for hours and she could lay here, half conscious for hours. Then, someone kissed her. It was warm, and sweet, and well- magical. 

Apple sat up, feeling instantly revived. She looked up and saw quite the floral arrangement around her. She spoke:

“What happened?” She looked around at all of her friends who were cheering happily. “Did Daring wake me up?” She batted her eyes and smiled at the prince. Immediately everyone’s faces fell. Apple glanced at Darling, who was right next to her, but neither of them said anything. Apple continued to look for someone who was going to answer, but noticed Raven was missing. After that, she rallied the troops, got on their dragons, and together they all stopped the Evil Queen. 

Apple was happy she had redeemed herself, but it seemed no body was talking to her about who kissed her, not even Daring; he couldn’t even look her in the eyes anymore. Whenever she’d try to slip it in to a conversation, Raven, Briar, and Goldie all quickly changed the subject. All she wanted was an honest answer. She was starting to not even care if it was Daring anymore, heck, she’d be willing to accept it was Dexter or even Sparrow at this point; the question was egging at her constantly to the point where her grades were starting to slip, which was most unlike her. 

One thing that she did notice in her Damsel in Distressing class was that Darling Charming had stopped talking to her. Instead, she chatted with Rosabella and Raven, which made sense, they were her two closest friends, but Apple felt something rise within herself she had never felt before. It was a burning sensation in her chest whenever she saw her laugh at one of Rosa’s jokes or when she whispered something in Raven’s ear. Apple didn’t have a clue what it was; she had never felt anything like it before. 

So... Great.

New emotions, friends who wouldn’t give her a clear answer about anything, and an even unclearer destiny than when Raven had decided against hers. 

Apple’s inner funk had gotten so bad she had hardly noticed when it started to snow outside in the middle of summer. It was nice to have a break from classes of course, but she couldn’t find it within herself to watch as Duchess and Justine show off their ice dancing skills. Instead, she sat at one of the outside tables and drank warm apple cider (you’d think she’d have a thing against apples after being poisoned by one but you’d be wrong, she loved them). She sat there sipping tiredly, and got so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed the person sitting next to her until they spoke. 

“Hey Apple, how’re you doing?” It was Darling Charming. Apple nearly fell out of her seat in surprise. 

“H-hi Darling. Wh-what’s up?” Apple cursed herself internally, not expecting to be that surprised by her presence. Darling’s laugh relaxed her. 

“I noticed you sitting alone and thought you might like some company,” She said sweetly. 

“You’re too kind,” Apple felt her face flush, which caused her to look away. 

“It’s really nothing,” Darling said, slight concern in her voice. Apple went back to sipping her cider in silence. Neither said a word, though they kept glancing at each other and sometimes making eye contact, which Apple would break instantly. 

Darling sighed. “Look Apple... I’m afraid I haven’t- none of us, really- been forward with you. We haven’t told you who kissed you because we were afraid how you’d react,” she explained. 

“And what good has that done me? I’ve practically driven myself as mad as a hatter trying to figure it out,” Apple groaned before gasping and covering her mouth. “I’m sorry- that was so rude, I’m-”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry Apple, it’s okay,” Darling smiled softly and touched her hands and brought them down. Apple felt her face flush again. The princess could only nod. 

“We know how important your destiny is to you, we just- we didn’t want to hurt you... But I can see now that it’s clear we failed,” Darling sighed and looked away. It became clear to Apple that ‘we’ was becoming a loose term. 

“Look, if it was Sparrow Hood, I’ll accept it with time but-”

“It was me, Apple.”

Apple blinked. 

“I’m sorry- did you say-”

“It was me.” Darling looked Apple in the eyes. 

“I-i... I don’t understand, y-you’re a princess, you take Damsel-in-Distressing with me” Apple looked away. “I-i need to sit down.”

“Apple, you are sitting,” Darling put a hand on her shoulder, before realizing what she was doing and pulled away. 

“I’m sorry, I should give you space- I should’ve let Raven do it,” Darling cursed herself. 

“No, no. It’s... I want you to stay,” Apple said. Darling blinked. 

“Anything you need,” Darling said and Apple felt her heart skip a beat. Apple went back to her cider. 

“S-so it was you? You kissed me and... it worked?” She said. Darling nodded. 

“I don’t know why but, I just got this... feeling inside- like... like it was destiny,” She said. 

“I think I felt that too,” Apple nodded. 

“You did? How?” Darling tilted her head a little. 

“I don’t know how, but I could tell when you were close- I got this feeling in my chest and I could hear a voice- your voice- and it just... it felt... right,” Apple said. Darling smiled a little. 

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who felt that way,” Darling scratched the back of her neck. Apple laughed a little, marveling at how the swave and daring Darling Charming could ever be such a nervous flirt. Darling had been such a tease and playful spirit at the Dragon Games that seeing her like this made her chuckle. 

“So... what does this mean?” Apple asked. “We might be- we probably are... destined for each other. I don’t think this has ever happened before,” Apple said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. 

“There’s never been a blonde Snow White before either,” Darling shrugged, which made Apple chuckle. 

“That is true,” She nodded. She looked at Darling, and began noticing little things she hadn’t before; the way her nose scrunched when she was thinking, the way her blue eyes always looked so sharp and intense, her expertly done makeup that made even Apple a little jealous, and the little dimple on her left cheek. 

“You’re really beautiful Darling,” Apple said. Darling looked back at her. 

“You’re quite the same, Apple.” The way Darling said her name felt much more special and different than the thousands of times she had heard it before. It was like it meant something to her- which it clearly did: it was destiny.

Destiny. 

Apple was destined to be with Darling. 

Apple liked... girls. 

“Does Daring know?” Apple asked, not wanting to fully delve into that quite yet. “I-i feel like I’ve given him the short end of the stick here.”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself, it’s not something you can change,” Darling rested a hand on Apple’s shoulder again. “Besides, I wouldn’t be worried. He’s been hanging out with Rosabella a lot since you two have been split. I think he’ll be fine,” Darling said. 

“That’s good, he deserves someone nice like her,” Apple sipped her cider. 

“I always had a feeling you two weren’t destined. Daring was always so- I don’t know how to put this nicely... full of himself? It makes sense he’s now being drawn to Rosabella,” Darling said. “I love him and all, he is my older brother after all, but I think he could definitely learn a thing or two from her.”

Apple nodded. “I-i guess looking back I sorta knew it too. I mean, I never once felt anything between us. There’s always been so much social pressure for us to get together and yet we never have. It makes so much sense looking back,” Apple chuckled. 

“Life’s funny that way,” Darling laughed along. “Hindsight is 20/20 after all.” Apple nodded. 

“Yeah...” Apple said. Looking back, she had noticed her lack of connection with Daring, but she also noticed other connections. There were so many friendships in the past she was now starting to question. Briar, Ashlyn, Raven... at one point or another as she looked back now she could almost see how maybe she had thought there had been a little more than she originally thought, especially with Briar. 

“You having one of those ‘oh shoot- did I have a crush on all of my childhood best friends’ moments?” Darling elbowed her. “Because if so, that’s quite relatable. I’ve known I’ve liked girls since I was thirteen and I’m still realizing every day.”

“You got me there,” Apple laughed. 

“Just relax, take your time to digest it all. I know it isn’t exactly how you planned out your whole future, but... I still hope you can be happy with it,” Darling said. 

“Thanks Darling,” Apple smiled softly. Now, it was Darling’s turn to return the favor of looking into her eyes and examining her face. Apple felt herself blush.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Darling said. She was pretty sure she had said that before, but the way Darling’s intense blue eyes were looking at her so delicately and somehow so softly had Apple not even caring. 

“Thank you...” Apple felt herself leaning in. “You’re too kind.”

“I could never be too kind,” Darling smiled a little, leaning in too. 

“You’re too charming then,” Apple smirked. 

“That’s the family legacy for you, damsels falling at our heels,” Darling leaned in even more and the two princesses shared another sweet, tender, and all around magical kiss in the snow on a magical summer afternoon.

#ever after high #eah #apple white #darling charming #dappling #apple x darling #wlw #my fics #i know this fandom is hella dead but I'm a simp for darling and therefore must write #it may be a little rushed but I'm passionate and it's late #shut up XD

[zombryz]

★ needy ★ a Frieza story pt.2

Please read pt.1 here  【☆】

TW - mentions of anxiety, mentions of smut (next chapter will be smut)

Piccolo and Gohan arrive at Capsule Corp on request of Bulma. It’s still late so Bulma gathers everyone on the rooftop for a meeting.

“Y/N has been taken.” She says facing away from them and staring at the night horizon, unable to see their reactions. No comments were made so she turned around to face Piccolo, Trunks, Gohan, Goten, Chi-Chi, Krillen, and Android 18. This had become an emergency meeting. She continued to speak, “as you know Goku and Vegeta are training on Beerus’ planet.” She rolled her eyes. No one said anything unsure of where this was going. “I think I know who took Y/N but gods I hope I am wrong.” She brought her hand up to her face trying to hide her guilt, struggling to say what she was about to say. 

There was a brief pause. Everyone’s eyes still fixed on her. “Frieza took her. I had a feeling that he had been brought back for some time now...”

“What do you need us to do, Bulma?” Piccolo finally chimes in with his arms still crossed attempting to hide his concern at the mention of Frieza’s name. 

“We need to somehow get to Whis so he can bring home Goku and Vegeta.” She turned to him, anger in her eyes. She thought, how could she let this happen? An evil being came and abducted her best friend. She couldn’t get emotional now. “I’m thinking we use food, and lots of it!” 

Everyone nodded in agreement, they were going to stay up all night trying to reach Whis. You were a part of their family. The idea of Frieza having you scared everyone, they wouldn’t dare say it outloud but they were terrified that he had already killed you. 

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

White noise is all you hear. Your eyes flutter open and your consciousness comes with a pounding headache. Where were you? Nothing looks familiar. You thought back to the last thing you remember. Frieza. That bastard. Where did he bring you? You tried calming your breathing so you wouldn’t freak out. You start to look around, scanning your surroundings for anything that might help you escape. You felt that your hands were tied behind your back. Your chest feels heavy, there is something big and metallic hanging around your neck, you couldn’t exactly see it but you assumed it was some kind of collar to keep you from trying to leave. Great, now I’m a pet you thought. Wherever you were looked to be a spaceship of some kind. The walls were a type of metal that matched your collar, the floor you were sitting on was cold and there was no sign of anyone, not even Frieza. It didn’t look like a throne room, so where are you? You looked over to your right and there was a literal king sized bed floating in mid air, illuminated blue from the bottom. On your left was a large and exquisite dining area. Okay, so you’re probably in someone's quarters. Why?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the sliding of the quarter’s door. You slowly slid back into the wall you were leaning against in hopes that you’d blend in, not to be seen. With no hesitation Lord Frieza walks in, his strut more intimidating than ever. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, he instead ignores you completely. He walked over to his dining table and began pouring himself a glass of wine. After drinking the glass in one sip he finally spoke,

“Ah, comfortable are we, human?” His bright red eyes piercing yours, making you feel like prey under his predatory stare. “You see, I’ve never had the need for hostages so sadly, I do not have room for them.” He raises his hand to jester in the air in complete annoyance, but continues talking anyways. “You should feel honored to be staying in my quarters with me.” He twists his mouth into a smirk. 

“I liked my apartment better” You retorted, instantly regretting saying anything at all. 

“Ahh, a spunky little one,” He began walking over to you, his feet leaving behind a creepy mechanical sound. As he closes the space between you he leans down with one hand still behind his back while the other reaches for your face. He grabs your jaw, causing your lips to pucker out. Your jaw was still sore from the night before. He slowly lifts you so that you can look him in the eyes. “What is it about you that makes the monkey’s willing to do anything?” He questioned examining your face and body. His eyes continue lower and lower down your body until they snap back connecting your eye contact once more. 

The interaction was making you anxious. Your breathing became sporadic and Frieza started to notice this. With his free hand he ran a clawed finger up your abdomen starting at your naval and slowing when he got to your ribs just under your bra wire. This motion sent shivers down your spine. 

“Human lungs are so fragile, hmm?” His voice quieter than it had been only moments ago. You didn’t break eye contact trying not to let him feel superior in this moment. You didn’t want him to be the powerful one although there was no doubt that he was. He removed his hand from your ribs to run it over your face, he absorbed your energy from you once more forcing you to sleep. 

You fluttered your eyes open the same as before. This time there was sunlight creeping in from the window instead of the darkness that laid there previously. The ship must be facing the sun this time, before you were only able to see stars. There was something different though, you didn’t feel as cold as you did before. You actually felt very comfortable, you grip around you only to feel that your surroundings had been replaced with a soft feeling. Sitting up you realize where you were. Frieza’s bed?! When you look around he’s nowhere to be found. You had no idea how much time had passed or why you had been asleep in his bed. Your hands were no longer bound together but your collar remained where it had been before. You rolled out of the bed standing to your feet, you must’ve not been fully used to the gravity difference because you started stumbling. 

“Ha, this is very entertaining, please don’t stop on my account,” You knew that voice. It was Frieza. When you turn around you see him coming out of a room that was attached to his quarters. Your brows furrow in anger. 

“This isn’t funny Frieza, how long am I going to be here?” As time goes by so does your confidence in speaking to him. He needs you as a hostage, so he can’t kill you. Right? 

“I share my bed with you and this is the thanks I get?” he pouts. “Such a pity, I liked it better when you were asleep.” He added while he removed one hand from behind his back to pick at his nails. You were no longer entertaining him. 

You walked up to him, becoming cocky with your movements. “Listen Frieza, Goku can lock onto my location. You better hope he doesn’t pop up here and kick your ass!” you started waving a finger in his face, anger getting the best of you. Maybe you should’ve thought out that last part. 

Frieza grabs your wrist and your finger retreats forming into a fist. His grip was always so tight. “Ouch,” you tried to pull away but couldn’t escape his grasp. Frieza removed his free hand from behind his back to place it on the small of your back. You gasped at the action not expecting him to grab you by the waist. In one swift motion he pulled you in closer to him, your chests were inches away from each other. There was no calming your breathing, you were so nervous. 

“Just because you’re my hostage doesn’t mean that I have to be nice to you.” 

Silence. You had nothing to say, there was so much tension it could fill the whole room. You didn’t like him but something about how close you were caused a million butterflies in your stomach crying to be let out. You swallowed in hopes the feeling would go away. He was the enemy, why were you feeling this way about him? Before you could be in your thoughts any longer you felt something cold sneaking its way up your leg. You didn’t dare look down but you had a feeling you knew what it was. Frieza’s tail was climbing its way up your leg. 

Shit. What is going on?

Frieza looked down at your leg realizing his tail had you pinned. He released you immediately and left the room without a glance in your direction. The gravity became heavy once more and you dropped to your knees at the foot of Frieza’s bed. What just happened? 

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

Later that night you were laying in Frieza’s bed. He hadn’t returned yet so you were alone in your thoughts for hours. Whatever happened you had a feeling Frieza felt it too. What did this mean? You can’t be ‘sleeping with the enemy’. You had to get out of here before anything else happened. Before you could plan an escape, the door opens. 

“I-I feel the need to tell you that my tail has a mind of its own so don’t get any wrong ideas.”

You didn’t answer. What would you even say to that? The air wasn’t awkward, as soon as he re-entered the room the tension was back. This was the first time Frieza sounded unsure of anything. It was like your presence made him weak. He walked over to the bed. Uh-oh, you just realized that in the past however many nights Frieza had put you to sleep that you weren’t conscious and had no idea if Frieza was actually sleeping IN the bed with you. When he reached the side of the bed he untucked the sheets insinuating that he would be getting into the bed. Your eyes went wide, you froze unsure of what to do. You turn over to face away from him, you felt his movement as he got under the covers. He shifts around to get comfortable. Well this couldn’t get anymore awkward. Your thoughts running wild it was getting harder to control them. You turned over on your side this time facing him, he was laying with his hands behind his head staring blankly at the ceiling. You could finally decipher the tension you had been feeling, it was sexual. Your desires becoming hard to ignore. Your cheeks give off heat leaving behind a rosy hue. You closed your eyes tightly trying not to think about all the things you’d wish he’d do to you. 

“Please do control yourself little one, I can smell your arousal from over here.” 

You froze. He can smell you? This was embarrassing. Could you use this to your advantage in some way? He seemed vulnerable, maybe you could use this to escape. Did you even want to escape anymore? Why were you feeling this way? 

This was killing you. You decided to just let your instincts take charge, before you knew it you had hoped on top of him, straddling him, holding his hands at the sides of his head. You were pinning him down. Under your grasp, he had become the prey. He didn’t respond, he did nothing. Maybe he was unsure of what your intentions were? You were breathing heavy but he was completely calm, unconcerned with you. He treated you as though you had no power or strength over him and it drove you mad. His eyes locked on yours, there was a moment, the tiniest moment of need in his eyes. He looked at you like he was enjoying this. With your instincts still in control you did it, you leaned down pressing your lips to his dark ones. The kiss was intimate but brief. Almost immediately you were shoved off, the roles had reversed. He quickly flipped you over and had you pinned down beneath him. Your hands were grasped tightly in his, he held them above your head. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His brows furrow, he was angry. Gods, he was so beautiful. Was he going to kill you now? Maybe he’ll say whatever to his grand plan and kill you right where you lay. 

He slowly removed his palms from yours, sitting up still straddling you. His face turned sour, his pointer finger lifted up as he swirled together a red ball of energy. He started laughing evilly. This was it. This was the end.

#frieza #lord frieza #dbs frieza #dbs goku #dbs whis #dbs bulma #frieza imagine #fan fiction #bryannawrites #friezaneedyfic #needy #fan fic smut

[anextraordinarymuse]

Waiting for your thoughts on last night's WCTH. Still not over that opening scene.

NONNIE. THAT OPENING SCENE. 

I feel like I was blessed and assassinated all at once. Like ... *le sigh* Do I even have any thoughts after that? I’ll try to string some together. This is so long ... are they ever not at this point?

Everything about that opening scene is absolutely fantastic. Playful, silly Nathan? Please me with more of this for the rest of forever. This is what we’ve been missing this season: the fun, the levity, the cute little moments of flirting and happiness. This moment was so fun and lighthearted. It was entertaining to see Elizabeth kind of put her foot in her mouth and be awkward for once although who can blame her for telling Nathan to undress because, same, girl. We’re so used to seeing Nathan like this that it’s fun to see the tables turned for a minute. More than that, though, this moment feels like a return to the Elizabeth we’ve known for so many years. She notes that Nathan is cold and instead of ignoring it, she immediately offers relief. There’s also a naturalness to Elizabeth, and Nathan, and their interaction in this scene. Elizabeth doesn’t seem nervous about offering Nathan something hot to drink, or a pair of Jack’s gloves if she has them, or even offering to warm up his serge. She’s nervous about her little Freudian slip of telling him to take off his serge, but only after it occurs to her how it sounds because Nathan’s reaction is so taken aback. Then, when she asks Nathan about the bouquet and he tells her he forgot to give it to her - this moment is so reminiscent of a husband telling his wife he forgot to do something. Even the way Elizabeth looks at him and then chuckles when he sheepishly answers her question is so ... intimate. It’s just the cutest damn thing.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of different reactions to this scene. One that caught me off guard is that some people are upset that Elizabeth mentions Jack here. “I used to do this for Jack on chilly mornings.” People seem to be upset that Elizabeth mentions Jack in this moment, and saying that this is an indicator that Elizabeth will always equate Nathan to Jack, or that the two men occupy the same place in her mind and heart ... and I have no idea where they’re getting that. I don’t feel that way at all. I had the opposite reaction. When Elizabeth made that remark, I thought to myself: this is what she’s missing with Lucas. She never mentions Jack to Lucas, or talks about her past, or anything like that. Elizabeth is comfortable with Nathan; she’s secure in their bond and their relationship, even though both of those things have taken a hell of a beating this season. And Nathan isn’t upset by the comment at all: he looks peaceful, and touched by the thought of it. Watch the little snort/chuckle he gives as he watches her. Elizabeth is sharing something of herself in that moment. It’s not huge, it’s not a crazy admission or even an overtly emotional moment. Just something quiet and honest. Also, expecting Elizabeth to just never mention Jack again is neither realistic or healthy. 

Her mention of Jack doesn’t disrupt the moment or their comfort/peace with another at all. You know what does? A rather subtle mention of Lucas. When Nathan says “I guess she thought that you were the next to be married” there’s a hidden gravity to it because Nathan is making a veiled reference to her relationship with Lucas. At this point, Elizabeth and Lucas have been courting for a few months, so if Florence thinks that Elizabeth is the next one to get married the natural assumption is that things with Elizabeth and Lucas are further along than we (or Nathan) think they are. It's this reference to the (uncertain) future that breaks the moment, not Elizabeth's mention of Jack.

Everything in this scene comes naturally to Elizabeth. She's acting by instinct. The way she helps Nathan into his serge isn't remotely forced, and neither is the way she runs her hands over his back to smooth it down, or grabs his lapels and begins to help him put the serge back on. This is part of what makes this moment feel so intimate: this is a glimpse into the future. It feels like we're looking in on a moment between a wife helping her husband prepare for his day. You know what else I found striking about this moment though? Elizabeth and Lucas have been dating all season, yet Elizabeth isn't comfortable with and doesn't really allow/invite much physical contact. We have repeatedly been shown that she struggles with that. Lucas wants to touch her; he wants her to be comfortable touching him. But that never happens. The few times Elizabeth does allow that physical contact it feels ... maybe not forced, but deliberate. Like she's making a conscious effort to let it happen and be okay with it. It's not natural, it's not a compulsion. In fact, when it comes to Lucas Elizabeth's instinct is not to let him touch her - to withdraw. We have a great example of that in this episode, when Lucas is at the schoolhouse and goes to help her hang the banner and Elizabeth immediately withdraws from him. They hardly touch at all in that moment; Elizabeth immediately pulls away the arm of hers that is closest to him and then walks away without even so much as a brush against him as she passes.

This is the first scene that Elizabeth and Lucas share in this episode. Timeline wise, we can also reasonably assume that this moment comes not long after the moment she shares with Nathan in her house. It's an interesting juxtaposition: Elizabeth can't seem to keep herself from touching Nathan. She does it without thought or hesitation - in fact, it takes conscious thought to stop herself. But the opposite is true with Lucas: her natural inclination is to keep her distance with him, and it takes conscious thought to allow or initiate contact with him. Elizabeth's actions and instincts give her away. Her heart belongs to someone else, and she's instinctively trying to preserve the sanctity of that bond and that relationship (as in, you don't let someone else hold your hand or be in your physical space when you're in a relationship with someone else). The roles should be flipped - Elizabeth should be withdrawing from Nathan and any opportunity for closeness with him, physical or emotional, and seeking them out with Lucas - but she isn't. She says she's in a relationship with Lucas, but she behaves like she's in a relationship with Nathan. And this has been the crux of her struggle this season: this misalignment between word and deed, between heart and head. Nathan and Elizabeth haven't went on a single date this season, shared a single meal, etc. but we have undoubtedly been watching their relationship grow and progress and struggle all season.

And Lucas has finally allowed himself to acknowledge that. He goes to Elizabeth's house in the morning only to find Nathan already there (and inside the house); he goes to the schoolhouse later (and he says he decided to stop by on a whim, but we know that's not true - he stopped by because Nathan was at her house that morning) and catches Elizabeth staring at Nathan as he rides by in a moment where Nathan is oblivious to her regard. When Carson is talking to Lucas about his struggles with Faith, Lucas removes the veil he's put over his eyes. Elizabeth has never been in this with him - not really. He's in the middle of what's basically a lovers' quarrel. I think he's always known it on some level, which is why he's never accepted any of Elizabeth's invitations to enter her home. Lucas doesn't feel comfortable in such a private, intimate space because that space isn't his to occupy. When he finally breaks up with Elizabeth, he uses very deliberate wording: what he says tells both the audience and Elizabeth that Lucas understands and accepts that he's stepped into a place that he shouldn't be in. Let's break that breakup scene down:

Lucas: "Elizabeth, you've always maintained that love is worth fighting for. And that includes when it needs defending."

Emphasis is mine. Now, Lucas leads with this which sets the tone right out the gate, because we know that Lucas doesn't share Elizabeth's sentiments here. He hasn't fought for her at all this season; when Nathan confronted him and told him that he hadn't given up on Elizabeth, Lucas tells him to do whatever he wants and walks away. Lucas has been on offense all season.

Nathan, however, has been on defense. Nathan and Elizabeth actually, though they've been defending from different angles and against different things. Nathan has outright been defending himself as well as his love for and relationship with Elizabeth against everyone; but, in a more subtle way, Elizabeth has also been defending herself, and Nathan, and their relationship. We see some of this onscreen: Elizabeth declines Lucas's offer to confront Nathan about the Jack situation, rebuffs Lucas's attempts to show her physical affection, keeps her and Nathan's issues/conversations/interactions mostly private ... but this next bit of conversation makes me wonder about something else.

Lucas: "... And while I'm not resentful, from what I've seen, and from what you've told me, I believe that you and Nathan still ... Love is not just an emotion. It's also an act of will. It can't be demanded. It can't be forced. I want you to find your true love. And in order to do that, I want ... I need to set you free."

This was such a strong moment for Lucas. He is telling Elizabeth in a direct but compassionate way that he understands that she's not really in this with him - and that it's okay. He's bowing out with grace. But, this also makes me wonder how those conversations between Elizabeth and Lucas went that we didn't get to see onscreen. We know from things we've seen on screen that at least two of Elizabeth and Lucas's conversations were pushed off from the moment so that they could be discussed later. One of those conversations was about Allie after the stunt she pulled at the adoption ceremony. While it's subtle, Elizabeth does defend Allie when she's talking to Lucas by saying something about how she doesn't think that it's just a matter of explaining to Allie why Elizabeth and Nathan weren't together. How did that conversation go later? Has Elizabeth been quietly defending Nathan, and Allie, and her relationship with both in private moments with Lucas? Because it has been made clear this season that Elizabeth's relationship with Nathan, and Allie, is private and she doesn't really allow anyone else to get involved with that. Not really. Elizabeth and Nathan deal with their own relationship and issues, and they co-parent Allie and discuss her behavior and relationships, but no one else is really welcome in those conversations. We don't see Nathan even attempt to have those conversations with anyone else, and any time Lucas tries to talk about it with Elizabeth she shuts him down or deflects. And I do say that Elizabeth and Nathan are still co-parenting Allie, though we've mostly seen Nathan doing it alone this season. Still, it was no accident that when Elizabeth and Nathan were arguing at the parade she says "WE have to find a way to make things alright for her." That wasn't the royal we. Elizabeth means we as in her and Nathan.

And there's the rub, my friends. Elizabeth tells everyone that she and Nathan are not in a relationship but she never stops acting like they are. She chooses Nathan (and Allie) over and over again, without fail. Because love isn't just an emotion, it's a choice (or an act of will, as Lucas says). Elizabeth keeps choosing Nathan. Whether she means to or not, whether she's even consciously aware she is doing it, even in moments where she tries to do the opposite, the result is always the same.

And Lucas has finally accepted that. More importantly, Elizabeth has finally accepted that. She's finally made it to the place where choosing Nathan is no longer frightening. It's no coincidence that Elizabeth isn't ready to remove her wedding rings until Lucas breaks up with her - until after she's offered to give a pair of her late husband's gloves to Nathan. She is finally ready to let Jack go, and to stop hiding behind Lucas. It has been a long, rough season for those of us who have wanted Nathan and Elizabeth together, but we've made it! There is nothing in their way now; we, and they, have made it through all of the obstacles. The only thing left now is one last declaration of love: Elizabeth's.

And I just can't wait!

#Anonymous #nathan x elizabeth #nathan grant #wcth #will I never not write a novel length analysis for these two? #who knows

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

If you're still taking prompts you should do some rebuke and hurt/comfort!!

Sorry this took so long, but luckily there's a lot of it!! Hope you enjoy!

This is part of my All Too Well Splinterverse series, so a direct sequel to something about it felt like home somehow, cause there we are again in the middle of the night, and so casually cruel in the name of being honest. It won't make much sense if you haven't read all three of those.

read on ao3 here!

--

Bobby gives it three days. Three days where he catches up on missing homework and takes his antibiotics and a lot of naps and feels like a terrible person. And then he calls Luke.

“I fucked up,” he says the second Mrs. Patterson passes over the phone, without so much as bothering to say hello.

“Whoa, uh, okay,” Luke says, and coughs a little awkwardly. “Did you cheat on me or something? Are we breaking up? Cause if we’re breaking up, you gotta at least give me twenty minutes to get over there; no way in hell am I letting you dump me over the phone.”

“No! What? No.” Bobby’s out in the studio for some privacy; he sits up on the couch and runs a hand through his hair, grips the cordless phone a little tighter. “This has nothing to do with you! I fucked up with Reggie.”

“Reggie?” Luke repeats. “Dude, what’d you do? Kick a puppy or something?”

Bobby lets out a sigh that’s really more of a groan. To be fair, he probably could’ve started this conversation with just a tiny bit of context. “ No. I just… I think I hurt his feelings.”

Luke’s quiet for a really long time, in that thoughtful, pensive way he usually only gets when he’s writing a song. It’s usually accompanied by a lot of bouncing and fidgeting, because Luke gets restless easily, and if he can’t expel energy through his mouth, he’s gotta let it out some other way or he’ll implode. It almost brings a smile to Bobby’s lips, just thinking about it. Finally, Luke says, “Can I come over?”

Despite himself, Bobby’s stomach flips at the question. He and Luke have talked almost every day in the last week or so, but they haven’t actually seen each other in person since Luke got out of the hospital. They’ve both been too sick, and then Luke’s been trying to stay home as much as he can, build some trust back up with his mom.

“I might be contagious still,” Bobby warns him, rubbing absently at his chest. “No fever since the day before yesterday, but I’ve still got this cough I can’t shake.”

Luke scoffs, like he knows just as well as Bobby how lame an excuse that is. “Bro, I’m pretty sure I can’t catch the cold I gave you. If you’re not ready, I get it, but… whatever happened with Reggie, I think it’d be easier if we talk face to face.”

Luke pauses, then adds, “Plus, you know… I really do want to see you.”

Bobby has to swallow past a piercing ray of sunshine shooting through his stomach. “I want to see you, too. Okay, come on over, just know my mom’s probably gonna fuss over you.”

“Yeah, well, the last time she saw me, I was unconscious and dying, so I can’t exactly blame her.”

A smile tugs at Bobby’s lips. He and Luke may have gotten together under the strangest circumstances— and “together” is still sort of a loose term; mostly, they’ve just made out a couple times and Luke gave Bobby bronchitis— but at least they have each other now. More than that, even�� they both have their families back.

“Think your mom will be cool?” Bobby checks. “With you coming over, I mean? I know she’s been keeping you on kind of a tight leash. And I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“She’s barely met you,” Luke points out.

“Yeah, and the one time she did, she called me a kidnapper. And something in French that you refuse to translate.”

“Purely for your own good.” Luke’s teasing grin is audible, even over the phone. “Listen, Bobbers, that was an emotional day for us all, and Emily Patterson is hardly well-known for being calm and rational under stressful circumstances. But once I sat her down and explained everything to her, I think the ‘saved me from dying’ thing made up for the ‘hid me in your garage for two months’ thing. She likes you just fine.”

Bobby’s not entirely sure he believes him, but there’s no point in pushing it. “Well, if you need me to come over there instead, just let me know.” He starts to swing his legs off the couch, bending over to search for his shoes, but has to pause to cough into his elbow a few times, his chest twinging.

“Half an hour,” Luke insists. “And drink some tea while you wait for me, I don’t like that you’re still coughing.”

Bobby grumbles noncommittally, lays back down on the couch. “Just get over here, Patterson. I can’t deal with your mother henning over the phone.”

Luke breathes out a laugh, and it might just be the most beautiful sound Bobby’s ever heard. “Love you, too, baby.”

***

Luke hangs up the phone and immediately takes stock of himself.

The last week, living back at home with his mom and dad again, has not been nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Maybe he’s gotten more patient since running away from home. Maybe his parents have gotten a little more perspective. Maybe all three of them just needed a few months apart and a serious wake-up call to start seeing things through each other’s eyes.

Whatever the reason, Luke and his mom haven’t fought once since he moved back home, and his dad even told Luke he’d like to come to one of his shows once Sunset Curve starts playing again. They’ve had to establish a lot of new boundaries, the three of them, and quite a few ground rules— if Luke weren’t sick, he’d be in trouble, his mom said, but she thought his hospital stay and cracked ribs were punishment enough— but so far things have been good. And Luke would very much like to keep them that way.

So, he stands in front of the bathroom mirror and takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. The breath is free of congestion, doesn’t make him cough or hurt his ribs anymore. His face is a little red— purely just because talking to Bobby these days makes him blush like crazy— so he splashes some cool water on his face and waits until the flush fades from his cheeks before he heads out to the living room.

Emily’s sitting on the couch with her knitting, an old episode of The Brady Bunch playing low on the TV. She looks up and smiles when he enters, and Luke’s skin crawls a little. She gets this look on her face sometimes, when she looks at him now. Like she can’t believe how lucky she is. Like she still sort of expects to wake up and find she’s lost him. Again.

It makes Luke feel all sorts of guilty.

“Off the phone?” she asks him, a little redundantly, as he hands over the cordless. “How’s Robert?”

“Bobby’s feeling better,” Luke says honestly. He sticks his thumbs through his belt loops and rocks back and forth on his heels, standing awkwardly in front of the couch. “Can I go to his tonight? Something happened between him and Reggie, I was gonna help him out.”

Emily frowns, but doesn’t outright refuse, or accuse him of lying so that he can go out and play a club or something, like she might have three months ago. Maybe she really does trust him more now, or maybe she just likes Reggie enough to put aside her suspicions, but all she says is, “How are you feeling?”

Luke takes another slow breath, letting her hear how it doesn’t so much as catch in his throat. “No cough, no fever. Ribs only hurt when I get out of breath, but I’ll bike slowly, and we won’t be playing or anything. I’ll leave my guitars here, even.”

He sees it in his mom’s expression— the trust in him, the complete and utter belief she has that he’s telling her the truth. It’s something he might’ve taken advantage of, before. But for the first time in his life, he has absolutely no desire to lie to her.

Emily gently lays her knitting down on the coffee table in front of her and gestures Luke forward, stretching out a hand. He obediently leans down to let her brush his fringe aside and feel his forehead.

She hums approvingly a moment later and lets him go. “Ask your father to drive you. Will you be home for dinner, or are you spending the night?”

“I’m not sure,” Luke says, “but I’ll call around five either way?”

“Perfect.” She gives him that smile again— that look — and Luke turns away before he can think too hard about how much he doesn’t deserve it.

His dad is quiet on the drive over, but he lets Luke fiddle with the radio and kick his feet up on the dashboard, and doesn’t protest when Luke rolls the window up and down every five minutes. He parks the car in Bobby’s driveway, right outside the studio, but doesn’t shut the engine off. Something tells Luke to linger an extra moment or two before getting out.

“You need any money?” Mitch asks, finally.

No, but I’ll take some, Luke would’ve said, before, and then probably blown it on junk food or guitar picks or something. Instead, he shakes his head, leg bouncing, says, “Nah, dad, we’re just gonna be talking.”

Mitch nods and leans forward to peer through the windshield up at the studio. Luke follows his gaze. He can only imagine what his dad must be thinking: So this is where my son was living for two months because he didn’t feel safe at home.

“I’ll call home to let you know when to pick me up,” Luke says, desperate to fill the silence, and reaches for the door handle. “See you later, Dad.”

He catches half a glimpse of his father’s face as he heads up the drive: Mitch looks pensive and sad, and at least twenty years older than he really is.

Luke drags in a breath, and tries not to feel too guilty.

He’s barely rapped his knuckles against the studio door when it’s yanked open from the inside and Luke gets a faceful of t-shirt as Bobby tugs him into a strong-armed hug.

“Hey!” Luke laughs breathlessly. “I missed you, too.”

Bobby presses his face into Luke’s neck, tightening his hold. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, baby.” Luke rubs his back, trying to follow his instincts without getting too self-conscious. He hasn’t seen Bobby in a while, and somehow using pet names and terms of endearment was easier over the phone. Holding him and letting himself be held was easier when he was sick and hurting and had an easy excuse. But he doesn’t want Bobby to think Luke loves him any less, or that Luke’s ashamed of him or something, just because they’re both healthy.

Still. “We should get inside,” he murmurs, lips pressed into Bobby’s hair. “My dad’s kinda sitting in his car watching us, and I can feel him getting uncomfortable.”

Bobby snorts, his shoulders shaking under Luke’s touch. But then he nods and pulls away, swiping the back of his hand across his face; Luke thinks he catches the glisten of tears.

Inside the studio, with the doors shut tight and the sound of Luke’s dad’s car disappearing down the street, Luke sits Bobby down on the couch and says, “So. Reggie.”

Bobby’s quiet as he tells the story, his head ducked low and his hands clasped tightly between his legs. Luke keeps a hand on Bobby’s back, rubbing gentle circles as he listens to Bobby talk.

When he goes quiet, Luke takes a minute to breathe and think, before he carefully summarizes, “So… Reggie’s mad at you cause you didn’t wanna tell Alex about your headaches?”

“Reggie’s mad at me,” Bobby corrects, his voice breathy with exhaustion, “because I didn’t wanna tell him either. If he hadn’t caught me in the middle of one, I probably wouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“How come?” Luke tries for gentle, but he’s not sure he quite makes the mark. “You had no trouble telling me.”

“You’re easy,” Bobby grumbles. “I didn’t exactly have to try hard to make a good first impression. Doesn’t matter so much if you think I’m weak.”

“And it does with Reggie?” He doesn’t bother asking about Alex. Luke loves the guy, but he knows better than anyone how bitey and judgmental Alex can get. How slow to trust. Luke doesn’t much love showing weakness in front of Alex either. But Reggie… “Bro, Reggie just wants to be helpful. He’d care that you’re hurting, not that you weren’t totally together all the time. He wouldn’t think you’re weak.” He adds as an afterthought, “...and Alex would get over it.”

Bobby huffs out a laugh. He chokes on it, then turns away from Luke to cough into his fist. Luke rubs his back, feeling the tremors that the coughing fit causes, and winces in sympathy as Bobby takes a slow breath and rubs his chest like it hurts. Luke knows the feeling.

Acting on instinct, Luke reaches over and brushes Bobby’s hair back, pressing a palm to his forehead. He doesn’t feel warm, thank god, but he still leans into the touch, his eyes closing in relief, even as he mumbles, “Told you, I don’t have a fever.”

“I know,” Luke says softly, and really means, I’m sorry. “You want my advice, about Reggie?”

Bobby gives a tiny nod, makes a soft whining sound in the back of his throat that Luke is pretty sure is supposed to be a yes.

“You don’t have to try so hard. Reggie and Alex both, they… they want to be your friends. You just gotta let them.” He runs his hand through Bobby’s hair in slow, gentle strokes. “And with Reggie, a sincere apology goes a long way.”

Bobby nods again and slumps over to lay his head on Luke’s shoulder. “I’ll call him in the morning. For tonight…” Luke feels him tense, but when Bobby lifts his eyes to Luke’s, they’re open and vulnerable and honest, as he says, “Will you stay?”

Luke’s heart does a happy little flip-flop inside his chest. “Of course I will.” He presses a kiss to Bobby’s head and reluctantly pushes himself up off the couch. “Lemme just go call my folks and let them know I’m sleeping over. If I’m not back in ten, assume your mom’s kidnapped me to test out that aromatherapy treatment she kept going on about. And I’m bringing you tea.”

Bobby protests out of principle, calls him a nuisance, and a worrywart and a nag, but Luke feels Bobby’s smile on his back all the way out the door.

***

Reggie drops his bike along the wall beneath the Pattersons’ front window and skips up to the door, swallowing back the nerves drying his throat before quickly jabbing his finger against the doorbell.

Its chime echoes long and loud, enough that it makes Reggie flinch, makes him pick at his fingers and start to think that maybe coming here wasn't the best idea after all.

Because Luke’s still recovering. Luke’s got a boyfriend now. Luke shouldn’t have to spend time and energy worrying about Reggie and all his problems.

But before Reggie can turn around and leave, the door opens, and Luke’s mom smiles at him.

“Reginald! How are you, dear?”

“Very well, thank you!” Reggie smiles politely, bouncing on his heels a little. “How are you, Mrs. P?”

“I’m just fine, Reginald.” She leans against the doorway, her expression turning a little amused. “Did you need something, dear? Luke’s not home.”

“Oh, he’s not?” Reggie’s heart sinks. He clears his throat a little. “Um, is he… do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Probably not until morning. He’s staying at Robert’s tonight.”

“He’s sleeping over?” he repeats, surprised. Mitch and Emily Patterson don’t seem like the kind of parents who’d be particularly chill about their son spending the night at his boyfriend’s house.

It only then occurs to Reggie that maybe they don’t know Bobby is Luke’s boyfriend…

“I have the phone number,” Mrs. Patterson says, oblivious to Reggie’s conundrum, “if you needed to get in touch with Luke.”

“Oh. Oh, no, it’s okay.” Reggie fixes his smile back into place, swallows thick disappointment. “I’ll head over to Bobby’s, or… or I’ll catch Luke another time. Thanks, Mrs. P!”

He thinks she might start to say something else, but Reggie doesn’t hang around to listen. He scoops up his bike and disappears down the drive, pedaling as hard as he can so the adrenaline will overtake his complex jumble of emotions.

He shouldn’t bother Luke. He doesn’t really need him. He’d just been lonely, and his parents were fighting, and getting out of the house seemed like a really good idea at the time. Plus, he’s been sulking for days now since he yelled at Bobby, and Luke somehow always knows how to cheer Reggie up, even if Reggie wasn’t exactly planning on telling him what’s wrong.

But Luke’s with Bobby. Reggie can’t interrupt them. Luke will almost undoubtedly be mad at Reggie if he finds out Reggie shouted at his boyfriend. Bobby’s probably mad at him already.

As far as Reggie knows, Bobby might just turn him away on sight. Before Reggie even has half a chance to apologize.

Despite this thought process, Reggie’s bike skids to a stop on familiar concrete, bringing him to the realization that he rode to the studio without even thinking about it.

One of the doors has been left open. He can smell popcorn and spices carried out on the wind. He can hear Luke’s laughter, Bobby coughing, a Rolling Stones album playing softly in the background.

It makes Reggie’s throat feel tight, makes it hurt to breathe. He’s so… lonely. He wants what they have, and knows he can’t get it.

He should just go home.

He starts to turn away, but Luke’s voice stops him, calling, “Reg, hey! What are you doing here, man?”

Reggie swallows and awkwardly turns back to face the studio, where Luke’s lounging in the doorway grinning at him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Reggie manages a tiny smile of his own that he can only hope is convincing. “Hey, Luke. You, uh… your mom told me you’d be here.”

Reggie starts to add, But I should probably just go, but the words die on his tongue when Bobby appears over Luke’s shoulder, looking pale and tired, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders up at his ears.

“Hey, Reg,” Bobby says, low and gruff.

Reggie swallows, his hands tightening their grip around the handlebars of his bike. “I just… I wanted to talk to Luke?” he says simply, which isn’t totally a lie. “But I can go… if I’m not welcome.”

“What?” Bobby’s expression crumples, and he pushes past Luke to step forward, toward Reggie. “Reg, no, I— of course you’re welcome here. You’re always—” He breaks off, glancing over his shoulder at Luke, who gestures encouragingly. Bobby sighs and turns back, squaring his shoulders. “Reggie, I need to apologize to you. Again.”

Reggie gapes, baffled. “Wha— I— Bobby, no, I should be apologizing to you!”

“Me? Why?”

“Cause I yelled at you.”

“Yeah, but you were right!” Bobby takes another step forward, close enough that he can reach out a hand to hover over Reggie’s, still gripping tight to his handlebars. “Reggie, I’m not good at asking for help. I’m not used to being seen as weak and not having that be a bad thing. But I’m done lying, and I’m done hiding things. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Reg. And I do want to be your friend.” He takes a deep breath, shoots Luke another quick look, and then says softly, “I’m gonna start being better, Reggie. I promise. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t trust you. Like I didn’t like you. I do. I really do.”

Reggie’s left speechless, and a little choked. He stands there for a few moments, his mouth working but no sound coming out, and stares at Luke and Bobby both, searching their faces for any hint of a sign from either of them that Bobby’s kidding or making fun of him.

Reggie knows Bobby doesn’t mean it— liking him — the way Reggie wants him to, the way Reggie likes him back. But it still puts a lump in his throat, to hear Bobby say it at all — Bobby who never admits to liking anyone!

Reggie doesn’t realize he’s started crying until he tastes salt on his lips and Luke bounds forward to pull Reggie into his arms. That seems to break the floodgates open, then; Reggie lets his bike fall to the concrete with a clatter, buries his face in Luke’s shirt, and sobs.

Luke doesn’t ask why he’s crying, or tell him to stop. He just holds Reggie tight, and when Reggie chokes out, “I was just so lonely, ” whispers, Shh, it’s okay, I know.

Somehow, they end up inside the studio on the folded-out couch. Luke gently pushes Reggie to lie down in the middle, and then immediately climbs in next to him, pulling a mountain of blankets over them both.

After a few moments of awkward hesitation, Bobby joins them on Reggie’s other side, lowering himself gently onto the mattress and curling up so that Reggie feels his warmth without them actually touching.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Reggie gasps out, his tears starting to slow.

“I wish you’d do it more often.” Bobby gives him a tiny smile and slowly slides his hand into Reggie’s. “You can’t get rid of me, man. I got you.”

--

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @molinapattersons @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #fanfiction #my fics #prompt fill #500 followers aaaah!!! #reggie peters #bobby shaw #bobby wilson #luke patterson #rebuke #peterpatter #lukebobby #boggie #angst #sickfic #hurt/comfort

[nctsworld]

no filters (just you)

✩ johnny x reader | pining | fluff | photographer au | 1.7k 

→ summary: in which you finally steal a peek at your best friend’s camera gallery and are surprised to find countless photos of you throughout it all.   → warnings: some drinking, few swear words, kissing

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

The bustling of the joyous occasion surrounds you. String lights glow under the summer night sky. They encompass the white linen tables topped with delicate flowers and ornaments, alongside all the dressed up people dancing, sitting, laughing, and overall having a great time. 

You’re one of the people sitting at a table, indulging yourself with a glass of champagne in one hand. However, you aren’t alone. Johnny, your best friend, is the photographer for the wedding and was allowed to bring a guest. Not much persuasion was needed when free food and drinks were involved. 

Taking a sip of your drink, you watch your towering friend finish taking a picture of people on the dance floor before he heads straight towards you. His camera sways lightly with his cool walk and when he finally reaches you, he feigns an exhausted sigh and sinks into the chair next to you.

“Man, photography just takes so much out of me,” he shakes his head while loosening his tie. 

“Does it really, though?” you cock an eyebrow, then flash him your signature smile. He reflects your expression, grabs your glass, and takes a sip. Actually, more than a sip, since he finishes all the bubbly without hesitation.

“I thought you don’t drink on the job.” 

Setting the thin vessel down, he shakes his head defensively, “I never said that. I said I don’t get drunk on the job. There’s a difference.” 

You snatch your empty glass back and begin to refill it as Johnny carefully removes the camera strap from his body prior to gently placing the camera on the table. He leaves a hand on it, giving him a sense of security over his prized possession (and because it’s the reason why he’s getting paid tonight). 

Johnny looks back and forth between the floor and the table when he says, “Sorry I couldn’t really be with you tonight.”

In the midst of a sip, you immediately refute his apology. “No, don’t apologize, Johnny. You’re working, and you know I can’t complain.” You gesture towards all the food and drinks. 

“But...” you play with the stem of the glass. “Can I at least see some of the pictures?” 

“No, you cannot,” he quickly answers, shutting you down like he usually does. You pout. 

“You know I couldn’t give two shits if you take pictures of naked girls in your spare time, right?” Sarcasm oozes from your accusation, but anyone walking by and hearing it wouldn’t know otherwise. 

“Oh, my God,” he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head from your lack of shame. You notice his cheeks start to colour, but you’re unsure if that’s from the drink or embarrassment. 

“Firstly, all the pictures of the naked girls I take are on my other camera,” he begins to count on his fingers, responding against your banter. “And secondly, I’m working on a secret photography project. Once I’m done, then you can see it.” 

“You promise?” you hold your pinky out. 

He chuckles. “I promise.” 

His pinky finger curls around yours, then both of you angle your hand a bit upward to have your thumbs touch. After the promise is sealed, the two of you have some fun on the dance floor until midnight rolls around and guests trickle more and more away. Johnny deals with the last bit of his job before he begins to drive you home. 

You relax into the passenger seat, looking at all the things that pass by in the middle of the night. Johnny’s music softly plays in the background and almost lulls you to sleep until he mentions he has to stop for gas. 

“I’m gonna pick up some snacks. Do you want any?”

A few come to mind, so you list them for him to pick up on your behalf. He smiles, jokingly tells you not to go anywhere, and heads into the gas station’s convenience store as he’s done filling his tank. While you watch him make his way towards the store, a lightbulb goes off in your head. Without thinking, your hand reaches in the back seat of his car and grasps onto his camera; you couldn’t help but jump at the chance to rummage through his camera gallery. 

The camera’s screen glares at you in the darkness of the car. It’s a bit painful, but you persist and smile back at all the people enjoying themselves in the wedding photos. 

Whenever you see Johnny’s shots, they never fail to amaze you. He has the ability to capture a moment in its purest essence. If a picture is worth a thousand words, Johnny’s pictures were worth double.

Suddenly, you notice a photo of yourself sitting at the table, glancing off to one side. You think to yourself that Johnny caught you in such a picture-perfect moment, he probably couldn’t help himself. 

You scroll further through the wedding photos, but realization gradually dawns on you when you notice that there are more photos of you than there should be at an event that wasn’t even your own. 

Hastily, you go to the master gallery page to view several photos at once. The camera almost drops from your hands as your fingers fumble with the back button to view photos that date back from weeks and months ago at mutual friends’ gatherings. 

Earlier in the summer for Taeyong’s birthday, you see glimpses of you in various shots. Laughing, smiling, wincing. You didn’t even know you had such facial expressions. 

There’s shots of your back peering at a sunset, looking off the balcony of Taeil’s new apartment from his housewarming.

Before then, there’s shots of you at a dinner party celebrating Mark’s promotion at work. 

Johnny’s taken so many photos of you without you ever knowing. How did you not realize? 

You hold the camera’s screen close to your body for a second, wondering if you’re simply Johnny’s artistic muse for a mere project or if there is something actually more to all this. 

Did Johnny really see you as more than friends? 

Did he view you the way you silently yearn for him, or did he only like you through a camera lens?

Turning your head, you see Johnny strolling out of the store with snacks in his arms. Faster than the speed of light, you ensure the camera roll is back to the last wedding photo taken and almost throw it against the back seat. You seethe, knowing Johnny would kill you if he knew you did that, but you maintain composure. You pull your phone out, playing cool just in time as he opens the door. 

During the rest of the ride, you try your hardest to pretend nothing’s wrong. Even when silent, Johnny’s known you long enough to know something’s off. He doesn’t say anything until he pulls up in front of your place. When he does, the suited figure turns off the engine, but leaves the music playing still. 

“Hey,” he whispers your name in the night air. It’s tender, but worrisome. Not a common thing you hear from him. “You okay?” 

You lie, barely nodding, and glance down with a slight grip on the snacks he bought you. The crinkle of the bags are a loud intrusion to the background music and silent air. 

“I…” You’re searching for what to say, deciding if you should continue to lie or not. 

“I may have went through your camera.” The truth croaks out of you, and you’re shaking your head because on top of your confusion, you’re feeling waves of guilt from intruding your best friend’s privacy. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” 

From your peripheral vision, you catch Johnny’s hand grip a little tighter on the steering wheel, then his grip relaxes and he rubs his thumb delicately against it. 

“Can I just say,” he speaks after a few passing moments that feel like eternity, into the tension still present in the air. “I’m not a stalker or creeper, I swear.” 

A beat passes. 

You cut the thick tension with a small laugh. He follows and begins to laugh along with you.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” you sarcastically add and look over at him. 

“Hey, you know I need to cover my grounds. I don’t need my best friend suing my ass.” 

Hearing the term “best friend” lingers and sits with both of you strangely in the air.

“Do you…” you begin to ask the question that may hurt the most, so you elect to ask a less loaded question. “Are you actually doing a photography project using my pictures?” 

He nods with the dim street light shining on him. He’s tired, you can tell, and you feel more guilt for keeping him up any longer than you should. Despite his wariness, Johnny still looks gorgeous, especially with the perfect lighting. Sometimes, he jokes that life is a runway for him, but in this moment, you begin to understand and agree with him. 

“Yeah, it’s a project on something that I consider beautiful,” Johnny glances over to you as the last word rolls off his tongue, and you’re smiling softly at his compliment. “I’m supposed to present it later this week. I was going to figure out a way to break it to you afterwards.” 

Hearing Johnny call you beautiful has your heart fluttering. You just want to jump out of the car, squeal so much that the neighbours would wake up, then you would run into your home and call it a night.

Instead, your body takes control and courage courses through your veins when you reach for the end of his tie. You daintily roll the tip of it between your fingers and let the haunting question free, ready for whatever follows.   

“Do you like me? As more than a friend?” 

You’re suddenly conscious of how hard you’re breathing and your heart flutters become hard knocks against your chest. Johnny’s face is now a few inches away from yours. At this point, you’re unsure if you’re playing with his tie out of nervousness or desiring for something more, or perhaps both. Your eyes attempt to lock with his and you note how he’s breathing just as hard as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Johnny this nervous before. 

“Yeah,” he exhales with a nod. You smell a small hint of the champagne scent against your face from his breath, along with the scent of his faded cologne. Johnny finally manages to match your gaze. “Do you?” 

Without a word, you answer his question by practically yanking his tie closer to you, meeting his lips with yours. 

The night ends with you two kissing breathlessly in the backseat until hues of orange and yellow begin to stain the horizon. 

#johnny x reader #johnny suh x reader #johnny seo x reader #johnny suh #johnny suh imagines #johnny suh scenarios #nct 127 fanfic #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct imagines #johnny suh fluff #nct #nct 127 #nct 127 imagines #johnny #neowritingsnet #myfanfics #mywritings

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 10

It is not better in the morning.

Previous

Read chapter 10 on AO3 or read below (but be warned, there’s mature content in this one):

Once again, it’s hard to sleep. I dream of kissing Cardan, who is actually Locke, and I am wearing Taryn’s pink prom dress. And that’s the tamest of them; I have more graphic nightmares that I won’t recount here, except to say that they are awful. Every time I wake up I am either too hot or too cold. I eventually decide I am most comfortable with one leg pushed outside of the blankets and fall into a light doze.

About two hours into my botched attempt at sleeping, I awaken to some odd noises and realize that Cardan is also awake. A moment later, I realize he must think I am still asleep, because when I look over at him there can be no other explanation for what he is doing.

As before, he is in slightly sharper focus than everything else in the room. I thought I’d find him lying down, but he is sitting up with his back against the wall, and his head is bowed forward. He is definitely trying to be quiet, but it is very clear to me from his weird breathing and the sound of skin on skin and the movement of his hand what is going on.

I shouldn’t watch. I know I shouldn’t. But I woke up turned on my side toward him and I can’t turn over or he might realize I’m awake. I can’t even imagine what would happen then. Would he stop? Would he come over? Would I invite him over? I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more.

His breathing grows more labored and he brings his free hand up to his mouth to muffle the sounds that fall out of it. I hate the way my heartbeat skips at every one, the way every muscle in my body clenches with want, with need. I stay quiet, though, watching with hungry curiosity as he curls over himself and makes a strangled sound, almost but not entirely swallowed up by his palm. His shoulders shake.

When it’s over—and I am marveling at how I just watched him jerk off—he sighs, a long, exhausted sigh that somehow really endears him to me. I want to crawl over to him and nuzzle at his neck. I want to drape my body over his body so we can keep each other warm. I want to lick his hand clean, a thought that I recoil from even as I have it. That can’t possibly taste good, and yet—

“Ah, shit,” he whispers. He’s looking down at his hand, and my delusional omega brain wonders if I should go offer to lick it. But then he pulls off one of his already dirty socks and uses that. He got a shower today, but being stuck in a dirty room the size of my stepmother’s walk-in closet negates that fast. Honestly, after being stuck down here for days, I’m not sure we’ll ever be clean again.

Cardan’s head falls back against the wall. His clean hand grabs for something at his side, and when he presses it to his face, I realize it’s my sweatshirt. He exhales again, and it must be my imagination, but it sounds suspiciously like my name. He takes a few, deep breaths, then puts it back down and curls up on his side, using it as a pillow.

I feel like I have been holding my breath this entire time, but I keep holding it a little longer, just in case. There is a pulsing, demanding heat in me, concentrated between my thighs, but, as I always do, I push it to the side. I curl my knees to my chest, and hope it will be better in the morning.

---

It is not better in the morning.

When I open my eyes, it is to the migraine that threatened me yesterday finally breaking, like someone’s jammed a railroad spike into my left eye. The fever is roaring, too, and I pull my leg back inside the blankets and wrap myself up tight, but my shivering doesn’t stop. My muscles have acquired a dull ache that makes me think they’d be bruised if I could peel my skin back and look.

I think I half-expected to find that Cardan had crawled on top of me in his sleep. Then I would wake up, then he would do it, and it would be an awkward thing to work around while kidnapped but at least the worst of my symptoms would abate. But Cardan is still by his corner where I’d seen him fall asleep last night, except now he’s curled up in a ball around my sweatshirt. So there would be no morning hump session, which is good, because I am not yet at the point where that seems more alluring than scary, awkward, intimidating.

My mouth is dry, and I turn over to reach for the water bottle, but it is empty. When had it emptied? Did I empty it?

“Cardan,” I whisper. That’s all it takes to jolt him out of sleep. He sits up, and rubs his eyes, which then widen when he looks at me so I must look really terrible.

“Shit,” he says again, which brings back echoes of him saying it in the night, which just makes my entire body seize up because he’d been jerking off—over me? or over the situation?—and there was an increasingly urgent part of my brain wondering why he’d had his dick in his hand when he could have put it in me. And then, ow, a cramp on top of everything else. As if everything else weren’t enough.

I paw for the pills the Bomb left me and swallow them dry, hoping for some relief from the headache, even though it won’t be immediate. Then I start to push up to my hands and knees.

“No, no,” says Cardan, shoving out a hand but not coming any closer. “No, you just— just wait, I’ll get them. I’ll get you more water.”

“I can do it,” I insist, but it’s taken so much effort just to get this far up and I’m trembling holding myself in place.

“Jude, you look—” He trails off and shakes his head. It must really be that bad. I want to tell him he doesn’t look much better. The circles under Cardan’s eyes have deepened, and he’s already sweating so much that his curls cling to his forehead. But he just sets his mouth in a line and says, “Let me do it.”

In almost any other circumstance I would hate being bossed around by him, but I just flop onto my belly and groan, “Fine.”

Cardan, however, is wired. He must feel as jagged and sleep-deprived as I do, but I can see the extra jittery energy in his every step. I did make that joke about thrusting, but what happens when you box an alpha in rut in a basement with no outlet? Where does that energy go?

Apparently into his fist, because when he pounds on the door it’s so loud that I nearly jump off the mattress. My head throbs. “Hey!” he calls. “Jude needs water!”

There is no answer for a solid thirty seconds. When Cardan glances at me, I am frowning. “They’re usually right outside,” I say, and my stomach plummets at the thought that we’ve been locked in here and just left with no food or water.

“They’re coming,” Cardan replies, probably to reassure himself. He bangs on the door again, this time with even more urgency. “Hey!”

A few seconds later the door opens, and it is not the Bomb standing there, but the Ghost, dressed in black, his face an inscrutable mask. “Alright, I heard you.”

Cardan takes a half-step back from the door, toward me. I pull the blankets tighter around myself and flatten my back against the wall. This was the outcome we had worried about. Everything Cardan had said and done yesterday was to keep our captors out, and especially to keep the Ghost away from me.

“You need to leave,” Cardan snarls, his hands balling into fists at his sides. I am surprised at the ferocity in his voice. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him hurt people with a shove or a cruel word. I have never seen him like this.

But the Ghost is unimpressed. Probably because if it came down to a fight between the two of them, he would definitely win, even though Cardan has more muscle. “You can relax,” the Ghost says. “I’m a beta.”

Cardan blinks, and so do I. But then his eyes narrow. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The Ghost sighs. “Ask your girlfriend if I smell like anything. Her receptors are on overdrive. Even maskers wouldn’t help.”

I expect Cardan to protest that I’m not his girlfriend, and I’m about to open my mouth to say he isn’t my boyfriend, when he looks at me and asks, softly, “Jude?”

The urge to deny anything is knocked right out of me, and I inhale, concentrating. It’s difficult to get anything beyond Cardan’s scent and mine, both of which hang heavy in the stagnant air, but I do pick out something. I look up at Cardan. “Just hand soap. He smells like hand soap.”

Cardan looks skeptical.

“I’m less of a danger to her than you are in this state,” the Ghost says. “I can help her out of the room. Let me.”

In this state. He has to know, then. Uneasily, Cardan moves aside to let the Ghost into the room, tracking him as he walks over and crouches at my side. The Ghost presses a cool hand to my forehead while looking at my sweaty, tangled hair.

“Why didn’t you say you’re a beta?” I ask, shivering.

“Wasn’t relevant. When did you last take medicine?”

“A few minutes ago. What about the Roach and the Bomb?”

“Do you introduce yourself to people by telling them you’re an omega?” It’s a rhetorical question, because he then says, “We have to get you into the shower. I’ll help you up.”

I nod. I know what I look like and what I smell like, and I am not so proud that I won’t accept his help.

“Hey,” Cardan begins, when the Ghost reaches out to put an arm around my shoulder, but I give him a look and he doesn’t say anything else, although the set of his jaw tells me he’s unhappy. He crosses his arms.

“Cardan,” the Ghost says, “can you go turn the water on for her? The old heater takes a while to get started. Make it warm to start, not hot. She can turn it up if she needs to.”

“Right,” Cardan says, and over the Ghost’s shoulder I see him nod and leave.

“He listened to you,” I marvel as the Ghost peels the blankets from my body and helps me to my feet. I should feel more self-conscious that I’m wearing only a tank top and underwear and my thighs are definitely crusty with residue, but he isn’t making a big deal of it, so neither am I. Besides, between my shaky legs and my bad ankle, I am a little distracted by the effort of not toppling over.

“Alphas. Temperamental, but they like to feel like they’re doing something.” It seems like a joke, but he doesn’t smile when he says it. He supports my weight easily, and with his help I hobble out of the room.

“You really don’t smell like much,” I inform him. “It’s weird.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Right.” Mentally, I kick myself. And the Ghost doesn’t say anything else, so I don’t either.

As he helps me across the little room, I am very conscious of my body pressed against his and his arm around my shoulder. My hormonal brain, ecstatic that I am being touched, is swimming, trying to tell me I am attracted to him. Am I attracted to him? I mean, I think he’s handsome, objectively. Should I have sex with the Ghost? I probably shouldn’t have sex with the Ghost.

But, of course, those images are provided to me unbidden because the omega part of me is ecstatic that I am willing to actually entertain my horniness. What if the Ghost helped me into the shower and he stayed there with me? And Cardan also stayed? And then what? My rational brain scolds. I don’t know anything about the logistics of having a threesome in a shower. It seems like an easy way to get more injured than I already am.

And while having sex with the Ghost would be simpler from an emotional standpoint because I barely know him, he is a beta, so it would not actually solve any of my current, heat-related problems. Also, Cardan would be sad.

Do I care that Cardan would be sad? That’s an uncomfortable thought.

“Oh, thank god,” I say, when we finally reach the bathroom and I see Cardan pacing back and forth in the little hallway and hear the shower stream hitting the old yellow tile in the bathroom. I can’t wait to be clean. I can’t wait for these heat-induced intrusive thoughts to go away either, but unfortunately that’ll take a little longer.

“Do you need any help getting undressed?” the Ghost asks, in a tone so dispassionate that even my omega hindbrain wilts at how obviously uninterested he is.

“I think I can manage,” I say, mostly because I can, but also because Cardan looks like he’s on the verge of tearing the Ghost’s throat out, and I still think the Ghost would win that fight but I’m suddenly not sure. We’ll all be glad when this is over.

So I limp into the bathroom, close and lock the door behind me, and tear off my sweat-soaked tank top and my underwear. Instead of standing in the shower, I grab the soap and sit right down, not caring if the floor is gross. I nearly start crying when the water hits my skin, and am almost surprised it doesn’t start steaming around me. It feels cool, so I turn it up a little until I’m comfortable. Then I begin scrubbing myself all over.

It takes a long time before I feel clean. My body still reacts to the lingering traces of Cardan’s scent that cling to my skin and hair. But I discover that someone’s stocked the shower with a set of floral shampoo and conditioner that claims to be “scent-dampening.” Small text on the back advises that they “may have diminished effect during periods of heat or rut,” but I pour a good third of the bottles out into my hands and wash and condition my hair, detangling it with my fingers. I wash my pubic hair, too, just in case it’ll help.

When I step out of the shower, feeling much better, I eye my gross clothes and dread putting them back on. But on the closed toilet, neatly folded, someone has left me an alternative: one of those loose maxi dresses you can find hanging on a rack in the back of a Walgreens, for cheap. I pull it over my head; it’s olive green, and too long, but it fits okay otherwise. There are also some soft black shorts, which I put on under the dress. There’s no replacement for my underwear, so I wash it in the sink, wringing it out as best I can, and leave it to hang dry on the towel bar.

When I step out, Cardan, who has now taken to pacing the main area with his head bowed sulkily forward, perks up. “Hey,” he says. “You look… wow, a lot better. Your scent’s— you’re better.” His nose wrinkles. “The shampoo’s a little weird, though.”

“Not a fan of lavender?”

“It just doesn’t really…” He gestures vaguely. “...like, go with you. It’s the opposite of what you are.”

I limp over to an empty chair and ease myself into it. Because I am so tired that my filter is totally worn away, I ask, “What do I smell like to you, anyway?”

“It’s…” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and fidgets. I notice his feet are still bare, and nearly blush, remembering what had happened to his sock. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I probably smell like a lot of things at once to you, too, right?”

I nod. “But if you had to choose,” I press, and brace myself, trying to anticipate the worst thing he could say. Methane gas, rotten fish, a dump?

“Cinnamon, I guess,” Cardan admits.

“What?” I sit forward in my chair. “You hate the smell of cinnamon?”

“No, I.” He looks flustered, but tries to channel it back into haughty and irritable. “Don’t be stupid. I’m going to go shower.”

“But—” I begin, perplexed, but Cardan has already disappeared.

The Ghost, who had been leaning silently against the wall, pushes off of it to approach me. “I should change your bandages,” he says, crouching down to expect them. I open my mouth, but he anticipates me and looks up, adding, “I know you have questions, but I’m only going through this once. Better wait until Cardan gets back.”

I press my lips into a thin line. I can be patient when it’s important, but I am feeling frayed right now. As he is re-wrapping my leg, I blurt out, “How do you know what to do if you’re a beta?”

“What, with your leg?”

“No, with—” I look down at him and find him raising his eyebrows. He had been joking. I sit back in my chair, pouting.

“My dad was an omega,” he explains. “My mom was an alpha. I saw all sides of it growing up, even if I didn’t go through it. Three days every few months I’d be on my own.”

“Was that hard?”

“It was what it was.” He gives me another look. “Now wait.”

I scowl at him. “Can I have a mandarin?”

Maybe happy not to be talking, he gets up to get one from a bag slumped on top of the mini-fridge. I catch it when he tosses it to me, and alternate between picking at it and taking sips from a fresh water bottle until Cardan emerges from the shower, damp and cleansed of sweat. He sits down across from me, and I scrunch up my nose. Lavender doesn’t really suit him either.

“I told Jude I’d only go through this once,” says the Ghost, who seems happier to remain standing. “But I think I can guess your first question. Yes, we all knew what was going on. Pretty much from the get-go. We didn’t say anything because you guys were being cagey for some reason, but we figured we could get you the supplies you needed anyway, no harm done. I only said something because I’m the only one here, and Cardan wasn’t going to give me access otherwise.”

Cardan shifts. I ask, “Why are you the only one here?”

The Ghost blinks at me. That wasn’t the follow-up he was expecting. “The Bomb and the Roach were called away.” He shrugs. “Might be good news, might be bad. Hard to say. They figured I could handle things alone while you were in heat. It’s not like either of you are in a state to go anywhere.”

“So, what, you’re all betas?” Cardan asks, cutting me off before I can follow up.

“Yes.”

He frowns. “We thought you were using maskers.”

“It wasn’t a bad assumption,” the Ghost says. “People in our line of work often do, so we can’t be traced by scent. Betas make good spies, too. Any profession that requires stealth.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense. “So were you recruited because you were a beta, or…” My stomach sinks as I consider another possibility. “You were all, like, born… nobody made you this way, right?”

The Ghost hesitates, then says, “I was, yes. The others’ stories aren’t mine to tell.”

Cardan gawps at me. “You’re thinking they were… what, de-designated? Why? To make them better at… crime?”

I shudder. Forcible de-designations were categorized as human rights violations by the United Nations in the early 1970s after certain unethical human experiments came to light. Sure, there are de-designation therapies out there for people whose designations cause extreme dysphoria or health complications, but they take months. The forcible de-designations are quick, and brutal, and painful, and if the subject survives the physical complications, they might not survive the psychological.

“I hope not,” I say, quietly, telling myself that my discomfort is brought around by the idea of anyone suffering such a painful ordeal, not because I like our abductors. I change the subject. “But you were recruited?”

“Yes.”

Man of few words. I hug my arms around my stomach. “Must be nice.”

“The job opportunities or being a beta?”

“Not having to deal with…” I peel one hand away from my abdomen and gesture vaguely.

“No, I don’t envy that.” The Ghost looks between us. “Although I do sometimes wonder what I’m missing out on.”

I glance at Cardan, who, to my surprise, actually looks angry. “If you had fresh clothes for Jude the whole time, why didn’t you give them to her?” he demands. “Why didn’t anybody stay with her? She was stuck in her gross clothes and she was alone, all day.”

Again, the Ghost looks slightly taken aback, although he smooths his face into his usual inscrutable mask in an instant. “The Bomb got these for her yesterday, but she was curled up in her nest and we didn’t know if she’d want to move or be bothered.”

“My nest?” I frown. “No, that’s not right. I don’t have a—”

“It’s a sad nest, but you did pile all the bedding in the room up in one corner.”

“No, that wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—” I look at Cardan in horror, as he is the one who put all the blankets and pillows on me, but he is looking away from me. I shake my head, and some wet hair falls into my face. “It’s okay that I was alone. I think it was better. Don’t worry about it.”

I feel the Ghost watching me closely, and shift in my seat. “It’s not shameful, what’s happening to you,” he says at last. “Plenty of people go through it all the time.”

“Not you,” I retort.

“Maybe not, but I’ve been around long enough and seen enough to know there are upsides to being an omega.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Like what?”

The Ghost’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to tell you?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Cardan, who’s slouching in his chair and pretending to ignore both of us. “Tell me how my life doesn’t totally suck right now.”

He looks at me, then at Cardan, then says, “I guess I don’t have anything better to do.”

Next

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jurdan fanfic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours