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norrisleclercf1 · 2 months

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They're My Future, You're The Past

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader x Lando Norris

Rating: PG

Warnings: Light Angst, fluff

Words: 3.6K

A/N: I can't believe this series is over, I think I've cried 4 times over writing this and I just, wow, the love it got and how patient you all have been waiting for this, I could never thank you enough for the support. Thank you! Peace Out

Our Boy Series Masterlist / Prev: Just Come Home To Us

The sun's glow casts on your face, warming your cold body. It was customary for you to sit here and watch the people move along the cobblestone. "Would you like some more?" Craning your head, you nod to the waiter, who smiles as they fill your mug with fresh tea. You turn back, watching the people as they pass the cafe. The same restaurant that was the one you met Charles at. Right up the road was where he asked you out, and now you're waiting for your past to catch you.

"You're actually here," The voice behind you sounds out of breath like they ran here, but you knew it was due to the cold. His blonde hair looks like silver strands, and his blue eyes look like bright orbs of stars. "Nico, sit." You open your hand to the chair across from you. Nico shifts his weight from side to side, wondering if he should. "Nico, we're not going to argue, we're not….we'll. I'm not who I used to be. Now, please, sit." You urge, wanting to put this to rest.

You initially didn't want to meet with Nico; you were perfectly fine with just leaving things as they were, not talking. But Elijah wants you to speak to him, having given you his letter, and all it left you with was annoyance and pain. It's been 16 years. Why did your son want you to deal with this now?

"Elijah called me," Nico clears his throat, looking everywhere but you. "He told me Lando was next to him the entire time." It was one of Lando's new rules: no more secrets and Lando wanted to be there when Elijah talked to Nico. He didn't want his boy exposed to whatever hatred Nico had to spill. "I wouldn't trash talk you to our son." You scuff and look into the sun, letting it warm your skin. "My son, he's not yours." You held no anger or venom in those words, more so truth.

"He is, my blood, my," "Nico Rosberg, stop right now." Your voice holds a stern edge that has Nico sitting up straight. "Let me make this clear," You lean onto the table, staring deep into those blue eyes your son mirrors. "Charles and Lando are his father's. You either accept that or will have no part in Elijah's life. And I don't care if Elijah wants to be a part of it; you will respect the two men who stood up and supported me from the moment they knew me." You hiss, keeping your voice low so you don't draw any attention to you two.

"Y/n," Nico huffs, tugging at the once vibrant blonde, now dull with specks of grey lining. "I don't have a problem with them, but that respect needs to go both ways," Nico pleads, but you roll your shoulders back, refusing to back down. "No, Nico, it doesn't. They will be "respectful" in front of Elijah, and I will only stand beside them if you give my husbands any reason to cut ties." Nico and you fall silent, staring each other down.

Nico cuts his eyes away, and you get a little thrill at how you could make Nico Rosberg back down. "Nico, we'll never be what we used to be. You taught me many lessons and some I didn't deserve to learn, yet they landed me two men I should've valued and trusted more. I damaged our relationship because of the lies I carried from us, and I won't do that anymore. I won't carry this hate we both hold into my life." You whisper the last part, fiddling with your tea.

"You're drinking tea?" Nico notices, and you look up, his eyes locking with yours. "Yes," Looking away first and watching a new yacht dock. "That's….good." He smiles at you softly, and you feel your lips curl slightly. "Um, Elijah texted me; he wants to come over and meet Vivian and the girls; is that okay?" Nico seemed happy about his son meeting his daughters and wife. You remember Vivian. She was a wonderful person and always so sweet to you.

"It would be wonderful; Vivian is a wonderful person. I just want Elijah to have another place he can go to. I want him to be welcomed, Nico; he deserves it. Elijah is a wonderful boy," Nico nods and sighs deeply. "I know we'll have to work on our communication, but we're going to the Alpes, and if Elijah wants to come, he can even bring Cecile." Nico smiles brightly at the thought of the two Leclerc-Norris children joining.

"I'm not going to replace Charles or Lando, Y/n. But I want to be a part of my so- of Elijah's life. However much you let me be there, I won't cross any boundaries or parent him, but I will be…..firm." You nod and sip the tea, letting it warm your bones. "We'll figure something out; I must get home now." Nico nods, stands up, and moves to hug you but stops. You smile; you have no ill will toward him; stepping forward, you let him hug you, and all those memories of being in his arms come rushing back.

"Do you think you could do a favor?" You give him a confused look, and Nico looks almost ashamed to ask you this. "Do you think you could talk to Lewis?" You raise an eyebrow, and Nico groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "After what happened to us, we haven't talked in a while." You admit, and your eyes grow wide. "Are you serious? He stopped talking to you because of you and I?" You couldn't believe this.

"Yeah, I didn't really appreciate me hurting you." You have to cover your mouth to stop laughing and sigh. "I'll see what I can do; he's coming over for lunch anyways." Nico nods, and you both stand there, unsure what else you could say. "I'll see you later, Nico." Nico nods and lays down some money, more than enough for the both of you.

"I love Vivian, Y/n, but you were the one thing I regret getting away. But," Nico takes a deep breath and smiles. "I think it was for the better, don't you?" You smile, a genuine smile that made Nico always stop and stare. "It was all worth it,"

"Cece baby, you can't give up just because it's hard," Lando begs, really hating that they're in the stage where if something was hard, Cecile would just stop working on it. "But, I don't understand it, Dad. Can't I just stop?" She whines, and Lando sighs, rubbing his hair. Sometimes, Lando really hates being a dad because he remembers what it was like growing up and how hard things were, but he just takes a deep breath and tries again.

"Cece, sit down. You need to know how to do this for your school. Now, you and I do it, or I get Papa or Uncle Max to help you. Now, which one do you want?" Lando asks, trying hard to keep his stern voice. "You," She whispers and throws herself down into her chair beside him. Chuckling, Lando fixes her hair and kisses her temple. "Math wasn't easy for me either, baby," Cecile whines and shakes her head.

"It's not that, Daddy. All the words get jumbled when I read them." She whispers, casting her head down, and Lando freezes. He tries to wipe off the panic look on his face and clears the knot in his throat. "What do you mean the words get jumbled?" He asks, not wanting to jump straight to his first thought. "I mean, the letters move across the paper, and it doesn't make sense. I try my best, but it makes it harder, and then it gets harder when I get frustrated. What's happening?" Cece turns, eyes wide and filled with tears.

"Nothing is wrong; we just need to schedule an appointment with your doctor. There's nothing wrong with you, Cece; your brain is wired differently, like mine. It's called dyslexia, I have it, and after we talk to your doctor, then I can teach you tricks on how to deal with it?" "Does that mean we can stop with the homework?" Lando chuckles and, kisses her forehead and nods. "Yep, go." Lando smiles as he watches Cecile run off into the house.

Lando sighed and buried his face in his hands and tugged his hair gently, "Shit," Lando didn't want Cecile to be trouble in school; he remembered and still how hard it is for him sometimes to read, but taking a deep breath he leans back in the chair and smiles at the doorway. "How long have you been there?" Charles chuckles and steps into the room, holding a tray of snacks, clearly about to go to waste. "Not long; you think she has dyslexia?" Charles places the tray down, and Lando scoops up an apple slice and munches it.

"Yeah, she said the same words I said when I was her age and finally admitted to having trouble." Charles hums, reaching up and tugging on his husband's signature curls, making him groan from the slight pressure. "You're stressing, stop stressing." He whispers, and Lando chuckles, swallowing down another apple slice. "She's our little girl, Charles. I don't want her to struggle." Charles sighs and sits in Lando's lap, who smiles and pulls him closer.

"Lando, she's not going to struggle, she's got you, me, Elijah, and Y/n. She'll be good." Charles whispers and wraps his arms around his husband's neck, who hums and rests his head on Charles's chest. "How's Elijah? Is he doing okay?" Lando asks, knowing your relationship with Elijah has been challenging since you returned. He's been a little stand-offish with you, something Charles has been trying to fix.

"Fine, he's with Arthur and Mama and wants to spend the night, but I told him he's coming home. I think he's worried that Y/n will be gone again when he comes home." Charles's fingers tangle in those curls he loves so much, and he takes in the hint of lemon in his shampoo. It was a weird scent, but Lando loves his lemon and mint shampoo. "Good, he needs to be home. We can have a movie night or something," Lando's words trail off as you step into the house laughing, and Lando tenses, hearing the familiar laughter of his fellow Brit.

"Be nice," Charles whispers; Lando grumbles and pats Charles's thigh so they can stand as you and Lewis come into view. "Hey guys," Lewis smiles, and Charles happily hugs his old teammate, and Lando stands there glaring. "Lando," Lewis smiles, and Lando bites his tongue but fails. "You knew everything, didn't you?" "Lando!" You and Charles blurt, having wanted lunch first before Lando jumped Lewis.

"What? He's in our house and probably knew where you were and didn't tell us! Why should I be nice?" Lando asks, and Lewis chuckles and lays his coat over the back of the chair. "Lando, let's sit this straight. She is my family, and you and I are friends, but she is my baby sister, and I'll toss everything away between us for her. Understand?" Lewis's eyes narrow at Lando, who stands there, trying to make himself look bigger.

"I don't like that," Lando grumbles, and you roll your eyes and fix your sweatshirt as Charles comes over and kisses you gently. You smile and pray he doesn't notice, but he doesn't and kisses you again. "They're going to kill each other," You whisper, but Charles rolls his eyes at Lando's childish antics. "Lando, I don't give a fuck if you don't like it. She's my sister, fucking deal with it." Lewis rolls his eyes but stops seeing his niece's dirty blonde hair.

"Uncle Lewis!" Cecile screams and comes barreling at him. "Hey, gorgeous." He smiles and picks her up a little bit as she giggles and hugs her uncle tighter. "Guess what?" Cecile asks as Lewis sits her down. You notice him wince, his back still hurting him. "What?" "I'm just like Daddy!" Lando turns and looks at his daughter, and you notice his eyes grow a little shiny.

"Yeah? How are you like Daddy?" Cecile gets the biggest smile on her face as she bounces around. "Daddy and I both see letters moving! How cool is that?" She laughs as Lando turns and clears his throat. "I think that's very cool, gorgeous; you and Lando are very good to each other." Lewis smiles, and Cecile gives a big, toothy grin. "Yeah, I think so too! I'm even going to work for McLaren one day." She smiles up at Lando, who walks over and pulls her close, hugging her.

"Hey! I'm home, Pa!" You smile and turn, greeting Elijah, who stops and stares at you like a deer in headlights. "Hey Ma," Your smile drops slightly, hearing the hesitancy in your boy's voice. "Hi, honey, um, your Uncle Lewis is here." Elijah seems to relax at that. "Sweet, I want his advice about my driving in F4." Elijah brushes past you and eyes Lando and Cecile weirdly. "Why is Dad crying?" "I'm not crying! Lewis stupid ass cologne is burning my eyes!" Lewis scuffs and hugs Elijah as they walk deeper into the house, discussing F4.

"Daddy, can you let go of me now? I'm hungry." Lando sniffles pulls back, and rubs the top of her head. "Yeah, go. I'll join you in the kitchen soon." Cecile nods and stops at you and Charles, kissing your cheeks. The silence around you three grows, and you smile at Charles and Lando.

"So I might've told Nico he can come over later tonight," You blurt, and Charles and Lando whip their heads your way. "Why?" Charles sputters, and you laugh gently and fix the back of his hair. "Elijah wants a relationship with him and his half-sisters; who am I to stop that?" "His mother," Lando groans, sitting down as he knows arguing with you is useless. "Lando, that is Elijah's fat," You stop yourself, knowing calling Nico Elijah's father before Charles and Lando wasn't the wisest thing in the world.

"I think it's a good idea," Lando whips around, staring at his husband in shock, but Charles has a delicate smile. "Of course, if he still comes home to us, yes?" Hearing such vulnerability and raw emotion, your throat tightens, and you waver momentarily. Charles was still scared that you and Elijah would be gone without notice one day. He'd come back from a race, and you're just gone. It's been his nightmare since he's gotten you back. "Yes, Charles, he won't stay the night there." Charles nods, the tension soaking out of his shoulders while Lando turns and scuffs.

"Dad, I want this." Lando turns and sees Elijah standing there, bag in hand, ready to go to Nico's place. Elijah, ducky, I know you do, but it scares me." Lando whispers; Elijah places his bag down and sighs. "I know, Dad, but I'm not a kid anymore. I know my real parents, but I deserve to see the man who could've been my Dad. I get that right, but you, you're the one who raised me, Dad. That's never going to change." Lando rubbed his hair hard, a sign that he was getting anxious. "I don't want you to be hurt." Lando mummers, and Elijah moves closer.

"Come here, old man." Lando chuckles, and Elijah hugs his Dad, kissing his cheek too. You smile, noticing they hug the same way by burrowing their noses in the person's neck. "I love you, not him. You and Pa raised me, my fathers, and that will never change." Lando nods and tightens his arms before dropping them as Elijah steps back. "I got the girls gifts. Nico says they like dress-up, and pink and mint blue are their favorite colors." You giggle, seeing the way Elijah lights up talking about his half-sisters. Elijah's phone buzzes, and he looks at his watch, smiling. "Nico's here. See ya'll later." You wave and walk outside, seeing two little blonde heads run up and hug your boy. Your husband walks out and glares at Nico.

Nico, taking it like a champ, waves and walks toward you. You step forward, and Nico goes, still seeing Lewis step out of the house with Cece. "Ignore them so he can stay as late as he likes, but he's not spending the night. Also, please be careful with nuts; he's allergic." Nico nods, listening intently as Elijah groans, the girls crawling over him. "Sometimes he gets anxious and hides it well, but he pulls his hair or runs his hands through it pretty hard. So if he does get anxious, just ask him to run an errand, and he'll be okay." Nico smiles and stops you by placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I've got it. You have to let me learn. But I'd rather ask him what he needs than hear it from you." You smile and move, hugging Nico back. You take a breath and start to giggle. "God, you still wear that god-awful perfume." Nico begins to laugh, and you shake your head. "Jesus, man, get a better perfume." Nico rolls his eyes and turns to his girls. "Girls, leave your brother alone," Elijah laughs and lifts them up, making them squeal. "Come on, little Rosbergs, in the car." Elijah opens the door, helps them in, and even buckles them in.

Your breath catches as you notice how similar Nico's girls and your boy look alike. "Bye-bye, Eli!" Cece yells from Lewis's side, and Elijah turns, smiling brightly. "Bye-bye, Cece." Elijah laughs and climbs into the car, and Nico smiles and nods at the men behind you and jogs to the vehicle. You hear giggles as the car drives off slowly.

You smile while watching Lando and Charles follow a recipe, something you've been craving from home. You miss how your relationship used to be, but you know you'll never get that back and must embrace the new dynamics in your life. Lando giggles when Charles kisses his nose, and you lean back, barely sipping from your wine glass—something Lewis clocks immediately.

"Y/n, can you show me the new flowers you planted?" You turn and nod, and Charles and Lando smile at you. You leave the wine behind and walk outside into your small private garden. You got lucky in Monaco to build an actual home and have a little bit of land. No one really wanted to live in the mountains anyway. "How far along?" He asks softly, turning you to smile brightly at your best friend.

"For a couple of months, I haven't told them yet," you whisper, touching your stomach and feeling happiness wash over you. "Lando or Charles's?" You laugh and hook your arm with Lewis's, staring at the fading tattoos, remembering all the nights you'd come to his room crying and tracing them as he nursed your broken heart all those years ago. "Charles's," There was no doubt in your voice.

When you returned from Finland, Charles and you were all over each other as Lando had to go to Mercedes headquarters and take the kids with him to visit his parents. You and Charles didn't leave the bed and may have gotten through a pack of condoms and said screw it, laughing as you both didn't care if you had another baby. Your therapist might judge, though.

"Great, just what the world needs, another one of you," Lewis teases, and you giggle, walking up to the gorgeous new butterfly bushes you had planted. "What do they mean?" Lewis asks, and you rock back and forth, sighing. "New beginnings. I think we all deserve a clean slate, don't you?" Lewis smiles, touching the flowers gently, admiring the vibrant purple. "Yeah, I think it's time to forgive the past," Lewis turns, running a hand over his braids before taking back your hand. "So, who'll be the godfather of this one?" You slap his chest, which makes him snicker.

"Nico," "I'll fucking sue!" Lewis barks, and you throw your head back laughing, seeing the smoke coming from his ears. "What happened to forgiving the past?" "Not for him! He's dead to me," Lewis lets go of you and storms inside, and you hear the giggles of Cece and Lewis grumbling as they come back out and head towards the karts. "Be careful!" "We will, Mama!" Cece waves, and you shake your head, like her father, with wild curls.

Stepping inside, you kick off your sandals and enjoy the cool tiles as you enter your open kitchen. The same kitchen you told them about, Cece. The memory makes you get choked up, but you quickly push it down, not wanting to worry the boys. Stepping deeper, you see Lando pull away, smiling as Charles chases him for another kiss and blushes to see you. You move between them and hug Charles, melting into Lando when he presses you into Charles more.

It's silent, and you enjoy it, hearing Charles's calming heartbeat and Lando's hums, which make you shiver. He chuckles, kissing your bare shoulder. "Did you not like the wine?" Lando asks, knowing you usually had a glass as they cooked. "Nah, it doesn't sit well with the baby," Charles chuckles. "Yeah, babies normally don't, wait." He pushes you back, his face filled with joy.

"Wait, what, baby?" You burst out laughing at those exact words said from the beginning. You knew this was the last chapter of your old life, your new one beginning. And you're going to love this new chapter.

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sinnersweets · 3 months

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DogDay x Reader part 10

<;-----part 9, part 11----->

A/N: Don't hate me for this...

One of the doctors stopped by my room and handed me some clothes and a towell that I could change into after I bathe myself. They offered to have someone help me out, but I kindly declined and told them that I could manage on my own. Once they left, I moved to the edge of the bed and crabbed onto the crutches. I take one step and DogDay comes into the room. “Hey Angel-woah hey whatcha doing?” “Hi, I’m just making my way to the bathtub.” DogDay closes the door and walks over to me. “Oh nonono Angel. I will not allow you to do that. I’ll carry you.” “It’s fine really-” Too late. He picked me up and set the crutches down. He carried me over to the bathroom. “Thank you.” “Of course, anything for my Angel.”

Now knowing that he liked me hearing him call me that made my heart flutter. Once we made it into the bathroom, he sat me down onto the chair that was in there. “There we go! Now I’ll go ahead and give you some privacy, but I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything Angel.” Before he stepped out, he placed a kiss on top of my head. Once he stepped out he closed the door but left a the door cracked open just a smidgen. “Uh-” “It’s just so I can hear you better Angel; cross my heart I will not peak.” I chuckled lightly and knew that he would be true to his word.

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Removing this gown I was given took a little longer than I would like to admit but once I did, I carefully moved myself into the tub; making sure to keep my cast out so as not to get it wet. I turned on the faucet and let the tub fill up with nice steaming hot water. I also threw in some bubbles because why the heck not. Since I was just washing my body, it should've taken me maybe five to seven minutes, but it’s been so long since I got to relax in a bath that I decided to take advantage of this.

“You doing okay in there Angel?” “Yes.” I sighed before saying, “Just relaxing. The water feels great.” I continued to sit in the tub for maybe another forty-five minutes before the water started to get cold. “Seems like the fun is over now.” I heard DogDay chuckle from behind the door. I let the water drain and reached over for my towel-which was not here with me. Shoot. I left that and my clothes on the bed. “Hey DogDay?” “Yes Angel?” “I uh- haha, left my towel and clothes on the bed. You wouldn’t mind grabbing them would you?” I could hear that DogDay had stood up and walked over to the bed as his voice sounded further away than normal. “Not a problem at all Angel.”

When DogDay walked away I realized that I had made a grave mistake. He would have to come in here and set the clothes down and I had drained the water!! Frig. “I’m back Angel-” “Hey haha so little problem; I-um need you to come in and hand me the towel and clothes while also not looking. Please.” DogDay didn’t say anything but the bathroom door opened up more and I saw that he placed his ears over his eyes. “Does this help Angel?” “Haha yes, just be careful when you come in.” DogDay nodded and carefully came in and set the clothes down. The towel was still in his hand when he asked me, “Do you need any help getting out of the tub Angel?” I thought for a moment before saying, “No I think I got it.” He nodded and then placed the towel down for me. “I’ll be outside if you need anything else Angel.”

I reached over and wrapped the towel over myself. I placed my arms on the side of the tub and tried lifting my body out, but I couldn’t seem to do it. This was a lot harder than I thought. “Okay I need help.” “Haha okay; I’m coming back in.” He came back in with his ears covering his eyes again. “Oh, I wrapped myself up so you don’t need to cover your eyes anymore.” His ears fell but his eyes were still shut tight. “You sure it’s okay to look Angel?” I had the towel wrapped around myself pretty good and I could hold onto it if anything. “Yes, it’s fine.” DogDay opened his eyes and smiled down at me. “My my, never thought I’d get to see you like this Angel~” My jaw dropped as I felt myself blush. I was not expecting that at all. “Haha oh Angel, you are too easy to tease. It’s cute.” He leaned down and picked me up. “I-I was just caught off guard is all...” Though his comment gave me butterflies. He set me back down on the chair before leaving to let me get dressed. “Once you get dressed get ready Angel.” “Ready? Ready for what?” “The show silly!” Ah right. The show that I was in but no longer in because of Bobby.

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I told DogDay that he didn’t need to carry me all the way down to the theater room and I was cable of using the crutches, but he just kept saying, “No no I wanna carry you. Plus who doesn’t want to be carried by a strong man or dog.” I couldn’t argue with that.

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When we made it to the theater room I decided to tell DogDay that Bobby was the one who injured me but he said he already knew. “You knew?” “Yeah; CatNap told me. He tried to stop her but she started waving a cucumber in front of him and it scared him away. When he finally got enough courage to stand up to her you were already on the ground. But not to worry Angel; we’ve got something planned for her.” “We’ve?” “Yep.” I thought he would say something else, but he didn’t.

DogDay sat me down in the front row. “Alright Angel. I must go get ready.” “Wait- before you go-” I grabbed onto his arm and pulled him down and gave him a kiss on his nose. “Mwah. Okay now you can go.” I smiled while saying that. DogDays tail wagged and if this was a cartoon I swear there would be hearts over his head while his pupils take a form of a heart. “Now I don’t wanna go.” He pouted while speaking. “I’m sorry, but I promise to give you another kiss after the show.” This cheered him up instantly. “Til then, my Angel~” He kissed my hand before walking off behind the stage.

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After thirty minutes the theatre started to fill up with the rest of the children and helpers. I then spotted this couple walking in. They headed up towards the front near me. “Pardon me dear but are these spots taken?” The lady asked me. “No ma’am.” She smiled before her and I’m guessing her husband took a seat. While she sat down, she glanced over me and saw the cast I was wearing. “Oh my, what happened to you dear?” “Hm? Oh- I had a little accident on stage. I was supposed to play Belle but then I fell.” I didn’t want to tell her about what happened because she likely wouldn’t understand it. “Oh, that’s just terrible. Pardon me for saying this dearie but I don’t see how this show can be well without you in it, haha.” Hearing her say that made me smile. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m sure my understudy will do her best.” “I doubt it.” The lady said before turning her attention to her husband. She was nice and sweet. I liked her.”

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Watching the show made my blood boil. We were at the part where Belle refuses to have dinner with Beast but that is not at all how it was going. Bobby kept agreeing to it which threw DogDay, Damian, Henry and Miss Delight off script. Though she kept throwing everyone off they all did a wonderful job of not breaking character.

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It was now the part where Belle was tending to Beasts wounds, and I almost wanted to hop up on stage and fight her. “By the way~ I want to thank you for saving my life~” Bobby spoke while getting really and I mean really close to DogDays face. DogDay leaned back, clearly uncomfortable.

The curtains closed and the lights came on. “Alright everyone! We will now take a fifteen minute intermission.” The sound of Miss Delights voice echoed through the theater. “You know; it looks like that bear up there actually likes the dog.” The lady next to me spoke out. “Haha; you have no idea.” “I’m running to the ladies room sweetie I’ll be right back.” She spoke to her husband. He knodded and she got up and walked away.

Once she left he leaned over and said, “So which kid were you thinking of adopting?” That caugt me off guard. “Pardon?” “That’s why you’re here right? To see which kid you want?” I looked behind me and saw a few more couples out in the crowd talking to some of the kids. “No sir I actually work here.” “Oh I see, my mistake.” He then leaned back into his chair and twiddled his thumbs around. These couples were here to look at the kids? I leaned over and asked him, “Which kid were you thinking about?” He laughed before saying, “Oh no me and my wife already picked out a kid we want. He plays one of the furniture's.” My heart stopped. There were only three boys that played that role: Henry, Todd, and Damian. His wife came back after a while and I sat in my seat fearing that they had picked out Damian.

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We were now at the part where Belle and Beast were getting ready for their dance. I couldn’t focus on the show anymore. I kept praying that maybe it was the other two boys but then I didn’t want either of them going away.

I leaned back in my seat and looked up at the ceiling and almost screamed. CatNap was up on the railings, and it looked like he was holding something with his tail. As I looked back at the stage, I saw DogDays head peak out from the curtain and winked at me before disappearing behind the curtains. What were they up to?

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Watching DogDay and Bobby waltz killed me. Obviously, Bobby was enjoying herself while DogDay continued to look displeased but tried to stay in character.

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Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the show was over. And thankfully; DogDay didn’t kiss Bobby at the end. He just gave her a high five which she clearly was not wanting. The curtains closed and everyone in the audience stood up and clapped. The curtains opened and everyone in the play was lined up holding hands and bowing. I gave a thumbs up to Damian and Hoppy while I blew DogDay a kiss. He pretended to catch it and placed it on his nose.

Everyone then let go of eachother and started walking backwards, everyone except for Bobby who was in her own head. “Oh thank you everyone! Thank you, thank y-” Splash! Bobby was soon covered in white paint. Everyone in the audience gasped but I laughed. Hoppy then hopped around her and threw some confetti on her. “The star of the show deserves some confetti!” Bobby was just looking out into the audience stunned. “Hey BB.” Bobby turned and looked at DogDay. “Never ever come near me or Angel again. KC! You know what to do!” Suddenly the trap door opened, and Bobby fell through. “Hope she had a nice fall haha!” I heard KickenChicken yell from off stage. I knew that it would be a pain in the ass for Edward; Bobbys helper to clean her off. The lady next to me leaned in and whispered, “I wonder who this ‘Angel’ person is because whoever they are it’s clear that he cares deeply for them.” Yeah, he does. “Oh look sweetie that’s him, the one dressed like a candle.” The women spoke out to her husband.

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

After a while the cast came down in their normal clothes and thanked everyone for coming. I didn’t have my crutches, so I was stuck in my spot while I saw the couple next to me walk over to Damian. “Hi Ange-” “Damians going to get adopted!” I didn’t mean to interrupt DogDay but I had to tell him. “Wait really?” “Yeah! I was next to the couple who want to adopt him.” I pointed over to where they were and DogDay followed to where I was pointing.

“They can’t take him DogDay, they just can’t!” “I know Angel, but doesn’t Damian deserve to get adopted and have a family?” “WE’RE his family!” DogDay took my hands and rubbed the top of them. “That may be true Angel, but he’s not legally mine or yours.” I wanted to cry but didn’t because I heard a familiar voice call out my name.

“Y/N!” Oh dear god no. I turned and saw my mother. Why was she here??! “Um Angel, who’s that?” “My mom...” DogDay swallowed hard. “Y/N oh finally I found you!” She walked up to me and gave me a tight hug. When she let go of me she looked over at DogDay. “And who are you?” “My name is DogDay, pleasure to meet you ma’am.” DogDay extended out a paw to give her a handshake, but my mother just pushed his paw away. “Y/N say goodbye to the dog because you’re coming home with me and your father until you’re all healed up.” “What?!” “What?!” My mom just looked at me and DogDay before saying, “Y/N sweetie you need to rest, and you need to be taken care of-” “I am!” “Nonsense sweetie. I bought a wheelchair for you; I left it in the back of the room. Let me go-” “Mom!” I yelled out to her. “I don’t want to go with you, I want to stay here with-” “Enough! You will not argue with me young lady. I am taking you home and that’s final! Now say goodbye to your...friend while I go get the wheelchair.”

When she walked away, I had tears in my eyes. DogDays paw touched my face and turned my head towards him. “Angel....” I started to cry and wrapped my arms around DogDay. “I-I don’t want to leave! And-and then Damian, he might get taken away by the time I get back! I-you-you need to make sure he doesn’t leave DogDay, please!” “Angel-” “PLEASE!” DogDay just stared at me before giving me a soft smile. “I’ll do everything I can Angel, you have my word.”

“I don’t want to leave you.... four weeks of not seeing you....” I continued to cry, and I could tell that DogDay started to get tears in his eyes. “I don’t want you to leave me either Angel; but your mom kinda scares me.” I chuckled and smiled. “Will you miss me?” DogDay then pulled back and held my face while saying, “Angel; I will miss you so much. Not being able to see you every day will break my heart.” Now he started to cry.

“Y/N! Time to go!” My mom was now next to me with the wheelchair. DogDay picked me up and placed me in the chair. He tried to let go but I held onto him. “Wait.” I grabbed his face, pulled him in and kissed him. Not on his nose, but his lips. It was fast but the few seconds that it happened was indescribable. I didn’t care that my mom just saw me kiss DogDay; it would be a while before I saw him again and I felt like it needed to be done.

“Tell Damian I’ll see him later, okay?” DogDay only nodded, clearly shocked by the kiss. My mom then started to wheel me away. I looked over and blew him one final kiss before saying, “Goodbye, DogDay.” He caught the kiss and placed it on his lips and said, “Goodbye, my Angel.”

A/N: As per requested by some of you I will take a break from writing (not really just a day off from this story) and will post part 11 in two days. Thank you for reading!! *runs away*

#sinnersweets #poppy playtime #x reader #dogday #dogday x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #bobby bearhug #kicken chicken #catnap #hoppy hopscotch

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 10 days

Note

pleaseee kisses prompts 14, 15, and 33 with patrick zweig 🙏🫠

Sure :D

Prompts: An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it; a kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished; a fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.

Warnings: Fluff; flirty Patrick; fake dating; smooches

Summary: Finding your plus one to a wedding at the last minute on Tinder had been dicey, sure, but you couldn't have anticipated this.

"Would you cut it out?"

"No." Patrick's refusal was muffled as he chowed down on another two mini crab cakes. You glanced around nervously, concerned that anyone you knew might see your plus one shoving every hors d'oeuvre that he could get his hands on into his mouth.

Finding your plus one to a wedding at the last minute on Tinder had been dicey, sure, but you couldn't have anticipated this.

The trade was straightforward: Patrick was your plus one to your friend's wedding, and you let Patrick shower at your place and crash at yours (or cover the cost of a motel for the night—he was cool with either).

But now, you were considering cutting ties early. If Patrick kept this up, then it defeated the whole fricking purpose of having him go with you in the first place. You didn't think that anything could be more embarrassing than showing up to a wedding alone while your ex was attending with his new girlfriend, but the way Patrick was stuffing his face was quickly proving you wrong.

"Seriously," You hissed, leaning in and elbowing him in the side, "You're either gonna choke, or I'm going to choke you."

Patrick grinned as he chewed, dusting off his fingers.

"Okay," He agreed before chasing the swallow with a swig of his beer. "Okay, you're right. I'll slow it down."

"Thank you."

"Need to save room for dinner, anyway. And cake. Are people still doing cake at weddings?"

"Sometimes."

"You think they will?"

"Honestly, they seem more like a dessert bar couple. They'll probably have a little cake for themselves."

"Explains why I haven't seen one." He folded his arms on the high table, glancing around the others mingling at cocktail hour. "Seen the ex yet?"

"No."

"You should've shown me a picture, I could keep an eye out for him, too."

"Better if you don't know what he looks like. Then you can be genuinely surprised if I introduce you."

"You don't trust my acting abilities?"

"With all due respect, you could be Ted Bundy 2.0 for all I know."

"Fake cast and missing puppy story not included."

You smiled in spite of yourself, and Patrick grinned.

"Tell me about yourself," He urged.

"What for?"

"Gotta pass the time somehow—especially if you're going to poo-poo me from the pu pu platter."

"There isn't a pu pu platter in sight."

"Can you just appreciate the joke?"

"It was a fine joke."

"C'mon. I mean, you're funny, you're gorgeous," He raised his hand, waving toward you, "Why does someone like you need to surf Tinder to find a plus one?"

You smiled, looking down at your drink.

"First of all, thank you."

"Anytime."

"Second of all...I don't know, since my ex left me I've been focusing on myself."

"No hoe phase?"

"Hoe—ly shit, you seriously talk to people you don't know like that?" You scoffed.

"I just mean, you know. Sometimes after a breakup, you wanna fuck around a little. Nothing wrong with that. It would explain why you're on Tinder."

"Oh? Is that you're on Tinder?"

"Honestly? No."

"Why, then?"

Patrick shrugged. "I like sex and sometimes I have trouble finding somewhere to sleep."

"How's that working?"

"Better than you'd think."

"Does the sex thing always happen?"

"Not always. I'm happy to crash on a couch."

"Mm."

"Not that I mind it when it happens. Thanks for answering my question, by the way."

"What do you mean?"

"About the hoe phase. You just said 'the sex thing' like it's a creature from the black lagoon."

"I did not—" You began to wind up for the next round of argument, but were cut off by the sound of your name being called. You winced, steeling yourself and urging, "Don't look."

"That the ex?"

"Yes."

"Perfect," Patrick stood up straighter, straightening his jacket. "Showtime."

"You sound way too excited—"

"Hey!" Your ex spoke up behind you, and you slapped a smile on, wheeling around and greeting, "Jeremy, hi!"

"How's it going?" Jeremy began to lean in for a hug, but went still when Patrick curled his arm around your waist. Your stomach flipped at the gesture, keeping your eyes carefully trained on Jeremy's face.

"It's going great, how are you?"

"It's good, it's good."

"Where's Francesca?"

"Oh, she's grabbing a drink."

"Awesome."

"You want another one, baby?"

Patrick's question threw you for a loop for a second, but you shook your head, smiling.

"I'm good, hon, but thanks."

"I don't think we've—met?" Jeremy's voice tipped up, and you had to fight off a laugh.

"I don't think you have. Jeremy, this is Patrick."

"Hi."

You watched Jeremy hold his hand out to shake, but Patrick just tightened his grip on your hip, drawing you a little closer as he offered, "Nice to meet you."

Jeremy's smile faltered as he drew his hand back, tucking it into his pocket.

"You two been together long?"

"Oh, gosh, a few months," You flubbed.

"How'd you, uh—How'd you meet?"

"At a match. I'm a tennis player."

"Oh! You any good?" Jeremy asked.

"He's the best," You answered without missing a beat.

Patrick chuckled softly, nose nudging against your cheek. "You're gonna make me blush, sweetie."

"Good," You smiled at him. A thrill shot through you as Patrick's eyes dipped to your mouth, and before you knew it, he was leaning in for a gentle kiss. You let your eyes slip closed, your lips working tenderly against his. Patrick's hand slid from your hip, sliding lower and palming your ass. You drew back, giving Patrick a warning look before turning to look at Jeremy again as he cleared his throat.

"I should go find Francesca."

"Sure! It was great seeing you."

"You, too—and nice meeting you, Patrick."

"Charmed," Patrick cooed. The two of you watched him turn, disappearing into the crowd.

"...That was good, right?"

"Yeah, it was good...Patrick?"

"Yeah?"

"Get your hand off of my ass."

"Sure." He gave it a pat before turning back to the table, eyeing a passing server's tray. "Is that shrimp cocktail?"

"That wasn't so bad."

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Little bit of both." Patrick leaned against your front hall wall. You took him in for a moment, taking in his loose tie, and his jacket where he was holding it over his shoulder.

"I think we were very convincing, so," You tipped your head from side to side. "You're right. It wasn't so bad. Thank you."

"Hey, sure. You can just venmo me."

"What?"

"For the motel."

"Oh! Oh, of course." You fished into your purse for your phone, biting your lip. To be honest, you'd been rethinking that particular part of the plan all evening. You hated to admit it, but Patrick was gorgeous, and had been so goddamn charming. He'd been funny, had made conversation with the other guests at your table, and he'd been perfectly affectionate—kisses on the cheek, the lips; a hand on your back, your waist. A time or two, he'd gazed into your eyes in a way that had felt so sincere and...Real.

Sure, he'd driven you nuts at the beginning of the evening, but he had grown on you.

"Um," You spoke up. "I was, uh...I was thinking."

"What about?"

"About the sex...Thing." You glanced nervously toward Patrick just in time to see his expression melt into flirty intrigue.

"Oh yeah?" He goaded. "What about it?"

You couldn't just come out and say it, right? You set your phone down on the counter and strode toward Patrick before you could talk yourself out of it. You grasped his rough cheeks, drawing him in for a kiss. He went without hesitation, dropping his jacket and curling his arms around you. You groaned softly, sliding a hand up into his hair and letting him steer you back against the wall. You parted your lips as Patrick's tongue probed them gently, his leg slotting between yours and rocking it back and forth.

You rolled your hips down against it, whining softly against his lips as his hands skimmed over your body. Patrick began to draw away, but you leaned up, catching hold of his lower lip with your teeth and giving it a rough bite. His hips jolted against yours, groaning low in his throat as you soothingly slipped your tongue along the skin.

"Do you still want me to Venmo you?" You asked.

"Not really. You still want me to crash on the couch?"

You hummed, pretending to contemplate before you let your hand slide from his curls to his neck.

"How about we start on the couch."

#Patrick Zweig x Reader #Patrick Zweig x You #Patrick Zweig/Reader #Patrick Zweig/You #Patrick Zweig fic #Patrick Zweig imagine #asks #replies #anon #kiss prompts

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varpusvaras · 2 months

Text

Beru found out about their new neighbour on a one pretty unremarkable day.

Owen was out that afternoon, gone to recycle some of the old machinery parts they had left after one of their perimeter sensors had finally been worn down by the increased storms. The desert was calm that day, thankfully, as Luke had started to become very restless from not getting to go outside in days.

Perhaps Beru should've realised that such restlessness was going to make Luke forget their usual rules, in his haste to get out of the house, as all of a sudden she noticed that the immediate area around the house was uncharacteristically quiet, and not full of noises made by little boy playing space battles.

She didn't, however, get too far in her searches, when there was a tall shadow casted onto the sand right next to hers.

"Excuse me-" The man didn't even get to finish what he was saying, when Beru had already reacher for the prybar in the toolbox and turned around, gripping it tightly and ready to strike.

The Suns were partially behind the man, obscuring his features momentarily from her. She was tall and broad-shouldered, standing straight with his head held high even in the heat of the day. On his arms he held Luke, who had his arms around the man's neck in a relaxed, loose grip.

That made her loosen up her grip from the prybar just a little. Luke had the gift of knowing when to trust people, even if sometimes that trust overextended itself a little. The man's hold of Luke was, however, also relaxed, which made him a bit more trustworthy to Beru.

The man bend down and placed Luke onto the ground, and by doing so, he gave his face enough shadow for Beru to see him better.

He looked young, if a bit weathered, with some lines already forming on his face, though Beru could tell that they were in places that usually got creased up when someone was constantly concerned about something. There was a long scar running down the side of his face, showing up starkly as the skin around it had tanned more recently. It was the thing that told Beru that the man had not spent too much time on the desert yet, despite his clothes having already been weathered as well, and his footing being even enough on the sand. His dark, curly hair looked like it had only now started to grow out of a very well-maintained shorter cut. Another sign of him being a newcomer.

Still, there was something familiar in him, something Beru couldn't quite place, and she wasn't quite sure if that should've made her relax more or be more suspicious of him.

The man looked at her. His dark eyes were just as weathered as the rest of him, but still kind.

Beru made her decision. She lowered the prybar, and let go of it with her other hand, grabbing at Luke instead.

The man's shoulders lowered a bit as well.

"Excuse me", he said. "I saw your nephew had gotten a bit far away from the house."

Beru looked down at Luke. He looked up at her, and gave her a bit of a sheepish smile.

"Yes", Beru said, and looked back up at the man. "Thank you."

The man nodded.

"No problem at all", he said to her, and then turned to speak to Luke. "Stay where you're supposed to. The desert is a dangerous place."

"But you were there by yourself as well", Luke piped up, not able to resist the urge to talk back just a little.

The man smiled at him. Beru though he had a rather nice smile, even if it was worn down as well. She wondered what kind of hardships he had gone through, out there in the Galaxy, to seem like he had been sanded down by a multiple of storms already.

"I've seen a lot of places that are worse than this, kid", the man said. "I'll be just fine."

He then nodded his head again at Beru, lifted the back of the dark blue cape he had draped over his shoulders over his head, turned around and walked into the desert without another word.

Beru watched him go, ever so slightly confused about the whole interaction. She only moved his eyes away when Luke tugged at her hand.

"Did you know him?" He asked. "I've never seen him before. Not here or in town."

Beru shook her head.

"No", she said. "Did he say anything to you?"

She had not had the mind to even ask the man his name. She looked back out in the desert. He had already disappeared somewhere beyond the dunes.

Luke shook his head.

"He did know you are my aunt", he said. "And not my mom."

True, Beru realised. He had called Luke her nephew, without any introductions.

She decided not to be too alarmed about that. There weren't a lot of people who lived in the area. Chances were that the man had just heard about them already, and remembered who lived in the house.

Still. Not a lot people lived in the area, and even less had any business around there either. On top of that, even though she was more than sure that she had never seen the man before, Beru thought he had looked awfully familiar in some way.

"He seemed nice", Luke said. "He felt nice."

"If you say so, my little sun", Beru said. "Your feelings are often very precise."

She decided not to tell Owen about the man that evening. He would've just gotten unnecessarily worried about it.

----

Beru saw a dark blue cape in the corner of her eye.

When she turned, it wasn't the man from the desert, even if she was sure it was the same cape, with the tattered edges and faded shoulders.

She did know the man wearing it, though. Ben seemed to feel her eyes on him, as he also turned to look at her, and very briefly nodded at her before he went back to dealing with a customer.

Beru thought about it as she went on her business, and she walked back by Ben's stall as she came back.

Ben was already packing up by then, and Beru saw that he had also made purchases, as he was tying some wares that Beru didn't believe he had brought all the way from his house to the town. At the top were a new bedroll, and a pair of boots that even from afar looked too big for Ben's feet.

Beru smiled, before turning away. It really seemed like Ben wasn't alone anymore. That was good.

#idk just wanted to write something about desert husbands #a hot new bombshell has just entered the desert #sw #tcw #my writing #snippets #beru whitesun #commander cody #luke skywalker #obi wan kenobi #codywan #desert husbands #post order 66 au #Star Writing

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 3 months

Text

Shattered.

adjective ‘very upset’

in which, your trying to live a normal life as much as you can, but when you bump into the handsome doctor again, and realise he’s got questions, questions that you can’t answer and thats when you realise just how much your longing for that perfect fairy tale ending.

word count - 5.6k

authors note - ahhh!! i’m so sorry that the wait for this chapter has been so long, but i’ve got over my writers block now and am so excited to get back to writing for your guys, before we start i would just like to thank the beautiful @missbearforfun for helping me with this story, i honestly would not have been able to do this without them, so mwah!!

warnings - mentions of domestic abuse, hospitals, some mild swearing, corey, and nightmares. (if i’ve missed anything please don’t refrain from letting me know!!)

August 30th, 2022.

As you jogged around the local park, the rhythmic thud of your footsteps echoed against the pavement, accompanied by the familiar melodies of Fleetwood Mac streaming through your headphones. With your water bottle in hand, you embraced the solitude of the early morning, relishing in the peaceful ambiance of the park.

Lost in the music and the rhythm of your steps, you rounded a bend in the path and nearly collided with someone coming from the opposite direction. Startled, you stumbled backward, the sudden interruption jolting you out of your reverie. As your headphones slipped slightly, the sound of the stranger's voice broke through the silence.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" The voice was accompanied by a concerned expression, and as you looked up, you found yourself gazing into the eyes of a man, who looked just that little bit older to you.

His concern was genuine, and there was a warmth in his gaze that immediately put you at ease.

Brushing off the near collision with a sheepish grin, you assured him that you were fine. He lingered for a moment, his easy smile infectious, and before you knew it, you were engaged in conversation.

"Sorry about that, I should've been paying more attention," The man spoke with a chuckle, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

"It's okay, no harm done," you replied, returning his smile.

"I'm Corey."

"Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N)," you replied, returning his smile.

As the conversation continued, Corey's easygoing charm put you at ease.

"So, do you come here often?" he asked, his tone playful.

"Yeah, I try to jog here a few times a week. It's a great way to clear my head," you explained, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence.

Corey nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I totally get that. There's something about being outdoors that's really refreshing."

Before parting ways, Corey hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "Hey, I know this is perhaps a bit forward, but would you be interested in going for a jog together sometime?"

A smile spread across your face at the invitation.

"I'd like that."

February 4th, 2024.

Standing behind the counter at the cafe where you work, you felt a dull ache resonate through your body with every breath you took in. Corey's words from a few days ago echoed in your mind, urging you to discharge yourself from the hospital, convinced that you were wasting the doctors' time.

Now, as you struggled through the pain, you couldn't help but wonder if he was right.

He usually was.

Your hair was tied up in a high ponytail, a practical choice to keep it out of the way as you worked. The familiar routine of wiping down the coffee machine provided a small distraction from the discomfort that gnawed at you.

Despite the bustling atmosphere of the cafe, you felt isolated in your pain. Corey's presence loomed large in your mind, his words echoing like a relentless refrain. The memory of what he had done last night weighed heavily on your heart, casting a shadow over even the simplest of tasks.

"There’s no reason for you to be here," Corey insisted, his voice dripping with irritation. "The doctors have better things to do than waste their time on someone who doesn't need to be here."

You winced as his fingers dug into your shoulders, his nails leaving angry red marks that threatened to break the skin. The pain in your ribs intensified with each shallow breath, a relentless reminder of the trauma you endured.

But Corey's words cut deeper than any physical wound, adding a layer of guilt and self-doubt to your already overwhelming emotions.

"B-but I'm in pain," you protested weakly, your voice barely above a whisper, your stutter more pronounced in the face of his anger.

Corey's impatience only seemed to grow as he dismissed your concerns with a wave of his hand. "You're fine. It's probably just a bruise or something. You don't need to be taking up a hospital bed for that."

As he spoke, you felt a familiar sense of unease settle over you. It wasn't the first time Corey had minimized your pain and dismissed your need for medical attention. With each passing moment, the weight of his words bore down on you, chipping away at your already fragile sense of self-worth.

Despite the doubts that gnawed at you, a part of you couldn't help but wonder if Corey was right. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you were wasting the doctors' time. But deep down, beneath the layers of doubt and fear, you knew that your pain was real, and that you deserved to be heard.

"Please, Corey," you pleaded, your voice shaking with emotion. "I-I need to stay here. I-I need help."

But Corey's patience had worn thin, his frustration boiling over into anger.

"You're being ridiculous," he snapped, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "Get up and leave. Now."

As tears welled up in your eyes, you felt a sense of helplessness wash over you. Trapped between the pain in your body and the cruelty of Corey's words, you struggled to find the strength to stand up for yourself.

Just over a year ago, you were looking for a way to get some money into your bank account, and there was this little cafe on a road called Canal Street, that you had noticed was hiring.

Your heart fluttered with nervous excitement as you hesitated at the threshold, unsure if you had the courage to step inside. Pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, you took a deep breath and entered, the chime of the bell announcing your arrival.

Inside, you were greeted by the sight of a cozy interior, filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversation. Your nerves danced beneath the surface as you approached the counter, where a kind, elderly couple stood, their faces etched with warmth and hospitality.

With hesitant steps, you inquired about the vacant position, your voice barely above a whisper. The woman behind the counter noticed your trembling hands and the uncertainty in your eyes. With a gentle smile, she ushered you to sit down at one of the empty tables, her soft touch calming the jitters that threatened to consume you.

As she reached across to still your shaking hands, her touch was like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

February 6th, 2024.

On this rare sunny day in Manchester, Dr. Styles, known as Harry to his family, strolled leisurely around the duck pond with his six-year-old nephew, Noah.

It was a tradition for Harry to spend Tuesday afternoonswith Noah, (he always picked him up after school and they always did something to tire the young boy out) his designated day off during the week, cherishing these moments of familial connection amidst his demanding schedule.

Thursdays marked his other day of respite, but it was Tuesdays that held a special place in their hearts.

As they ambled along the winding path, Harry watched with fondness as Noah skipped ahead, his youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the calm demeanor of his uncle. The vibrant hues of the surrounding greenery were accentuated by the gentle rays of sunlight filtering through the branches, casting dappled patterns on the ground below.

The tranquil atmosphere of the duck pond enveloped them, the rhythmic quacking of the ducks providing a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Noah's animated chatter filled the air as he regaled Harry with tales of his adventures at school, his innocent enthusiasm infectious.

Harry listened attentively, his heart swelling with pride at the boundless imagination and curiosity of his nephew. Despite the demands of his profession, moments like these served as a reminder of the simple joys in life, grounding him in the present and offering solace amidst the chaos of the world.

As they strolled around the duck pond, Noah's eyes sparkled with excitement as he spotted the ducks gliding gracefully across the water.

"Uncle H, can we feed the ducks?" he asked eagerly, his voice filled with anticipation.

Harry's heart sank as he realized he had forgotten to bring bread for the ducks. With a sigh, he crouched down to Noah's eye level and explained, "M’sorry, buddy, but I forgot to bring bread today. We can't feed the ducks without any bread."

Noah's face fell, disappointment evident in his expression.

"But I really wanted to feed the ducks," he lamented, his lower lip trembling slightly.

Just as Harry was about to offer consolation, Noah's gaze shifted to an elderly couple sitting on a nearby bench, feeding the ducks slices of bread from a small bag.

"Look, Uncle H, they have bread! Can we ask them for a slice?" Noah exclaimed, his excitement returning at the prospect of feeding the ducks.

Harry hesitated, his brow furrowing in uncertainty.

"Noah, buddy, we can't just ask people f’their bread," he began, but before he could finish, Noah was already darting towards the elderly couple, his enthusiasm undeterred.

"Excuse me, can we have some bread to feed the ducks, please? My uncle H forgot!" Noah asked earnestly, his eyes wide with hope as he approached the couple.

The elderly woman smiled kindly at Noah, her eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Of course, dear. Here, take a slice," she said, offering him a piece of bread from the bag.

And just like that Noah was running off towards the water, as Harry kept a watchful eye on the young boy he cared so deeply for.

As Noah happily fed the ducks with the bread he had received from the kind elderly couple, Harry approached them with a grateful smile.

"Thank y’so much f’letting him have some bread. M’sorry about him, he's not shy to ask for anything from anyone," Harry apologized, his tone apologetic yet amused.

The women smiled warmly at Harry's words.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. We're happy to share," she replied kindly, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched Noah's delight.

The man who was accompanying her chuckled, his deep voice carrying a sense of camaraderie.

"That's the spirit. Kids have a way of reminding us to embrace life's simple pleasures," he remarked, nodding towards Noah.

Harry found himself drawn into conversation with the couple, their easygoing demeanor putting him at ease.

"M’name's Harry, by the way," he introduced himself, extending a hand in greeting.

"Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Mary, and this is my husband, Barney," Mary replied, shaking Harry's hand with a firm grip. "We've been coming to this duck pond every Tuesday for as long as I can remember."

Barney nodded in agreement.

"It's become a bit of a tradition for us. We find it's the perfect way to spend our day off together," he explained, a fond smile playing on his lips.

As they chatted, Harry learned more about Mary and Barney's life together – their love of nature, their shared interests, and the joy they found in the simple pleasures of everyday life. He found himself opening up to them, sharing stories of his own experiences and adventures with Noah.

"There's something special about being out in nature, isn't there? It's good for the soul," Mary remarked, her gaze wandering across the tranquil expanse of the duck pond.

Harry nodded in agreement, a sense of peace settling over him.

"Absolutely. S’moments like these that make life truly meaningful," he agreed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Talking to the two of them seemed to stop time, and before he knew it, the sun was already starting to set in the background.

As Harry glanced down at the Apple Watch on his wrist, he realized the time had flown by faster than he had anticipated.

He clapped his hands together, a smile tugging at his lips, and said, "Well, I best get going. Noah's got to have his dinner soon."

Mary and Barney nodded understandingly, their faces reflecting the warmth of their earlier conversation.

Just as Harry began to turn away, Mary's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Before you go, young man, I wanted to mention something," Mary said, her tone gentle yet earnest. "Barney and I actually own a café on the corner of Canal Street called Timeless Brews. If you ever find yourself in the area, you're more than welcome to pop by. We'd love to see you."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Thank you, Mary. That's incredibly kind of you," he replied gratefully. "I'll definitely make sure to stop by sometime."

Barney chimed in with a hearty chuckle.

"Consider it an open invitation, Harry. We'd be delighted to have you as our guest," he said warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

As Harry bid farewell to Mary and Barney, a sense of gratitude filled his heart.

In just a short time, he had forged a connection with this kindhearted couple, and he couldn't help but feel touched by their generosity. With a final wave, he turned to Noah, who was already bounding ahead, eager to continue their adventure.

As they walked away from the duck pond, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of warmth and camaraderie that lingered in the air. He knew that he had made two new friends today, and he looked forward to the possibility of visiting Timeless Brews and sharing more conversations with Mary and Barney in the future.

From a young age, Harry's fascination with the world of medicine was sparked by a pivotal moment in his childhood. At the tender age of ten, he found himself in the confines of a hospital room, his ankle throbbing with pain after a clumsy fall. As he lay in the hospital bed, surrounded by the reassuring presence of doctors and nurses,

Harry knew with unwavering certainty that he wanted to dedicate his life to helping others in the same way they had helped him.

Driven by this newfound sense of purpose, Harry immersed himself in his studies, excelling academically and setting his sights on a future in medicine. At the age of eighteen, his hard work and dedication paid off when he received the news of his acceptance into Oxford University's prestigious Doctor of Medicine program.

With a heart full of ambition and determination, Harry embarked on this new chapter of his life with unwavering resolve.

Over the course of six intense years, Harry immersed himself in the rigors of medical education, delving deep into the intricacies of the human body and honing his skills as a healer.

With each passing year, he grew more confident in his abilities and more passionate about his chosen field, fueled by a relentless desire to make a difference in the lives of others.

Upon graduating from Oxford at the age of twenty-four, Harry's journey had only just begun. Armed with knowledge, experience, and an unyielding commitment to his calling, he eagerly embraced the opportunity to put his skills to the test in the real world.

Eight months later, he found himself walking the halls of The Manchester Royal Infirmary, a newly minted doctor ready to embark on the next phase of his career.

Now, at the age of twenty-six, Harry finds himself living his dream. He's found fulfillment and purpose in his work, relishing the challenges and rewards that come with each day in the hospital.

Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle of his professional life, there lingers a quiet longing for something more – the perfect partner to share his journey with.

And then, you walked into the hospital – an ethereal presence that captivated Harry from the moment he laid eyes on you. Though he knows he must maintain a professional demeanor, there's an undeniable pull, a spark of connection that ignites within him at the sight of you.

As he goes about his duties, his thoughts drift to you, everything about you, wondering if fate will bring them together once more.

10th February, 2024.

As Harry's shift at the hospital came to an end, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. The late shift, starting at 10:45 pm and ending at 9 am, had been a challenging one.

He had encountered a variety of cases, from a patient with a shard of glass lodged near a femoral artery to a young man suffering from alcohol intoxication who had vomited uncontrollably.

Despite the intensity of these emergencies, Harry had remained calm and composed, providing expert care and ensuring the safety of his patients.

Now, as he made his way out of the hospital, Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of exhaustion creeping in. The long hours had taken their toll, but he knew that his dedication to his profession was unwavering. He looked forward to the weekend ahead, eager to recharge and spend time with loved ones.

As he walked through the hospital corridors, Harry's thoughts turned to his aspirations for advancement within the medical field. He had been diligently working towards a promotion to become the Clinical Lead, a position currently held by Marcus, who was set to retire soon.

Harry knew that achieving this goal would require dedication and perseverance, but he was determined to rise to the challenge.

As Harry made his way towards the exit, he detoured towards the doctor's desk where his colleague Miranda was stationed.

"Hey, M," he greeted her with a tired but friendly smile. "Just wanted t’give y’a heads up about the patient in cubicle five. They're allergic to morphine, but it wasn't in their notes, so be sure to double-check before administering any medication. Oh, and they're booked in for a CT scan at eleven o'clock."

Miranda nodded, her expression attentive as she took note of Harry's instructions.

"Got it, thanks for letting me know, Haz. I'll make sure to handle it," she assured him, her voice calm and confident.

Just as Harry was about to head out, another colleague approached him. It was Mitch, with his signature man bun and glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

Mitch was most definitely one of his best friends, they shared a dorm at Oxford and were lucky enough to both get a job at the same hospital. Mitch was specialised in paediatrics so they hardly saw each other when working but when they did they always had a good time.

They sometimes ate together on there lunch breaks.

"Hey, bud," Mitch greeted him with a grin. "What shifts are you doing tomorrow?"

Harry glanced at his watch before replying,

"I'm on an early. I'll be in f’seven," he answered, his tone weary but determined.

Mitch nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic.

"Early shift, huh? Well, try to get some rest, mate. You've earned it," he said, patting Harry on the back in a gesture of camaraderie.

"Thanks, man. I'll do m’best," Harry replied with a grateful smile, appreciating the support from his colleague.

As Harry stepped out of the hospital's exit, the cool morning breeze greeted him, stirring a newfound hunger in his stomach. It had been nearly five hours since his last meal, and the thought of a hearty breakfast was tantalizing. Toast sounded particularly appealing at the moment, simple yet satisfying.

Recalling the conversation he had with the couple at the park the other day, Harry remembered their mention of a cafe they owned nearby. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he considered the possibility of finding a cozy spot to enjoy a meal. The idea of supporting a local business while indulging in some much-needed nourishment appealed to him greatly.

With determination in his stride, Harry made his way to his black Range Rover parked nearby. Slipping behind the wheel, he navigated the bustling streets of Canal Street, the anticipation of discovering a new culinary gem fueling his excitement. Despite the morning rush, he remained focused on his mission, determined to satisfy his hunger with a delicious meal.

After a brief ten-minute drive, Harry finally found a parking space outside the cafe. With a sense of satisfaction, he turned off the engine and stepped out of his car, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. With each step towards the entrance, Harry's anticipation grew, eager to experience what the cafe had to offer.

As Harry entered the cafe, a small bell above the door tinkled lightly, announcing his arrival. He scanned the cozy interior, his eyes immediately landing on an inviting empty table by the window. Making his way over, he settled into the chair, already relishing the prospect of a hot cup of coffee and some toast.

Before he could even glance at the menu, the elderly woman from the park approached his table with a warm smile.

"Well, look who it is! I'm so glad you decided to stop by," she greeted him cheerfully.

Harry returned her smile, feeling a sense of familiarity and warmth in her presence.

"I couldn't resist," he admitted.

The woman beamed with delight.

"Oh, I'm thrilled to hear that! Someone will be with you shortly to take your order. In the meantime, make yourself at home," she said warmly before bustling off to attend to another customer.

Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling a sense of comfort settle over him in the quaint surroundings of the cafe.

As you stand behind the counter, wiping down the coffee machine, Mary, approaches you with a gentle smile.

"Table nine needs to have his order taken," she informs you kindly.

You nod in acknowledgment, trying to ignore the pain throbbing in your ribs and your lower leg.

Retrieving your notepad and pen from under the counter, you attempt to conceal your limp as you make your way over to table nine.

Approaching the table, you and Harry seem to recognize each other simultaneously.

Both of your eyes widen.

Both your mouths go dry.

You blink a few times, getting yourself out of the daze you seem to be captured in as you muster up a fake smile and ask him what he'd like to order.

Before you can finish your question, Harry interrupts you, his voice filled with concern.

"I wondered what had happened t’you," he admits, his gaze searching yours.

You tilt your head to the side, feigning innocence, though you know exactly what he's referring to.

"Oh, it was nothing serious," you reply casually, hoping to brush off the topic.

But it was.

Harry sighs, his expression filled with sincerity.

"Y’discharged yourself before your X-ray," he points out, his tone gentle yet firm. "You wouldn't have done that. You know doctors are there to help people."

You let out a resigned sigh, knowing he's right but unwilling to admit it.

"I didn't want to waste the doctor's time," you murmur, avoiding his gaze as you fiddle with your pen.

Harry's brow furrows in concern.

"Every patient is important, Y/N," he says softly, his voice filled with compassion.

He remembers your name?

"Y’shouldn't have discharged yourself. What happened to you?"

You muster up a fake laugh, hoping to deflect his concern.

"Oh, it was nothing much," you reply nonchalantly, though the memories of the past week weigh heavily on your mind. "Just a few bumps and bruises. I'm fine now."

Harry sighs, his expression troubled.

"I was there to help you," he says earnestly, his eyes searching yours. "And I'll always be here to help you. Y’don’t have to go through these things alone.”

Harry's gaze remains fixed on you, his concern evident as he waits for your response.

You shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, the weight of his words weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"I appreciate your concern, Harry," you say, your voice tinged with reluctance. "But really, there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

Harry's brow furrows further, his concern deepening.

"Y/N, I can see that you're in pain," he observes, his tone gentle yet insistent.

You bite your lip, torn between the urge to confide in him and the instinct to keep your struggles hidden.

"It's just... life, you know?" you reply evasively, hoping to deflect his questions. "Nothing I can't handle."

Harry's gaze softens, his empathy shining through as he reaches out a hand towards yours.

"You don't have to handle everything on y’own, Y/N," he says softly. "Sometimes s’okay to lean on others for support."

You pull away slightly, the walls around your heart growing stronger as you push him away.

"I appreciate your concern, Harry," you repeat, your voice firmer this time. "But I'm fine. Really."

Harry's expression falls, a flicker of hurt passing through his eyes before he nods in reluctant acceptance.

"Okay," he says quietly, though the disappointment lingers in his voice. "If y’ever need someone to talk to, m’here."

But where would you ever find him?

You shift your focus to the menu in front of you, grateful for the temporary distraction it provides.

"And what can I get for you today?" you ask, forcing a polite smile as you glance up at Harry.

His gaze flickers down to the menu briefly before returning to meet yours.

"Just a black coffee with a tuna panini, please," he replies, his voice calm and composed.

You nod, scribbling down his order on your notepad as you fight to maintain your composure.

"Sure thing," you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your ribs.

With a tight smile, you turn away, doing your best to conceal the slight limp in your step as you make your way back to the counter.

You walk over to the coffee machine, the familiar hum of its machinery offering a momentary reprieve from the turmoil swirling within you. With practiced efficiency, you begin the process of brewing Harry's black coffee, the rich aroma filling the air as the dark liquid flows into the waiting cup.

As the coffee finishes brewing, you carefully pour it into a ceramic cup, the warmth seeping through the porcelain and into your hands. Despite the ache in your ribs and the lingering pain in your leg, you focus on the task at hand, determined to see it through with unwavering precision.

You carefully balance the tray in one hand, holding Harry's black coffee securely as you navigate your way back to his table.

Despite your best efforts to conceal it, the persistent ache in your ribs and the throbbing pain in your leg threaten to betray you with every step.

As you approach Harry's table, your foot catches on an uneven tile, sending you stumbling forward. Your heart races as you fight to regain your balance, but it's too late.

With a sharp crack, the glass mug slips from your grasp, shattering into pieces on the floor in front of you.

A gasp escapes your lips as you watch the coffee spill across the tiles, the warm liquid mingling with the shards of broken glass. Heat rises to your cheeks as embarrassment floods through you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you struggle to compose yourself.

Harry's concerned voice cuts through the chaos, his words a blur as he rushes to your side.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his brow furrowed with worry as he rushes to your side.

You freeze at the sound of his voice, your heart pounding in your chest as a surge of panic threatens to overwhelm you.

Memories of Corey's anger and violence flood your mind, leaving you trembling in fear.

Harry's hand reaches out to touch your shoulder, but you flinch away instinctively, your body tensing with apprehension.

"Easy, easy," he murmurs softly, his voice gentle as he takes a step closer. "I just want to make sure y’alright."

The sincerity in Harry's words sends a jolt of conflicting emotions coursing through you. Part of you longs to believe him, to surrender to the warmth of his concern and let him chase away the shadows that haunt you.

But another part, hardened by years of trauma, recoils from his touch, wary of the vulnerability that comes with trust.

Struggling to find your voice amidst the turmoil raging within you, you take a shaky step back, your gaze darting nervously around the room.

"I'm... I'm fine," you manage to choke out, though the words taste like ash on your tongue.

Harry's expression softens, his eyes filled with genuine concern as he takes in your trembling form.

"Y’don't look fine," he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, let me help you."

The sincerity in Harry's voice is like a lifeline in the darkness, offering you a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos. But the walls you've built around your heart remain steadfast, the fear of vulnerability too great to overcome.

With a heavy heart, Harry watches as you push yourself to your feet and bolt towards the back of the cafe, disappearing from sight before he can reach out to stop you.

Left standing amidst the wreckage, he can't help but feel a pang of regret, knowing that he's let you slip through his fingers once again. But deep down, he knows that he won't give up on you, not when there's still a chance to break through the walls that surround your wounded heart.

He flickers his eyes up, and catches the eyes of Barney, but the elderly man just casts his eyes back down to the floor.

As you reach the relative safety of the back room, you lean against the wall, gasping for breath as tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoes in your ears, a relentless reminder of the darkness that lurks within you, threatening to swallow you whole.

LATER THAT NIGHT….

Corey storms into the room, his footsteps heavy with anger.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you shrink back against the headboard, clutching your book tightly to your chest.

"Why isn't there any food on the table?" Corey's voice cuts through the silence like a knife, his tone sharp with frustration.

You stutter out a feeble excuse, explaining that you only just got home from work and haven't had time to cook anything.

"But... I was thinking... maybe we could order takeout?" you offer tentatively, your voice trembling with apprehension.

The suggestion only seems to fuel his rage further.

"You know I don't like eating fast food," he snaps, his voice laced with contempt as he strides towards you.

Without warning, he grabs your hair, wrenching your head back to meet his furious gaze.

Panic courses through you as you struggle to find your voice, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

"There's... there's not much food in the house," you stammer, your words barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

You hadn’t had time to go shopping today.

Corey's grip tightens, his fingers digging into your scalp as he leans in close, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're so useless," he sneers, his words dripping with venom.

"Fat, lazy, good-for-nothing..."

The room spins as Corey's tirade continues, his insults cutting deeper with each passing moment.

Desperate to escape, you try to push him away, but his grip only tightens, trapping you in a nightmare from which there seems to be no escape.

Suddenly, with a violent outburst, Corey grabs the lamp from the bedside table and hurls it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room.

Tears blur your vision as you shrink back against the bed, utterly petrified by the display of his rage.

As Corey advances towards you with a fiery rage burning in his eyes, you scramble to your feet, desperately trying to evade his grasp.

With a surge of adrenaline, you manage to slip past him, your heart pounding in your chest as you bolt towards the stairs.

But just as you reach the top step, Corey's hand snags your arm, wrenching you around with a brutal force that sends you reeling.

"How dare you run away from me?" he hisses, his breath hot against your face as flecks of spit land on your skin. "You should never turn your back on your boyfriend."

Terror courses through you as you try to reason with him, your voice trembling with fear.

"Corey, please... You're hurting me," you manage to stammer, but your words fall on deaf ears.

Corey's laughter cuts through the air like a knife, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic amusement.

"Hurting you?" he mocks, his voice dripping with disdain.

"This isn't hurting you, sweetheart. This is."

And with a sudden shove, he sends you tumbling down the stairs, your body crashing against the unforgiving steps with a sickening thud.

Agony radiates through every fiber of your being as you lie at the bottom of the staircase, your ribs screaming in protest with each labored breath.

Tears blur your vision as you curl into a ball, the weight of Corey's betrayal crushing down upon you like a suffocating weight.

With a gasp, you jolt awake from the nightmare, your heart pounding in your chest as if trying to escape the confines of your ribcage.

The events that caused you to head to the hospital in the first place continuously running through your head leading to sleepless night after sleepless night.

Beads of sweat cling to your forehead, your hair damp and tangled against your skin, as the remnants of the horrifying dream linger in your mind like a haunting specter.

As you turn to your left, the empty space beside you serves as a stark reminder of Corey's absence. The sinking realization settles in that he's likely out drinking again, his drunken antics and volatile behavior a constant source of fear and uncertainty in your life.

Gazing out of the window, you're met with the sight of a full moon casting an eerie glow over the world below. Its ethereal light illuminates the darkness, casting long shadows that seem to dance with malevolent intent.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you ponder the endless cycle of fear and despair that has become your reality.

How much longer will you have to endure this nightmare?

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munsonsreputation · 8 months

Text

move baby, i'm in love

word count: [2.8k]

warnings: smut (mdni or i will literally dropkick you so hard), oral (blowie), illusions to oral fixation and a tiny bit of choking (literally stevie just pressing down once), and mentions of piv.

summary: steve takes you out to italy in hopes of exploring the city and catching a break from hawkins -- but the both of you should've known things would get hot and heavy the second he put a cigar to his mouth.

The Italian sun just nearly stumbles over the city, the sky shifting from its bright clear baby blue to a soft orange that casts a light overhead.

The gold chain around your boyfriend’s neck glimmers against the shimmering rays nearly blinding you, yet you don’t make any moves to look away from him.

He looks tempting, and it’s almost like torture, the way he’s doing it so casually like he doesn’t know what effect it has on you.

The way you’re struggling to find any semblance of composure as you sit across from him with your legs clenched and your hands shaking.

His eyes look up at you past his sunglasses, a brow raised while he pulls the roll from between his lips.

“S’the matter, baby? Too hot?”

Yeah, way too fucking hot, Harrington

You take a deep breath through your nose, shaking your head as you smile through the torture and relax your legs, trying not to look so tense because you really don’t want to have to come up with a lie to explain it.

“N-no, I’m fine. Just a little warm out.”

You pushed your hair over your shoulder, hoping to find a breeze of air soon.

He frowns, cupping your cheek with his large palm making you grow hotter by the second. You must be scorching under his touch and your theory is proven right as his frown becomes deeper muddled with concern.

“You can wait for me inside if you want? I’m almost done with this little thing.” He says, gesturing to the cigar in his hand.

It takes everything in you to not jump his bones, but you fear you’re already teetering on the line. Literally moments away from telling him to put out the stupid thing and play with you instead.

Only you don’t.

You actually have it in you to compose yourself, taking the initiative to back away from his fingertips and clear your throat. Though the action alone burns, as if you had been stripped away from something…someone you needed.

“I…it’s okay, I wanna wait.” The crack in your voice failing to smooth out.

Your attempts at reassuring him went nowhere and you should’ve known it’d be that way especially because Steve can see right through you.

He knows the forced smile on your face and he definitely picks up on the crack of your voice — don’t even get him started on the fact that he’s noticed your legs clenching since a few minutes ago.

“Baby,” He laughs, slipping his free hand down across his spread legs, knowing what it does to you. “It’s much cooler inside. I’ll be there in a bit.”

His tone is almost sincere, as if he really is oblivious, but deep down you both know how this is going to end. It’s only a matter of when and who is going to make the first move — he knows you can’t resist.

He stands correct, observing as you shake your head and shift your chest out, rolling your shoulders back trying to be cool and in control, but you weren’t as nonchalant as you thought you were being.

“No, I wanna stay,” you say more sternly.

Steve chuckles again. He can see the shivers creeping up over your skin when he makes the move to take off his sunnies, setting them on the glass table before he leans closer to you, leaving only inches.

“Yeah?” He smirks, taking a drag of the cigar. “Why d’you wanna stay out here in the hot sun while I smoke this thing? I thought you hated the smell?”

His voice is low and teasing, but his actions still remain sweet, the whiff of smoke exhaled away from your face doing his best to not let the smell get directly to you.

“I do.” You whisper shamelessly, eyes beginning to go glassy with him so close to you.

The cigar seems to be a prop in his hand now. His forefingers twiddled it as he pursed his lips and slanted his eyes at you.

“Tell me then, baby.”

He’s not gonna make this easy, and if you had any patience, you’d love to play the little game, but right now you had none and just wanted to play with him.

“You…you look so good and I wanna watch you.”

Your voice comes with a whine, an insatiable one that has Steve suppressing a growl in his chest.

You watch his throat bob with a thick swallow before his palm finds its way back up to your cheek, cupping it and feeling the blood underneath rush blazingly.

Only he can get you like and likewise you’re the only one who can get his blood rushing, in other places not just one.

Steve’s better at playing the game especially when he’s got the upper hand like right now. You’re staring up at him lazily, ready to give him everything and more at a moment’s notice.

He’s the bait and you’re waiting to bite.

“Awww baby,” He says half-mockingly.

“This whole time I thought you wanted a try, all along you just wanna watch me, huh? Isn’t. That. Right?”

The last three words are accompanied with a tap of his fingertips against your plush cheek. It makes you go stupid, brain shutting off and the only goal you have is making him feel good.

Your eyes flutter, nearly closing, just having enough strength behind them to keep watching your boyfriend before you inhaled slowly, trying to form words that your mind could barely find.

“Mhmm, I do…I really really do, Stevie.”

He can feel you press your face deeper into his hand, and he has zero plans of retracting his touch away, wanting to make up for the way you ripped yourself from him earlier. Feeling your breath hitting his skin with how deeply you’re taking air in and out, trying not to float away too soon.

His free hand taps the blunt, shaking off the ash absentmindedly as he leans closer, letting his lips brush over yours cruelly for only a second, leaving you whining not getting a proper kiss.

A smile dances on his face, still so close to you yet so far away, knowing that it’s this back and forth that’s going to make it all worth it.

“Aren’t I lucky? Got to take my girl out here. Wanted to spoil her rotten, but all she wants to do is watch me.”

“I can do more than just watch.”

Your voice finds strength within its tenderness, wanting to prove to him how much you wanted…needed him right now.

“Yeah?” He challenged, “what did’ya have in mind sweet thing?”

You gulped, letting your palms rest on his thighs, your limbs already preparing themselves to position yourself on your knees in front of him.

“Let me show you instead.” You whispered throatily as if you’d already been wrecked.

He grinned, patting your cheek once more, followed by a peck on the tip of your nose.

“Go ahead, baby.”

His permission is like a symphony to your ears, giving himself to you in a way that only you get to know. No one gets him like this and no one ever will… just you.

Your knees meet the ground, settling between his legs and fingers working immediately.

“So big,” you murmur, hastily undoing his belt while your lips kiss his clothed bulge.

He grunts, throwing his head back weakly, knowing it doesn’t get any better than this. If he could, you and him would move here permanently and forget about the outside world completely.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He’s done playing mean, when you’re showing him so much affection in a way that should be sinful but to him, it’s heavenly.

Your eyes flutter up at him sweetly while your hands reach into his boxers, pulling his length. He watches the way his cock steals your attention, eyes adverting to the hardness that your hands can barely wrap around.

Your thumbs rubbing the leaking pre-cum over the tip and you’re doing him in by placing a kiss right on the head.

You’re not trying to play mean at all, but he can’t help but feel that you are.

Pure perfection right in front of him with your eyes flicking back up to meet his while your lips still rest on his sensitive skin.

The pearlescent seed painting your lips like gloss and all he wants to do to is pull you up and kiss you stupid before fucking you just as dumb.

But he settles, knowing this is what you want and he’ll get his fix in a minute.

“Fuck me.” He seethes, gritting his teeth and holding back on thrusting forward.

Your tongue peeks out, laving underneath his length as you enclose your lips around him for only a second before you pull away with a nice ‘pop’.

“In a bit, baby, let me have my fun.” You mutter, using your saliva and spreading the wetness over his cock with tight strokes, paying special attention to the slit.

He’s having trouble controlling his breathing, the small pudge of his lower stomach moving up and down spastically beneath his shirt proving it to you.

“Take your time sweet girl… I’ll be patient.”

“Hmm, I love you.”

He’s only a millisecond from responding that he loves you more, but you beat him, eyes veering up as your lips kiss the skin above his knee.

“…and I love you too, Stevie.”

He’s gonna fuck you so good when you’re done just to show you how much he loves you and your pussy.

You smile sickly sweet, before going back to work kissing your way back to his hard on. His cock pulses against your lips while you pepper pecks up the thick shaft and there’s a new ferocity occupying his senses the closer you get to what you really want.

“Show me some love, sweet girl.”

He nods, finally forcing the blunt to his lips as you wrap your lips around him and taking him down gradually.

Your head moves up and down, spit pooling around him, coating him in your wetness, leaving the rest of what you can’t fit, glistening.

Each drag of your tongue and skim of your fingers cupping his heavy sack brings him closer to the edge at an alarming rate.

“Fuck…” He blew the smoke out, shaking his head in awe, “your mouth is so good, baby.”

You hum against him, the vibration sending shockwaves up his spine and his cock. Fingers wire through your scalp, tugging mildly to get your eyes up on him in time to see him taking another swig of the blunt knowing it’ll drive you crazy.

“Should’ve known this would turn you on, baby.” He smirks cockily, taking his time to close his eyes and open them back up as he blows the smoke out.

There’s another whine, eyes rolling towards the back of your head with the image of him engrained in your mind.

You should really be scolding him about the health effects of smoking, but all you want to do is please him until the damn thing is gone.

“You just go hot for every little thing I do isn’t that right?” He continues to tease.

Seconds later, with no response given with you too busy and mouth too full, there’s a tap against your cheek, prompting your eyes to open back up.

Hairs that stick to your sweaty forehead are soon pushed away, his fingers knocking your temples with a grin on his face before threading them through your scalp and pulling you off.

“Words baby, c’mon, I know there’s still something up there.”

You clench around nothing, the effect of his words traveling straight to your core and it should be embarrassing that he gets you like this so easily, but you don’t have it in you to care one bit.

You gasp, catching your breath as you rest your cheek against his thigh.

“Y-yeah, you make me go stupid Stevie.”

He can see your hips wigging in the air, bottom raised up high in a position that makes him want to take you like that right here right this second.

He resists knowing he’ll get you in every position you can handle by the end of the night.

Steve’s grip releases from your scalp, falling down to your neck giving it only a slight squeeze before his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.

His cock is an obvious weakness, but so are his fingers.

You love them entwined with yours, wrapped around wrists and neck, inside the depth of you, and mostly when they’re in your mouth.

He answers your silent prayers, slipping it past your lips, letting you suck on it as your eyes flicker shut, getting lost in it like it’s as good as his cock.

Your hands don’t stop their movements, working your wrist up and down not too fast, not too slow, but just the way Steve like it. Your tongue working the same pace over his thumb — he can’t believe you’re real and thank God you are.

“You’re a smart girl to everyone else, but when I get you alone, f-fuck, you just forget everything and let me take care of it all don’t ya baby?”

You take a breath, letting his thumb fall from your mouth. “L-love letting go with you.”

His heart feels like it’s on fire the kind that swamps him in flames of all colors and should swallow him whole, but only it drives him crazier for you — you’re the fuel who keeps him burning and the only one who could do him in like this.

An admission that should get him riled up, and it does, but at the same time he knows that your words are a confession — you feel safe with him. Safe enough to trust him in a way you’ve never trusted anyone before.

With Steve, you can let go in more way than the other…but most notably in a way where you can love. Love him wherever you are in the world — in your shared dainty little hometown and out here in the middle of the Mediterranean sea.

He can’t help it, abandoning the stupid cigarette in the ashtray and cupping both cheeks in his hands as he leans down and pushes his lips to yours.

It’s messy and fast, a mixture of his pre-cum and the remnants of your lipgloss a sticky mess between the both of you, yet you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ravishing each other like it’s the end of the world and the only thing you both have on your minds are each other.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He says between kisses, no fight for dominance in it, just you and him mending together.

“Love my Stevie.” You murmur, clutching your hands around his cock, as his breath falters against you, his hips rising in tandem with your strokes.

“Love letting go with you too, honey. Love spoiling you to death even if it’s just m-me.”

You hate to do it, but you need to knowing he’s closer to the finish line and there’s one place you want the prize the most right now. So you nudge him away with your chin, pulling back and sitting back on your haunches as he falls back into the chair.

“Want your cum, baby… please give it to me.” You beg, voice going up an octave higher with need.

And your sweet boy never denies you anything, not his attention, not his cock, and most definitely not his cum.

“Take it all, baby.”

The costal view sat in front of Steve isn’t the one he’s admiring when a goddess is right before him on her knees worshipping him like this.

A work of art you are taking him down your throat as he sputters out praises from his mouth and spits loads into yours.

It’s only a matter of time before things get hotter and both feel higher than ever before.

“Move baby,” Steve growls in your ear, a handful of your ass in his hands with you now in his lap right where you belong.

The length of your dress hiked up over your hips and the bust of it pooling down your torso with your tits pressed against his shirt.

His length seated deep within you, squeezing him tightly as your arms wrap around his neck and your face burns buried in the juncture between it.

“Ooh, baby…” you whimper, beginning to move up and down with his help.

The two of you in a world of your very own — so alive, so lush.

Steve’s pretty sure your moans are music to his ears, something you always have in you, singing him a sweet melody on the balcony and soon he’ll have you screaming how much you love him.

He’ll be doing the same — after all it’s you he desires, and he’s more than in love.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: your honor, im guilty... of being a whore!!!!!!!! hope you guys like it <3

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3 @claireiscrying @we-out-here-simping @dreamerjj

#munsonsreputation #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington boyfriend #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington fluff

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mikachacha · 1 month

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𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 (𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜! 𝙱𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝚡 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

Synopsis: You have to work with Bada, your ex who cheated on you

T.W.: manipulation, deceit, angst, cursing, mentions of cheating

A/N: I'm back bitches with another angsty shit 🥹

You thought you'd be okay working with Bada 6 months after your breakup but coming to work and having to interact with her every single day makes you want to walk out and scream from the pain you're still feeling. It doesn't help that you're doing a drama and it involves cheating on her part. You couldn't help but laugh bitterly at how the universe is really fucking you over. The thing you're acting out is how things happened between you and Bada. So you're basically reenacting all the pain you've gone through for the paycheck and for everyone's enjoyment.

"Y/N? Can we talk? The next scene we're doing.. I-" Bada approached you and you just looked at her, trying your best to not look too affected.

"Oh don't worry, I can handle the scene just fine. I'm pretty sure you'll give a stellar performance as well." you cut her off and she was about to say something when the director announced for everyone to be on their mark as the filming would start.

"1..2..3.. Action!" that was your cue and you approached Bada, you couldn't hold back any longer as all the painful memories came crashing back like it was just yesterday when your world crumbled as you found out Bada has been cheating on you with multiple women on the course of your 3 year relationship.

"You said it was true love.. But wouldn't that be hard?" you approached her, you're aware that your eyes are welling up with tears already. You weren't acting anymore at this point and you didn't care.

"You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart.." you laughed bitterly and you could see Bada's expression becoming grim as she held back from saying something while the cameras were still rolling. She took a deep breath and placed her hands firmly on your shoulders, staring you down.

"Listen, let me explain to you-" she says and you shrug her hands off and look up at her, some tears fell down your cheeks but you still had that defiant look in your eyes.

"I tried to help you out, but now I know that I can't!" The staff and the director looked at you both, it was definitely not in the script but the raw emotions and the lines being thrown is definitely much better than what was originally written.

"'Cause how you think's the kind of thing I'll never understand.." you wiped your tears away and slapped her hand when she tried to reach for you. Bada could feel her heart sink and shatter as she sees your tears. She knew she fucked up so bad but she still loves you.

"What? You've got nothing to say now?! Blame it on some shit just to take the blame away from you?!" your heart is racing, you could feel your hands become sweaty as you looked at Bada. She looked hurt and broken, something you've been craving ever since she fucked you over.

"Jagiya.. I made some real big mistakes, I know. I hid those things from you because I know they would hurt you!" Bada says and her reasoning just made you angrier.

"I should've known it was strange that you only call me at night because you're so damn busy fucking other girls during daytime!" you could hear murmuring from the other cast members and staff, one even suggesting to cut the scene but you didn't care anymore.

"I'm sorry.. Please.. Forgive me.. I thought what I did was smart because I didn't wanna hurt you, jagiya.. Please forgive me." her voice sounded so broken and full of regret. You didn't dare glance at her, scared that you might fall right back into her trap and get hurt once more. You removed your hands from her hold and stepped back from her.

"You made me look so naive! And don't you fucking dare call me jagiya! After all those things you did?! And you didn't wanna hurt me? Oh please.. You and I both know you're just saving your cheating ass for being exposed." your tears continued to fall as well as hers but you weren't backing down.

"Aren't you ashamed? Don't you feel the slightest twinge of guilt whenever you tell me you love me but still have the audacity to cheat on me, multiple times?!" you yelled and Bada got up, her hands were back on your shoulders, forcing you to look at her and to listen.

"I didn't mean for those things to happen! I really didn't mean to hurt you like this.." Bada says and before anyone could react, you had slapped her already.

"You didn't mean to? Don't bullshit me! You're a fucking liar!" you were about to storm off when she pulled you back by the wrist and held you in her arms, making you sob uncontrollably.

"I still love you.. I still do.. It never went away.." you could hear her faint voice as she just held you in her arms, both of you crying.

Everything felt like a blur, you can't remember what happened after that but here you are, face to face with the director along with Bada.

"I don't know what went on between both of you though I hope it won't affect our production too much. As much as I love what happened earlier, the improvisation was perfect! I'm pretty sure people will see it and think it's the most realistic scenes but I think it's something personal between you and Y/N. It's up to you both if you want to give us rights to use that or we can reshoot if you're not comfortable." The director says and Bada looks at you like she was waiting for your decision.

"It's okay if you use that. As you have said, you think it's perfect." you spoke and didn't look at Bada since you know you'd start crying again if you do.

"If it's okay with Y/N then I'm okay with it." Bada finally says and with both your consent, that confrontation was included in the drama.

As predicted, it was easily the most memorable scene in the drama, it even earned awards due to how realistic and raw the emotions were. You couldn't help but think if people knew the story behind that, would they see it differently other than just acting?

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada x reader #lee bada #bada lee imagine #bada fanfic

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harunayuuka2060 · 1 year

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Malleus: My understanding of humans have all gone out through the window.

MC: How unfortunate. *applying lip balm on his lips*

MC: Smolder for me, please.

Malleus: I'm not doing that.

MC: Alright. Would you at least bite your lower lip then?

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *does it*

MC: ...

MC: Hm. Unexpected.

Malleus: What is?

MC: You were surprisingly cute doing it.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *laughs*

Leona: That damn lizard and the Ramshackle prefect are both weird.

Vil: Malleus is fine. The prefect is.

Rook: You don't like the prefect, Roi du Poison?

Vil: I'm not saying I don't like them. They're just weird.

Leona: Let me guess. They gave you a book?

Vil: Yes. And I haven't had time to read it yet because of my schedule.

Leona: It's just probably one of their erotic books.

Vil: Leona, the only reason you knew they were writing one was because the two spudlings sneaked one and you all shared reading it.

Rook: *laughs*

Vil: However, with mine, they promised to me that it was a historical drama and I should find satisfaction in reading it.

Leona: Oh, yeah? I see no difference with that.

Vil: *frowns* Very well. I'll read some parts and I'll let you know what I think.

Malleus: What's going on? Are you heading out?

MC: Not exactly. However, Vil is requesting that you connect our rooms to his. It seems quite urgent.

Malleus: I see. *casts the spell* There.

MC: *knocks on the door*

Vil: *opens it* *smiles then throws his arms around them*

MC and Malleus: !!!

Vil: I should've read your book sooner. Oh how I love it so much.

MC: I'm glad it's quite to your liking.

Malleus: *his eyes staring widely at Vil in an angry manner*

Malleus: Schoenheit, step back.

Vil: What?

Malleus: Step back. Now.

Vil: What's with you—

Malleus: *disconnects his room from them*

MC: Huh. It seems you still have a lot to work on in your jealous management, my friend.

Malleus: Hmph.

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst malleus #twst vil #twst leona #twst rook #twst roomies

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uyuartik · 3 months

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

tags: angst, fluff, arguments, period typical misogyny (of course not from obi wan), just overall wealthy pricks being little shits, the trope of THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but not really, do you believe in second chances (i don't) (💀), little smut compared to the rest because originally there was no smut in this (but i HAD TO use that idea), REPOST because i fucked up in the first place

a/n: welcome back for the finale!

well, i can't think of anything to say except this has been a blast for me, and i'm so happy that there are those who enjoys this madness as much as i do. hope you like the ending too. thank you all!

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

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 8.3K

chapter three: fuck it it's fine!

You don’t board that ship. A slight sickness you excuse, then spend your days sulking at home, still covered by the expanse of your lies. It is not totally untrue, though. You did really wake up with a swollen throat, and that put the integrity of your health during the journey at risk, thus with great grief, canceled the plans. Nobody knew that you’d not even mention the symptom on any other day, just requesting some honey tea and hardly noticing it disappear in the morrow. And it exactly worked out as predicted, more so, without leaving its discomfort for remorse. But after that, the hours stretched out each day, like you were living in a different plane where you were not welcomed. Perhaps you actually weren’t, for if you followed your fate, you’d be eating different foods, and walking foreign corridors. In an attempt to run away from that feeling, you try to socialize just a little, attending even the most dull tea parties. Also, your preference of company has to be specialized now, and that proves difficult sometimes.

So, that’s exactly why you indeed sulk at home, even though all your efforts.

But not tonight.

Then again, perhaps you should've.

His presence has nothing to do with it, to be perfectly clear. On the contrary, he makes it a little endurable. The forced small talk and empty eyes you once feared dearly are not the case, even after your last encounter. Of course, there's a little awkwardness, an uncertainty about where the line of intimacy now stands, shadows of anger and disappointment still darkening the atmosphere, but the overall sensation comes down to longing. You both lost a great friendship, cast it aside in a blink, but your souls don't accept this new arrangement that quickly, trying to fall into the familiar rhythm once more each time you feel your walls break. You don't allow it, neither does he. Yet, it is about the only thing that turns this night into a not complete waste of time. Even a pleasant one, you'd dare say.

If it weren't for literally everything else except this.

The hushed little uninformed jokes start during the dinner. It is the lord of the house that says them, to his close circle, barely hanging onto etiquette he had glimpses of. As minutes tick and glasses of wine roll, that glimpse is gone, and even in your seat at the end of the table, you hear him clearly. The pressed lips and masked mimics pretending not to be aware of it soon become apparent on every face, excluding you and Lord Kenobi. You glower the first time another of the guests feels confident enough to make his dirty contribution to the subject. Typical, you try to stay calm, tapping your fingers on the table. The world is filled with the likes of him, and the last thing they deserve is your attention. The reflex doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he sends a sympathetic smile, showing that you’re not alone and accepting this invitation was a most regretful choice. He uses a few retorts to close the deal, let the dinner continue in different matters- or in silence, that would be fantastic indeed, but his smart wit and slight intimidation work only for a couple of minutes. Now it’s your turn to reflect that sad smile, and you do.

The sadness doesn’t come from the circumstances around you all, though. Your heart feels heavy, for not trying better ways to handle that morning. That guilt will haunt you, drag you into the gloomy pit you’ve been in, and maybe, you should stay there for some time, a penance for your mistakes.

After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen huddle around different interests, you get a chance to cool off. The soft peals of laughter and giggles fill the room, a much more pleasant sound than the roar of men. You get to entertain others with your stories of other cities you’ve been to, and they tell their interesting incidents, and make fun of their husbands, people who deserve, as their commotion spills out of the walls. The topic of their conversation, marriage, diffuses out into your circle in such a way, that once again, you’re restraining yourself, trying to listen to the problems one of the ladies is complaining of, and not to hear the crude comments going on on the other side. You’re stopped from rushing out of your armchair simply out of respect you have for the woman speaking when you pick up your name passing in their remarks. Plus, Kenobi’s words, you don’t flatter me by offending the lady, reach every ear in the room, sharper than a knife. Your cheeks burn with anger, then with gratitude, and at last, out of embarrassment, because how are you going to explain he’s just doing an honorable thing, that it’s his character to defy ill minds when he sees one, and this has little to do with his “pursuit” of you? Your breaths are shallow and quick as you focus on the discourse, and dodge every attempt to pull the subject towards your relations.

Though, the snake doesn’t give up on eating, even his own tail, it seems.

In less than half an hour, a joke about abduction is whispered, and you surge from your armchair, the screeching sound echoing. You murmur what resembles to be an excuse (you’re still deciding whether they are worthy of one), and send one glaring gaze at the group, enough to make one flinch, and walk out.

Out of the entire house.

Lucky for you, this is a night in which you carpooled with another guest, meaning you only have your own feet to carry you away in this pouring rain.

But of course, that’s not enough to deter you.

You take big steps, enforced by your fury. Thus, the house leaves your sight in no time, but not their audacity, still ringing in your ears. Implications about your freedom. Complaints of wive-hood. Humor about how perfectly reasonable is to get rich, by kidnapping a young woman… (Honestly, after all that, you don’t have mercy for them of the panic they might experience when they realize their guest is not refreshing in another room, and have left the estate altogether. Alas, that guest is you.) You string curses at them, the only form of thinking you have in regard, and feel the bulk of emotions resonate with every stomp, even spilling out of your tear ducts. Your dampening body, and the length of the road don’t make it any easier, feeding your frustration. Your only anchor is your self worth, the reason you began this path in the first place, and you desperately hope it will turn the tide in a while.

Though now, the picture you paint with those foul words and wet clothes isn’t exactly the brightest.

It is still among these moods, that Obi Wan catches up to you. You’re not exactly surprised to see him, his carriage closing the twenty minute distance you put between yourself and that damned house with a speed that you think can’t be that good for the horses in the long run. They stop abruptly at your side, and you have all those insults readied if it turns out to be that fucked up man or polite declines if it is indeed Obi Wan.

But, you can’t speak them. The world feels like it freezes, the raindrops slowing down, and carrying away your burdens as they fall to the soil. The small door opens, and Obi Wan rushes out of it, with an expression that is so honest and raw. His fright vanishes at the sight of you, that scared gaze dissolving, eyebrows relaxing… You can actually see his lips move, Thank God. He is totally undisturbed by the downpour, already making his strands stick to his forehead. His hands find yours, and pull you close, almost like an embrace. You look into his eyes, how focused they are on you, as if they could burn you from the inside with their intensity. You have an undeniable urge to kiss him right now, and that has nothing to do with lust, but your wish to undo the last couple of weeks, uphold that strong connection once the two you had. Of course, you don’t, you can’t, thus, you let him lead you inside, and continue towards whatever destination.

Funny, how you feel much calmer doing the thing you thought you wouldn’t. Moreso, you have no woes about it either.

The silence is deafening, but nobody dares to open their mouth, the greatness of the storm of emotions you both are having too heavy on your tongues. He puts his less soggy jacket around your shoulders, you welcome it with a nod. That’s the moment you realize the redness on his knuckles. It’s not hard to guess the scene, and that has your head turned to the floor, processing the entire night. It is also at this moment that you become aware of your fresh tears, still sliding over your cheeks. Even if he notices them, he doesn’t do a thing about it, an indifference you’re grateful for. He just looks out of the window, and contemplates, same as you.

===

The tub filled with hot water doesn’t make you any wetter, but it helps with the temperature. You’re sorry that you exhausted the owners of the inn you had to stay in, (for it was getting impossible to travel in that rain) with this request, but a voice tells you that Obi Wan wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re unbelievably silent as he sorts it all out, staying in your bubble, unintentionally playing the part of the damsel in distress. You listen to his list of requests, for the horses, for three rooms (the best reserved for the lady, he insists), a tub to be prepared for you, and some tea-

“No need.” Your voice is weak, but it is clear. He would’ve protested this answer, but it is the first time you’ve talked after leaving the house, how ironic, and the realization sets deep in both of you. After that, you feel the words pile up on your tongue, but in a blink, you find yourself in a room. Alone.

“So sorry, I thought they gave me this room.” He stands at the door, holding it half open, face turned in the opposite direction.

“Obi Wan.” His gaze hesitantly finds your way again. God, he’s about to kill you with that blues… “Can we talk for a second?”

You name yourself a hypocrite for asking that, in this state, but you can’t breathe with all that untold things if you spend another second without explaining yourself to him, and apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused. And, isn’t this already proof of the trust you have for him, how vulnerable you can be in his presence?

And, there’s nothing he’s not seen before, after all.

He gingerly closes the door, locking it in a swift motion, and makes his way to you. You pull yourself together, and reach for his hand for him to help you out.

“No, stay. Your fingers are still cold.”

You can’t hide the small smile forming on your face as you settle back, careful to keep most of your body underwater. He, ever noble, keeps his eyes straight on your face, which somehow doesn’t help. There’s something about his rolled-up sleeves, the matching three-piece suit down to two for the damp jacket sits behind the chair in your back against the fireplace. His hair is drying up in all defiant shapes, and you have to stop imagining that morning he woke up next to you.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I- I never intended to cause this big of a mess, and make someone clean up after me. Certainly, not you, of all people. You shouldn’t have tired yourself this much, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You can’t expect me to do nothing.” The sentence begs for a dear to be added in the end, and he has to fight his throat to silence himself. Instead, there’s a kind tug at the corners of his lips.

“You’re right.” You nod. “But the truth is, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I needed to get out, I just couldn’t sit there pretend I didn’t hear all those nasty comments.”

His fist clenches at the reminder, and you once again spot the bruises settling in on his knuckles, filling with the desire to mention them, but you inevitably decide not to. “That asshole-“

”He was obnoxious since the first hour, and loud, but that doesn't scare me, for thus he has proven himself to be just a foul mouthed man. But, that title started not to cover the extent of it- it was too much and I couldn’t take it anymore. You may say it was obvious from the start, but I tried my best to not evolve this into a thing I would regret afterward. And I succeeded.”

“So you don't even regret ever setting foot in that house?”

A tinge of disgust seizes your face, but only for a moment. Even with all those words echoing in your ear, you don't have hatred in your heart, or any remorse. You're not so quite sure about its reason, nor do you wish to be, avoiding all analysis. Like you don't know the basics already. But the sudden change in your expression tells everything. “I don’t think I can ever regret it. At least, not in its entirety.” You say, hugging your knees and lowering your head. Hot steam no longer hits your skin, you realize in your attempts of distraction.

There's a second of silence in the room, despite the thunderstorm raging outside. You are as cold as in the beginning because of it, and you almost contemplate how good of an idea this conversation was, especially under these circumstances.

“I’d say the same.” Obi Wan speaks, and that's when goosebumps rise on your skin. Your eyes meet his, then flutter away quickly, overwhelmed. Does he mean-

Why is him meaning that any different than yours, huh? Why is it any worse when he says it?

“You should get out of there.” He reaches for a towel, and you shyly stand up, turning your back and pressing your arms around yourself. Nothing he hasn't seen before, right? As the coarse fabric is draped around your shoulders, you can’t help but feel afire, the imprint of his hand around your shoulders for a second lingering way more than it should, creating a tingling sensation.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I must return to my room now.” He folds his hands together, like trying to preserve where they’ve touched, and his eyes still stay respectfully up, causing your heart to lose its rhythm. There has never been a scenario that involved nakedness without… sexual intentions, and clearly, it’s not even crossing your minds right now. Your awareness of it takes up all the space in your mind, tosses every other idea out, and leaves you at the mercy of your soul.

“Obi Wan.” Fuck, the way you call his name, it is bound to weaken him every time. “Can you-” Oh, haven't you demanded enough from him? “I- I would like it if you stayed.”

His mouth hangs open for a second, with a subtle sharp inhale. His fingers tighten around each other, then relax all together, hanging free by his side. “Of course.” For all the words that come to his lips, it’s a most simple answer.

Not that you have any complaints.

You’re filled with another kind of thrill, being this open with your wishes, but having no clue whether they’ll take the night, having no clue where you want the night to go, or how to act in this very moment, half covered. You just know that you prefer him, being in the same chamber as you. You’d prefer to listen to his idle talk or slow breaths, than the silence of the room. You’d prefer him to snore in your bed than to picture him in his own, lying awake. (Because let’s face it, it’d take a while for him to surrender to sleep, if left to his own devices.)

He takes a step towards the armchair, unbuttoning his vest and you come back to your senses, stepping out of the tub in the opposite direction, towards the nightgown the innkeeper gracefully lent to you. It’s slightly large for your body, definitely not tailored for someone close to your size, but if Obi Wan ever heard you commenting on the fact, he’d wholeheartedly claim you still looked like an angel. Since you don’t, he doesn’t too, but it’s obvious in the way he takes in your form, a battle of excess fabric against your movements. He has to bury a groan when your sleeve falls down your shoulder, a simple accident. He knows that shouldn’t have been seen by him, or you didn’t do it on purpose, that tonight is not meant for those activities, and it shouldn’t get him so bothered up, but it fucking does. Does it also make him want to slap himself? Yes.

Walking near the fireplace, you wring the excess water from your hair and run your fingers through the strands before rubbing that towel aggressively, for the fact that it is already soggy enough, and is not gonna do much. You despise sleeping with wet hair, it is an invitation for you to get sick, not to mention that you’ll be sharing the bed, leaving frustrating streaks of wetness on the sheets for them.

“Hey, hey, let me help you.” Is he a little bit scared? The answer is another yes. But he’s not gonna stand there and watch you fight with your hair. He takes the fabric, locating the most usable spots, and slowly massages your strands with them. Objectively, it’s not a lot different in terms of overall results, but it does more than that anyway. Despite the forbidden intimacy, despite the question of “How is he so good at it?”, you’re lulled by the constant movements, the tension in your muscles easing off. He keeps you by the fire longer than you would’ve stayed, and that achievement belongs solely to him. Frankly, he too is not sure how long the two of you could stand like that, or put an end to it. All that matters is that your hair is pleasantly damp, less bothersome, and he did that.

To be honest, with each minute he is in your presence; the task of holding onto his manners, respecting his broken heart, and following your lead is getting harder to manage.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyelids barely held open, and he feels like a juggler, suddenly losing his sense of balance, and dropping one of his props.

“You’re welcome.” Perhaps he was the one to thank, for the pleasure. That’s the second prop, falling down.

Still, it’s obvious how that sentence misses a darling thrown out after it.

You climb the bed, and he follows suit. You both favor the edges of the mattress, and there’s a ridiculous distance between both of your bodies, but you’re both too timid to use it, even at the risk of tumbling down.

Only after the urge to find a better position kicks in that you move, and end up just a little closer, face turned to his side.

He’s already turned to you, eyes closed but definitely not trying to sleep, or relax if nothing. He opens them of course, after you rustled the sheets that hard.

“What if I get sick tomorrow?” Admittedly, that’s a silly question, but the scenario occupies your mind. All the elemental factors are present, and you only have a formal dress on your back. Also, the fact that it would be all your fault, yet you are the one to complain? You hate yourself for saying it out loud.

“Then we would stay ‘til you got better.” His point-of-fact words, softened with his bedtime voice, must be annoying. Must be. It is not. It is the raw truth, straight from his core. You won’t disrespect it, (again). “I would take care of you.”

(Doesn’t he, always?)

A shiver runs down your spine.

(He’d name this place heaven, if it allowed you two to stay together a little longer.)

“Obi Wan.” Whispering, trying your best to break that ugly silence, not to crush under the weight of his words, but more importantly to let him know your truths, the alignment of your soul. “I- I never told you how much I appreciated you. Now just today, but especially today.”

He’s trying so hard not to sound rude, or leave you unanswered, but none of them are good enough. Thankfully, you are not expecting one. Your fingers ghost over his knuckles, afraid to hurt him. he’s not even sure you’re doing that, ‘til you hunch over, and press a small kiss over them.

That’s all the acknowledgment he needs, ever. It wasn’t becoming of a gentleman, obviously, but the situation didn’t require gentleman-cy, too. He has no recollection of how his fist ended up in that man’s eye, except for the exact second it happened, feeling his shirt slide from his other hand as the impact sizzled through his bones, and sent the man to the floor. He found himself in the middle of saying God knows what- he still doesn’t have a single clue, and thinks about the possibility of how they’ll resonate, ‘til it reaches his ears once again.

Though, he has no fear regarding that, or the altercation before it. Nor regret.

“I am honored that our names are spoken together, a testament of our likeness.”

The third prop.

It falls, most obviously, but he doesn’t show it. Not under these circumstances. No matter how you try to avoid the subject of love, or a future, he’s burning for it, burning for you. In that moment, it is settled that it’ll always be that way, forever. You’re absolutely crushing his heart, and maybe even crush yours in the process (for which reasons, he’s never sure), regardless of your intentions pointing otherwise, because he knows you’re pushing through your struggles to speak up, select the appropriate expressions, to honor your past. He’s touched by your effort, as well as your words, oh, your words… This is the only compliment he’ll ever accept, and it’s not even meant to be a compliment. Your voice is already etched into his brain, and there will not go a single day he’s not reminiscing about it.

Thus, with such strong emotions, his every muscle twitched with the desire to pull you closer, wrap his arm around your waist, card his fingers through your cool hair as your lips meet. He wants to kiss you slowly, savor your taste and caress your tongue with his, for the sole purpose of being close to you. You, throwing one leg over him… You, falling asleep in his arms as he gets to bathe in your enchanting scent… The feeling of your warm breath against his neck as you take refuge in there… He’s surprised he doesn’t have to chain himself not to act on any of these images.

(Oh, it very much feels like he has done that anyway)

Yet, it is probably the worst night to do so. It has all been too much, and all this on top of that is a recipe for disaster. A disaster he’s been struck with nonetheless, though, perhaps he can spare you from.

When it comes to you, he has always put his heart before his mind, (but never disregarding the latter part. It is the essential element to keep both of you safe, to never compromise your social statuses, to create the optimum atmosphere for your relationship to flourish (by your own unusual standards)). For the first time, he’s not following that code. Even he can’t imagine the consequences if he doesn’t.

You’re glad that nothing has changed. No response from him, no action. His relaxed expression tells you enough; the calmness of his eyes, his slow breaths and the slight curve of his lips… To be honest, you’re relieved to see your words reach their destination but also set with the urge to prove them. To press down your mouth on his, from which you hope for an answer; to hold his hand without causing any discomfort, or simply hug him for a second, eliminating all space between your bodies like your souls.

Alas, the role of the hypocrite is a part you no longer wish to play, and you’re perfectly willing to hurt yourself by not succumbing to your wishes, and refrain him from further confusion.

“Good night, Obi Wan.” You say, fingers grazing over his for the last time, and curl yourself into a ball.

“Good night, my dearest.”

===

The morning is unlike the previous example.

You wake up to him getting up, so there’s no way for you to know if your bodies drifted closer during the night, but considering the position of your arm, extended way beyond the middle, it is quite possible to assume some physical contact was present.

Considering you two are not facing each other, thus acknowledgment of the situation is not a matter, your embarrassment is half of what it should be.

Though, your cheeks burn brighter each second you can’t peel your eyes off of him, filling up the rest of that cup. Watching him walk around, the movement of each chiseled muscle on his back as he puts his shirt and trousers on quickly highlights another impropriety. He is perfection, even in that drowsy state of the human condition, there’s harmony to his every motion, the slow steps he takes, the way the fabric glides against his skin, the subtle fine arrangements of his fingers to make sure it looks decent, even how he breathes causes him to blend into the room, but also bedazzle it in his grace, make him stand out like a crown jewel, a masterpiece of arts that name the place.

You can only stop your ogling once he leans in and stirs the flames, which were already going strong since they were last fed before you went to sleep- wait, that doesn’t seem possible, did he actually sever his sleep to tend to it?

Is there any other explanation you need?

Your heart may flutter out of your chest after this realization, so you skirt out of the blankets. Of course, the sound draws his attention, and you’re caught, forced to react.

Yet, the unstoppable smile forming on his lips inspires a similar response on yours so easily, so naturally that you don’t feel obligated at all. On the quite contrary, that simple mimic banishes any pretense, showering you with reassurance and bravery, the motivation to act on your own true terms, not society’s or the ones you pressured onto yourself.

“Good morning.” The simultaneous greeting pulls a giggle from both of you, and it is all so small, yet so much. You sway away from his direction, casually reaching for your clothes, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor of your legs when you shed the nightwear and put the chemise on. Because you know, he’s watching you. Divine justice, perhaps.

“Be careful, Obi Wan, I might start to think you enjoy watching me get dressed too much.” The snarky comment, fighting its way out of your mouth further softens the atmosphere, and it is like the first days of spring after a harsh winter, soothing your souls with relief.

“Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head, consumed by his usual forward banter. A scene taken straight out of your past. You shimmy into your dress instead of coming up with a cleverer response.

“You don’t sound sick.” He says, indicating that he’s been paying attention.

Biting your lip, you turn away. “Actually…”

“Is there something wrong?” He ends up right beside you in a blink, as if the world changed by your unfinished sentence.

Your heart picks up a different rhythm, hands raised in position to tie your ribbon but frozen. “It’s nothing, my throat just feels-”

“Do you want me to call a doctor?”

That was the exact reason why you started with it’s nothing. Alas… “No, it’s probably just my overthinking and coming up with strange sensations.” And if not, it depends on how well you spend tonight, so there’s not much room for intervention. Definitely not in medical terms.

“Pity.” His comment makes you scoff. After that, you can’t reward him with your concerns, can you? It is funny, ugh.

“Let me help.”

Your heart can’t get any rest as the tension simply changes garbs, his fingers trailing over yours and leading a 180° turn, leaving a blazing line along your skin, to tie the ends of your ribbon together. Your arms tentatively fall to your sides, not sure what to do with their freedom. His breaths lick your neck while he attentively, slowly smooths his creation, and you’d probably freak out if you weren’t so focused on the sheer range of his skills.

(Also the mystery of how he comes to acquire it, but it’s only the deep, dark parts of your mind speaking. Moreover, you do not pride yourself in a position to be jealous. You absolutely are, on that tiny level, and no, you’ll never admit it.)

Though, you’re not gonna comment on that, not when your heart threatens to fly out of its cage. The sacredness of the action brings back the echoes of your concerns, not a single one strong enough to overtake you, but the cacophony of them loud enough to occupy the entirety of your capacity.

All that talk of past times… Coupled with a little hesitancy, and how the tables turn…

“T- thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Like he just didn’t flip the dynamic, he carries on with his outfit, tying his cravat. His beautiful hands work expertly, effortlessly, and the result is perfect, even without a mirror, eyes on you the entire time.

“Is it looking fine?”

“Yes.” You meekly answer. It is decent, like he always is. Somehow witnessing that feels as sensual as the previous scene, pulling you further down the whirlpool.

Embarrassed enough already, you busy yourself with your hair, accepting the mess that it is, and decide on a simple bun, as much as possible. The practiced moves bring you some sense of calmness and control, even if the result isn’t perfect. The silence helps too, along with his occupancy of tidying up the room.

“Do you want to have some breakfast?” He asks. God, how does he still sound that cheery?

“No, thank you.” You don’t want to keep your father worrying any longer, and it’s not like you’re going to faint. The memory of your last food in the most unpleasant company is still strong enough to expel any thought of hunger.

That answer may be the clearest thought you’ve ever had this morning, yet it is the one that whispers doubt into his heart. You are silent, turned away from him, and far too engrossed in whatever unnecessary thing you’re doing. Because now, he fears that if the two of you leave this room, this building, all your lives in it will be a part of the history, never to be repeated or worse, mentioned again, lost in the torn pages. The joke about residing here for however long- seems awfully bitter, perfectly demonstrating he’d rather hold on to the possibility than put an end to this.

How could that be love?

Perhaps you were right, accusing him of madness.

That’s the only reason he walks out of the room to prepare the carriages, instead of cocooning the both of you in.

===

“Father!” You wrap your arms around him, who’s standing by the main entrance to your estate, waiting anxiously. He does the same, unaffected by the eyes that watch, the staff, and a mere acquaintance, Lord Kenobi.

Now Obi Wan knows who you got your bravery from.

He stands quietly, hands folded in front of him, not sure what to do but damn sure not to leave. He had plenty of time to think about his madness on the road, and decided it was not anything pathological- it was pure love and desperation for you. Isn’t that the nature of most of your meet-ups? Consoling each other in the positively dreadful situations, and utilizing everything to spend a second more together?

He hears you reassuring him of your well-being, and summarize the thing in pretty understated phrases. Even that makes him stutter over his words in a fit of rage. Obi Wan agrees. You distract him by speaking of the help you’ve gotten from a valiant friend, and that’s how he enters the conversation.

“Good morning, Sir.”

How he keeps it all cool, sharing and shaping his anger, silencing any doubt that may arise in him is a surprise, though he’s called a great negotiator for a reason, right? His work in various cases in court has earned him the title. He’s not overtly a fan of flaunting it. Though, it helps him a great deal in this instance.

At least, enough to have a pleasant exchange in these unpleasant circumstances, and secure permission to talk to you again.

Alone.

It is weird enough as it is already, you and him spending the night at some inn, him casually chatting with your father like his clothes haven’t benefitted from the merits of ironing, not to mention his hair being on the wild side after a slight treatment of rain, and now he is requesting your attention? Not only yours, but your father’s too in extent?

His plans have never been so crystal clear.

“No.” You declare your objection so clearly, in one word as the door closes behind him, giving you the privacy of the room. “No, no, no, no.”

“I haven’t even opened my mouth!” He objects, though it is more of a principal thing, than an actual defense. He knows you’ve worked it all out already. God, could he expect anything less from you? Your watery eyes and trembling hands break his heart into a million pieces, reactions so strong even before he has a chance to utter their cause. He caresses his beard, reevaluating if he should continue-

He can’t live with the consequences if he dares not. He can’t live with what-ifs, or not knowing the reason why you are so repulsed by the idea or would you still feel the same, if he told you about his love for you. Of course, that would require some magic, considering the magnitude and intricacy of it. How is he supposed to put the purest feelings he’s ever had to mere words, the origin of the butterflies caged up in his chest, the wires of his brain getting tangled up whenever you’re not around, and the constant intoxication from the strongest liquor he’s ever consumed? He’d rather die than sober up, and a part of him already recognizes that it’s not a possibility. It is his poison and antidote. There’s not a moment that passes without either of them.

And surely, he has no complaints about it. Never will. It is a brave choice, but what’s braver is this moment.

“No.” You repeat, hands clasped together to stop them from shaking. Your voice is low albeit steady, as much as it can be.

Because you do not lift your eyes to meet him. “You can’t propose to me, because I can’t refuse it. But I will. Then the whole country will wonder what is so wrong with you, and me, and they will talk about it all the time, for years to come. The whispers will be the first thing that you hear in every room you enter, and you’ll see the mischievous glint in the eyes of every person you meet, them scrutinizing whether those rumors are true. Our reputations will be tarnished forever, and we will hate each other for it.” And you can’t stand that.

You don’t sound like this is the first time you’re putting these words together. In all your distressed state, you sound awfully logical in your own way, so focused on one improbable, insane possibility (damn those reputations, he can never hate you), but devising every little detail.

“Why?” He basically hollers, running a hand through his hair. Why does that potential is the one you envision? “Why can’t you marry me?”

One can only dream that someone outside isn’t listening.

“Because- I don’t know!” You take a desperate step closer, showing him your honesty. You truly can’t quite name your aversions, and isn’t that already enough of a reason to stay away, spare the person you’re facing? “I don’t know how to be a wife! And I am scared. All my life I alienated myself from the idea of a marriage, I methodically dismissed every chance claiming it wasn’t the time, all the way ‘til I would say it was too late. I was content with that idea. Because I love- loved my life the way it is; I get more than I need from my father, and that is to remain unchanged when my brother takes over, and I am free as a bird, unbound by society’s expectations, traveling wherever, wherever and trying new things. I was, I am so happy about it that anything that may alter it I shun from immediately. And now I find myself in a place I never imagined, and I am scared. I don’t know what happens now. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what that future looks like for us.”

He moves towards you, his head tilted sideways in understanding, arms reaching for yours. Finally, finally hearing your justifications, the basis of your attitude, fills him with pride and compassion, and most importantly, gives him an opportunity to help you solve those problems, together. But, you hush him, squeezing his wrists in gentle guidance, with tears streaking across your cheeks. “I just know that I love you. I love you so much that my heart will always feel like a weight in my chest when I’m not with you, like a ship sinking, but never reaching the bottom. And I will continue to love you even if you stop loving me back, but I would rather lose you on my terms than by the burdens a marriage brings.”

“Why do you so believe that a mere contract would change my feelings? Do you think my affections for you are that fragile?”

You frantically shake your head, causing the drops to fall faster. “No, I’m not saying that-“

“Then what?” He snaps, though not because he’s angry. He wants to learn every single reason that’s keeping you away.

“You don’t know what that will do to us.”

“No, I don’t! And I don’t care! It will never change my feelings.” This, he can shout freely. This is the simplest truth for all his remaining days on this earth.

You don’t know that, you want to object. “Obi Wan…” Is the response that comes out of your mouth. “I am not a good bride.”

“No.”There’s acceptance in his tone, a punch to your guts. “You’re the love of life, my companion, my everything.” When he pulls you even closer, and cups your cheeks, you let him. “Haven’t we been through all the struggles a couple could share already? Haven’t I seen all of you, and let you see all of me? Haven’t you claimed my entire soul, and occupied my every single thought? You made me break my rules, and painted a picture I never thought was suited for me- and I came to like that picture very much. In fact, it’s all I ever want my future to look like, with you in it. You, exactly in the way you already are, with all your unsusceptibility to the norms and striking habits. I know that can be scary. I am afraid too. But, anything worth doing starts like this, I know it. And we’ll be the biggest idiots in the world if we let our fear rule us.”

You can’t help but laugh a little, the joyful sound making his breath hitch. It is reflected on his face too, and it is something you’ll hold on to, alongside the tears that begin to form on his eyes. Fortunately, they sit there, despite him kneeling in front of you, his fingers never leaving the bend of your arm, only to follow the route they create, and hold onto both of your hands. “Please, marry me.”

You’re convinced, but your tongue is still tied, so you nod. Your entire upper body shakes with the gesture in seconds, making you look like an overexcited child, on the verge of losing their balance with the restlessness of their legs. You barely feel him kissing your knuckles before he stands up and embraces you, stabilizing both of you in both physical and emotional terms. Let’s be real, if he kissed you instead as he desperately wished to, you’d fall on the floor (and continue there- ‘til somebody discovered the two of you in very indecent terms). His chuckles quickly become your favorite song, you feel blessed as they delight your ears, and make your chest vibrate like his. He revels in the newfound proximity, despite the fact that you’ve been much, much closer in the past. This is new. This is raw love, uncombined with other emotions, strengthened by the absolute truth that you two are meant for each other, and with the promise of you’ll do something about it. He holds you ‘til your sense of balance is restored, for he now has urgent matters he has to attend to. He’ll get to hold you forever soon, and that revelation doesn’t change the herculean feat of letting you go now. He can’t help but wipe the streaks of wetness on your face, though it forms again. He solely doesn’t repeat himself because of the widest grin on your lips. You press yourself to his palm, eyelids closing for a moment, then place a small peck on it.

“I- I’m now gonna go and talk to your father, get the papers right- and find a-” oh, that’s not “a”, he is going to require many others even if he keeps everything minimal, “I’ll be back in three, fuck, four hours, okay?”

“What? No!” You exclaim, almost giving him a heart attack.

“What’s wrong?” His fingers tighten, a slight tremble taking over them. You have to smile to get him to relax once again, and raise your eyebrows wittily, as if he is a fool for not imagining it already, reminding him of your nature.

“I’m only doing this once. I want everything to be right.”

He squints his eyes, grasping your chin. There’s a few seconds of silence, the time it takes for his nerves to settle. When it does, you’re struck by the intensity of his blue irises, the condensed calm before the storm. “So you want to stay as my fiance ‘til the next season starts, in eight months, succumbing to waiting as we get no freedom to ourselves, always in the center stage, enjoying the last of our bachelor states, the lonely nights and beds bigger than you can ever occupy.”

His other hand, wandering across your waist tells you exactly what he implies. While you actually weren’t planning on such a thing, it causes a surge of rush to overtake you, burning you from the inside. Pursing your lips as you free your face from his grip, with a contradicting shaky breath, you say. “I was always fond of winter weddings…”

To this, he laughs, echoing in the room, and you join him.

One can only hope whoever outside listens to this too, this moment of pure joy preserved in one more mind.

===

“I couldn’t be happier to be married to you.” Obi Wan whispers, but the sentence is loud and clear to you, etched into where he takes nest in the crook of your neck, hot breaths burning your skin.

“We’re still not- ngh“ Yes, this is supposed to be the rehearsal, the night before the main event. You two should be at the reception downstairs, among your many relatives and friends and other members of the society, all gathered for tomorrow morning, when these words of yours will be invalid.

Of course, you are further making a hypocrite of yourself by the way you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms locked around his shoulders as he burrows his cock into you. It was impossible to wait any further, as you were separated by the whole ordeal of preparations and the watchful eyes. The moment you found a clearing, you two slipped away, cue to now, where your back on the wall as he supports you against it. You didn’t even get one meter away from the door, you could basically reach the knob with a simple extension of your elbow, but in the end, who cares? Who cares when he fills you so deliciously, scratching the itch that has been building for some time, peppering you with all the love in his heart?

Still, your sentence is cut abruptly as he drives his hips faster, rougher- very much an act of pedantry, advising not to get lost in the details. It works, the correction dies on your tongue, though a quite loud moan takes its place. His hand flies to cover your mouth, and your eyes pop open, meeting his. The pressure of his palm against your face almost forces another sound out of you. Fuck, you adore those blue storms, even when they are focused elsewhere, turned to the door as if it can see past behind it, scanning for intruders. You do actually whimper when the danger dissolves, the vibrations running among his bones, and he keeps up his pace, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

However, it is getting harder in terms of balance as he now has one hand to stabilize you, and despite your best efforts, it is quite hard not to slide off of the smooth fabric of his clothes. Remorsefully, you push on his shoulders, and he understands, pulling his cock out of you and burying his mouth on your skin. He stifles a sob in there, the frustration getting the best of him.

“Oh, you definitely had too much wine.” Look at who’s talking, you with those wobbly legs and bitten lips…

“No, I just had too little of you.”

Your heart flaps its wings out of your chest, as it does after his every cheesy compliment. You still cannot figure out how he makes you blush harder with those words, even as he ravages you in the meantime.

You reach for a kiss, it is always a good idea. He hums contently at the touch, grateful at the most basic form of contact. Obi Wan rocks against you unintentionally, and that’s how the unsatiated desire wages war, with desperate groans and roaming hands.

Then, his fingers tighten around your waist, and you find yourself supported against the vanity with your open palms, depositing most of your weight there (thank God, because you couldn’t trust your feet much longer). He pulls your hips back to his. Your back arches in a way that is most complementary to his chest, and fuck, it is a vision.

It literally is.

Fluttering your eyes open for only a second (that was your intention at least), you’re struck down with the image of the two of you in the mirror, faces contorted in the prettiest way that is possible in this dirty position, heavy lids and open mouths, fingertips whitened by the strong grasp you have on each other, the matching colors of your outfits…

Yes, even with that detail, you’re still on his side, agreeing you’d be idiots if you weren’t doing this.

Deciding to take the sight from its direct source, you turn your head to the side a little, looking at the adonis of a man you’ll soon call your husband, with his neatly trimmed beard and prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes you are slightly jealous of and so much more…

He meets your gaze, breathless with similar thoughts, that little tug on the corner of his mouth telling you all you need to know, but then he nudges your face to its previous state by a small clasp of your chin, and you’re watching him through the reflection, leaning forward when he starts to fumble with your skirt once again.

The moan that leaves you is totally incapable of being unobscured as he enters you anew. The change in the angle along with the visual stimulation has you teetering on the edge quite easily, like him, but he denies it, maintaining slow movements and choking out any noise that dares to leave him.

Of course, all is impeded when the door is knocked-

“Occupied!”

Your voices are synchronized, high and tight. The clock stops for a moment for your bodies, as if the stationary status makes it any less scandalous, and both of you fixated on the doorknob.

It never turns. Never.

Still, the dilated pupils remain a little longer, joined over the mirror, with big puffs of breath and shaking hands.

“Do you think they-“ There’s not an exact word that you can find to explain what has just occurred, but the sentiment is clear.

“Probably.” And the answer too is just as clear.

Well, the only thing lost is the trivial achievement of never being discovered before the wedding.

A wedding which is hours away.

So, you push back, wiggling your hips. His unrestricted sound is all you need to regain your spirits back, and you do it once more. Just like that, the wheels are turning.

“You realize there’s a bed behind us, right?” He asks as he slowly thrusts into you.

“Yes, but I like the view better here.”

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