#the idea of pregnancy to her seems more like a lack of control | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anonymooseforever007 · 1 year

Text

Field Deer. Forest Horse

(Platonic Tommy Shelby x Female reader)

Summary: Arriving home from work Tommy is surprised to see Finn's best friend waiting on his front step with a bundle in her arms asking for his help. This can't be t.... why is it moving?

In which we also see how much of a little horse girl Thomas Shelby really is....

A/N: Hi Y'all! No Trigger warnings for this one aside from mentions of assumed pregnancy (but no actual). Also despite what Tommy first thinks, this story is entirely platonic in both the readers relationship with Finn and Tommy, and there are not actually human babies. I just have an idea that anytime Tommy is approached with a squirming bundle he thinks it's gonna be related to him somehow. This was really fun to write! Enjoy❤️

WC-2.7k

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy Shelby had just arrived back home when he heard someone calling his name. Looking to his front steps, he saw his youngest brother's best friend hurrying towards him with a bundle in her arms.

"Tommy! You're home, great! I need you to help me."

Now Tommy hadn't seen Y/N in a few months truthfully, he was usually busy with work and she lived in London. Most weekends Finn would end up going down to her place to cause whatever trouble they could, away from Polly's watchful eye. So really, her and Tommy's paths rarely crossed. But Tommy was still fond of the girl and the slight stress in her voice, didn't stop his growing concern....

Nor did the suspiciously wrapped object in her arms ease his fears and....Oh great, it was moving.... Pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, Tommy tried to recalled what Y/N looked like the last time he'd seen her, hoping the bundle wasn't what he thought it was.... Please tell him Finn hadn't been that stupid...

"Tommy, it is really important! About a baby. Finn won't help either and I don't know what else to do!"

Fuck....

Pinching the bridge of his nose harder, Tommy closed his eyes again and tried to control his breathing. Yes, he was extremely pissed that Finn not only gone off and gotten his best friend pregnant, but also hidden the secret from his family for months. Now he'd obviously not been able to face the consequences and left the poor girl and babe all by her lonesome. Fucking really Finn? Tommy thought the family had raised him better than that. But despite Tommy's annoyance, he knew it wasn't time to take it out on the girl before him. If she really did just have a baby, she need more than just his help. He'd have to call a family meeting and once they all met the kid, they could take turns tanning Finn's ass. Sure, it wasn't too much different from what Tommy and John and Ada themselves had done. Come to think of it, not a single firstborn of the Shelby siblings had been "expected" so to speak. But at least they'd taken responsibility for their late night actions. And Tommy would be damned if his little brother didn't have to do the same.

Talking one last deep breath, Tommy opened his eyes and looked down at the girl now standing a few feet in front of him. He could see her clothes were dirty from something and she had some small scratches on her left forearm. But still he was more concerned about the squirming mass in her arms. Running a hand though his hair, Tommy tried to think of the best way to console the girl. Putting a hand on her shoulder, Tommy began his speech about how she really was family now.

"It's gonna be alright Y/N. I know things may see tough right now, but I promise we'll be here to help you. Finn may not have the balls to help with this baby, bu..."

Stepping back, Y/N tilted her head, confused at Tommy's words. It was at that moment another noise came from the small blanket and for the first time Tommy saw light brown hair poking out from the blanket....But something seemed off about it.

"Tommy what are you talking about? Finn's not lacking the balls for anything, he's just still stuck at the office doing work. Polly said she'd skin him if he didn't get those papers done today. Besides he's not the one I need to talk to about the baby.... You are."

For a second, Tommy's heart stopped as an absolutely terrifying idea entered his mind.

It wasn't Tommy baby was it?

In the back of his mind, Tommy knew it wasn't true. But it also wouldn't be the first time, someone gave him the "surprise you're a dad" talk. She wasn't really tying to tell him it was his kid... was she? He didn't even remember that last time he saw Y/N, let alone ever..... She was his brother's best friend. Tommy wouldn't do that, no matter how drunk or high he'd gotten. He wasn't Freddie fucking Thorne for fucks sake...rest his soul. Shaking his head, Tommy's brow furrowed. No, that was completely impossible, there had to be some other explanation.

"Y/N, I don't know what you're going on about but that's not my kid."

"....Of course it's not your kid?" Y/N's eyes widened at she realised what Tommy was thinking. Her own nose scrunched at the idea of it all and she chucked at Tommy's concerned face. "Oh Tommy do you think it's a real baby," she asked and moving forwards again, Y/N pulled back the blanket showing Tommy the truth. "Well it is a baby, but it's not a human baby. Look."

A baby deer.

That's what it was. A tiny little thing, that couldn't have been more than a week old. It probably weighted less than Tommy's briefcase. Stepping closer, he could also see it was injured. A few deeper scratches marred its back and Tommy could make out a few deeper wounds that reminded him of the imprint barbed wire left. Not to mention the poor thing was shaking harder than Tommy himself after a nightmare. Gently reaching out, Tommy lightly touched an uninjured part of the fawn's back, frowning when it flinched. Forgetting his previous concerns, Tommy quietly shushed the trembling animal and held his hand out for the fawn to smell. He was more than happy to ignore the problems of people, but Tommy always did have a soft spot for animals.

"What happened to it?"

Pursing her lips, Y/N remembered the scene she'd dragged the small thing from only an hour before.

"I found her on the side of the road on my way back to London. Pulled off to have a snack and found her crying all wrapped up in this old wire fence. And that wasn't even the worst of it Tom," Y/N revealed, "I looked around for her mum, and she was dead just a little ways down. I think someone hit her while crossing the road and the poor baby got stuck in the wire in her panic. I'm telling ya, Tommy, that doe has been there for a few days, I can't even imagine how hurt the baby must be!"

Y/N sighed, holding the baby deer a bit closer, as if she could cuddle away all its trama. Not even a week old, and it had already seen so much. Y/N had spent the next hour with her pocket knife trying to cut the poor thing out of its wire prison. She'd even gotten a few scrapes of her own when the fawn was panicking too much and wouldn't hold still, throwing itself as hard as it could to get away from its rescuer. Eventually though, the deer seems to accept its fate, though constantly shaking, as Y/N cut the final ties. Not that that was even the end of everything. So badly hurt, the fawn could barely even stand and Y/N knew if she left the baby by the road it would die. And she couldn't bare the thought of that. Tommy listened quietly as she explained her tale, still gently petting the fawn's head with two fingers.

"And so I brought her here. I was gonna go to Curly at first, seeing as I think he'd know the most. But then Arthur said Curly had gone down with John to pick drop the new horse off at May Carlton's place. So I decided to come here next. Based on what Finn said you'd probably be the next best help! You know more about them than I do!"

Tilting his head, Tommy raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words. Truthfully, Esme or Polly would have been the best to go to for a hurt animal. And he loved Curly too, but Tommy couldn't fathom why Y/N would go to him for help. Curly actually hated deers, they were one of he few animals he'd never enjoyed.... at least outside of Polly's stew. He may have been nicer to the baby deer, but Tommy knew even then, he'd probably be reluctant. And then Tommy himself was also a bit of a wild card when it came to the animal. Sure he'd hunted them before with his brothers, but Tommy never really looked much into the animals deeper that. Nevertheless, he accepted Y/N's plea, carefully taking the small creature from her arms, already making a mental list of supplies he'd need.

"Y/N? I'm still gonna help you with it, but I can't promise it'll do much yeah? I'm don't know much about deers and I'm definitely not any animal doctor. I guess we can try, but I'm not making any fucking promises."

Beaming at him, Y/N clapped her hands twice, pleased at his cooperation.

"I knew you could do it! After all, horses aren't much more than field deer!"

Tommy froze in his steps, tensing up like he'd been shot. Did she really just.... Tommy turned around so fast, Y/N was scared the fawn would go flying from his arms.

"Fucking what?"

Nervously Y/N laughed. Even holding an adorable baby deer as gently as he did his son, Thomas Shelby's narrowed eyes were slightly intimidating.

"You know, horses....They're basically like deer, but bigger... and live in fields.... So they're Field Deer."

Mouth opened, Tommy looked down at the small deer in his arms with distaste, almost as if he was reconsidering his entire offer to help.

For lack of a better word, Thomas Shelby was offended. Possibly more so than he'd ever been in his life.

"Deer aren't anything like horses."

"Yeah they are."

"How."

"...They both have hooves and fur and noses..." Y/N started off, hesitating. Truth be told, she knew nothing about either animal, that's why she wanted Tommy's help. "They both eat a lot of leaves and flowers and grass, and th..."

"Horses don't just eat leaves or flowers or grass. They mainly eat hay." Tommy interrupted.

"Hay is a type of grass, wise ass," Y/N shot back. "Besides you can't deny they look alike and act alike! Wave an apple slice in their face and they're practically the same species!"

Tommy scoffed.

"Horses are big and majestic and strong, and if trained right aren't afraid of anything. They're smart and loyal and good, and if you find the right one it'll help you for years," Tommy defend, thinking of all the horses he'd had before. "You won't ever find an animal as good as a horse mark my fucking words. While deer.... deer freeze in their steps the second they see danger. They're weak. You saw that today didn't ya?"

Gasping at his audacity, Y/N glared right back at him, reaching out to cover the poor fawn's ears, as if protecting her from Tommy's uncalled for blow.

"Thomas Shelby, how dare you! Now maybe deer aren't as big or powerful as horses, but that's taking it too far! Speak the differences all you want, but not that one. The poor thing's still shaking and you have the nerve to be so cruel! Apologise right now!"

Tommy didn't even have to look down to feel the constant shaking in his arms....alright maybe that was a low blow. But he still wasn't going to apologise to the deer. It's not like it would even understand him.

"I'm not doing that."

"Yes you are." Arms crossed, Y/N waited patiently for Tommy to give in. She didn't even have to press him. For as cruel as Tommy could be to people, he did quite like animals. Only around him a few times, Y/N had already witnessed the gentle way he'd spoken to his horses or Cyril. The fact he'd even taken Cyril in when Alfie "died" was enough for her to know Tommy couldn't turn away an animal in need, even if he "hated" the man it came from. She was sure the small bit of conscious he so often locked away would be free soon. If only for a few minutes. And right she was, only a few seconds later, the small animal let out a pained whine and Tommy's eyes shot down to it. Carefully petting its head again, with blue eyes meeting chocolate brown, he hesitated a bit before grumbling.

"Alright, alright, shouldn't have said that to ya should I? Wasn't very nice of me was it? I said I'd help ya and I will. You're gonna be alright."

Nuzzling into his touch, finally, the deer stopped shaking. Tommy smirked softly at his achievement and Y/N smirked gently at Tommy, knowing she'd won the argument. She didn't understand why Tommy couldn't recognise the similarities and was so against the titles.

"See, she even falls right into the palm of your hand, after a few nice words Tom. Just like all the horses do. Proving my point further. You may not think it, but you can't deny the truth forever! Field. Deer."

Sighing, Tommy just rolled his eyes, recognising how the woman got along so well with his family. When it came down to it, she could be just as stubborn as the rest of them. However, unlike the rest of his siblings, Tommy didn't have any blackmail he could use to make Y/N back down.

"Alright maybe they are similar yeah? But you can't just call a horse a fucking Field Deer. That's just disrespectful to them. Horses are the stronger ones, and more useful." He turned, finally walking into his house, heading for his office where he knew bandages were kept. Y/N playfully rolled her eyes and headed after him.

"Alright Tommy, I'll keep that in mind."

Tommy nodded his head, still absentmindedly rubbing the fawn's head. Its breathing had gotten deeper now, not from injury, but from the fact that Tommy's gently pets had lulled it to sleep.

"Good. Horses aren't Field Deer... If anything deer are .... Forest Horses."

It was Y/N's turn to freeze before she belted out cackling, finally realising where Tommy's initial defensiveness came from.

"FOREST HORSES! Fucking Hell! You weren't mad I said deer were like horses at all were ya! You just got pissy because I related the horse to the deer, instead of the deer to the horse!"

She laughed again, while Tommy just stood by silently. Even is she was right he'd never admit it. No, the Thomas Shelby would never confess he got into an argument over a childish nickname for horses. Especially if it was an argument he "lost" in the end.

"Alright, alright. You've had your fun. Now go run to the kitchen and grab me a bowl of water yeah? And if you find Francis tell her to take one of Charlie's old baby bottles and fill it with some warm milk." Tommy cut in, nudging you towards the hall with his left foot as his hands were still full of the sleeping baby deer. "And after I'm done looking at this one, you're gonna let me look at the scratches on your arms too....Don't wrinkle your nose at me, it won't hurt that much."

Saluting the older man mockingly, Y/N nodded twice before tapping the sleeping deer on the nose.

"Any other orders for the nurse, doctor? Should I bring some hay for the little filly or a blanket that's been heated over the mantle?"

Scoffing lightly, Tommy just shook his head.

"No hay for the baby yet nurse, but get to it quick, yeah. Suppose to have a family meeting in a few minutes and I don't need them poking fun of me for going soft, now do I?"

"He says as he cuddles the injured baby deer," Y/N mumbled to herself, already halfway out of the room. "Not that I can blame him though, she is pretty cute."

Watching Y/N walk turn down the corner, Tommy took it upon himself to finally step into his office. The only one inside was Cyril, whose head immediately shot up at the new smell. Lumbering over to the couch Tommy had settled down on, the large mastiff gently sniffed the small creature. After a few moments, Cyril looked at Tommy and then back at the deer. Then he sat down and rested his head on the edge of the couch, staring curiously at the fast asleep fawn. Reaching over to pet the dog's head, Tommy let out a small laugh.

"You like her, don't you boy? That's alright I think I do too. Maybe we can keep her around for a bit eh? What do you say Cyril? Want a new friend?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#Tommy Shelby x reader #tommy Shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #Thomas Shelby x reader

537 notes · View notes

vincentpriceofficial · 7 months

Text

Sex, Violence and Power in Hilary Mantel’s A Place of Greater Safety

Ever since I finished this book I’ve been thinking about how gendered and sexual violence kind of continually lurk in its subtext and then break into the explicit text in periodic but still-shocking instances of abuse. At first I thought this was mostly unrelated to the central political plot — a matter of historical realism as much as anything — but the more I’ve thought about it the more integral and connected to everything else it seems.

CW: #rape, #abuse, #csa

From the first chapters of the novel, we see that women and girls in this time and place lack the ability to say no to sex with their husbands. As a child, Robespierre hears his maternal grandfather accuse his father of having murdered his mother via repeat pregnancies. Much later, Danton’s wife Gabrielle has a conversation with other women about the impossibility of using birth control in her marriage. Within a year Gabrielle is dead, her death eerily similar to that of Robespierre’s mother.

Manon Roland is molested as a child and carries a fear and revulsion of sexuality with her throughout her life as a result.

And Camille is taken advantage of as a young adult by an older man who controls the future of his career. The fact that Camille’s mentor is sexually predatory seems to be common knowledge throughout the professional community, and instead of intervening to protect Camille they humiliate and ostracize him. When Camille disavows responsibility for the relationship to his father (“None of it was my fault” and “I was just a child”) his father outright scoffs at the idea he might be trying to say he was raped. Much later Danton himself marries a young teenage girl and, again, no one seems willing or quite able to intervene. You get the overwhelming sense that this is a society where sexual abuse and exploitation are treated as mildly unpleasant facts of life about which nothing can or should be done.

Later, Camille narrowly escapes being coerced into sex by Babette, the young daughter of Robespierre’s landlord. Camille’s lingering terror of her after this incident is horribly psychologically realistic, but also…. Babette, teen girl predator of adult men, is the one instance of sexual violence in the book that has never sat entirely right with me.

The real Elisabeth Duplay wrote in her memoirs that Georges Danton tried to kiss her and made inappropriate sexual comments to her when she was a teenager. I see no reason to believe this isn’t true, and in light of it I do think representing Elisabeth as a sexual predator herself is kind of a strange and tasteless choice. It feels like an outlier in Mantel’s otherwise very grounded and realistic portrait of an 18th century rape culture.

The choice to represent a single individual person who lived and died hundreds of years ago as a rapist when she probably wasn’t one itself might leave a slightly bad taste in my mouth, but on the other hand historical fiction as a genre does tend to necessitate casting some dead people in unflattering lights just to create conflict and make the plot run. This alone doesn’t bother me nearly as much as Babette’s later “false rape accusation” against Danton (which is obviously how we’re meant to interpret it in the book, as a lie devised for political expediency) and that accusation being framed as a deciding factor in Robespierre’s decision to condemn Danton to death.

For one thing, this plot beat feels out of step with the development of Robespierre and Danton’s uneasy alliance and rivalry throughout the rest of the novel. From the beginning of the revolution the two of them have a grudging respect for each other but don’t like each other, they don’t share one another’s fundamental values or worldview and those differences increasingly drive a wedge between them as the external pressure on both men mounts. Robespierre becomes more ruthless and paranoid while Danton becomes more violent, exploitative and corrupt. Danton is a sexual abuser by this point in the story. He has married a teenage girl and it’s implied that he’s raping her (by the very implication that she is a child he is having sex with, and by a line in her internal monologue where she hopes he’ll get drunk and fall asleep right away so she won’t have to have sex with him). Meanwhile Robespierre is growing more committed to a belief system wherein “the people” of France are inherently morally pure and if they behave badly it’s because of external bad influences, wherein immorality is a societal cancer that needs to be cut out by chopping off the heads of every Evil Person.

At the end of those two character arcs I would have believed Robespierre was willing to have Danton killed without any false accusation scene, without any out-and-out lies being told to him about Danton. It feels like Mantel didn’t have enough faith in her own story and her own central character arcs and did this weird punch-pulling maneuver at the last minute that weakens the story. Two complex and well-developed characters becoming more entrenched in and committed to their own worst qualities over time until they destroy one another is a strong arc with a strong conclusion. One character being “tricked” into betraying the other by a one-dimensionally villainous minor character is weak and unsatisfying.

Babette and her purely malicious opportunism also makes it feel like… the call is coming from outside the house, so to speak. Like, as Robespierre believes, there are individual Bad People who are the problem and if they could be gotten rid of all societal ills would disappear. But throughout the rest of the story we see that really isn’t the case. Perrin hires Camille out of a desire to take sexual advantage of him, but also treats Camille well enough that years later Camille is willing to risk his own position to save Perrin’s life during the September Massacres. Danton is a loyal friend, a charming and charismatic leader, and someone who likes to compromise and negotiate rather than make enemies. And he’s also an abuser, a sexual predator, and a murderer (especially if you accept Danton’s own judgment that he killed Gabrielle “by unkindness”). When Manon runs into her own rapist years later she observes that he is “a perfectly ordinary young man”.

This is a more compelling and a more true portrait of a culture where exploitation and coercion are baked into the “normal” social structure.

Mirabeau has this internal monologue near the beginning that feels to me like the closest thing APoGS has to a thesis statement:

When you get down to it, he thought, there’s not much difference between politics and sex; it’s all about power. He didn’t suppose he was the first person in the world to make this observation. It’s a question of seduction, and how fast and cheap you can effect it.

So like, we’re all here in politics trying to accrue power. (Even if we hope to use that power for good.) We’re trying to exert as much control as we can over as many people as possible. We’re trying to coerce and manipulate and bribe each other. The methods of the outside world are not alien to the revolution; they are inside it from its genesis and present within it at every step of the way. And much, much later the revolutionary government will collapse into chaos not because of the foreign plots against it that Robespierre imagines but because of internal factional power struggles turning desperate and bloody and murderous.

From Robespierre’s first introduction to the story, we are shown that he has an intertwined horror of sexuality and abuses of power. He understands that his mother’s death was a result of abusive or “excessive” sexual behavior on the part of his father. He understands that as an illegitimately conceived child he would not exist if not for his parents’ immoral sexual excess. He spends the rest of his life trying to distance himself from that legacy and to prove he’s nothing like his father.

Asking himself why he’s so afraid of foreign political conspiracies, Robespierre directly draws the link to his own bodily alienation:

Why, he asked (since he is a reasonable man), does he fear conspiracy where no one else does?

And answered, well, I fear what I have past cause to fear. And these are the conspirators within: the heart that flutters, the head that aches, the gut that won’t digest, and eyes that, increasingly, cannot bear bright sunlight. Behind them is the master conspirator, the occult part of the mind.

Robespierre becomes obsessed with the idea that anyone whose policies he disapproves is a malicious foreign agent, bent on the destruction of the republic. This idea particularly takes root when people whose political views he otherwise shares advocate starting a war. Robespierre cannot accept the possibility that warmongering is an honest miscalculation — that people brought up surrounded by propaganda about glorious military triumphs might sincerely believe war could be a good thing for the republic.

He can’t accept that the violence he abhors is in his allies, that it’s in The People, that it’s in him. He can’t accept that Camille is sullied by sexual deviance, or that Danton could be both a powerful force for political stability and a corrupt, largely amoral bully. Robespierre can’t cope with the murky ambiguity and ambivalence that lurks in the “occult part of the mind”; he can’t bear to think of himself or anyone else he loves as a body capable of sex and violence. So he destroys Camille and destroys Danton and we know that he’ll be killed himself a few months later. I imagine him finally keeling over after slowly and gradually bleeding out from a self-inflicted wound, a self-surgery, a botched organ removal. He tries to excise the impurities from his own life and finds he can’t survive without them. He cannot bring himself to negotiate or make peace with the “conspirator within” and instead destroys himself completely.

#a place of greater safety #hilary mantel

37 notes · View notes

bookishjules · 8 months

Note

I can only imagine how sizzy will be like as parents any thoughts on that?

so, so many thoughts.

i am so adamant that simon and isabelle would be some of the best parents. the way they both show their love in their actions, and how together they'd have the protective and self-sacrificing nature of parenting down pat.. the way they have experience with kids from years of babysitting their nephews, and for izzy.. from being there as max grew up.. the way they would both harbor just enough trepidation when approaching parenthood that it would make them just that much better at being parents, if that makes sense..

the way i see it, izzy didn't have the best examples for parents. they love(d) her, yes. but they also weren't all that good at being the adults, and their problems always seemed to come before those of their children. she took on the strength of her parents, but i think as much as izzy had to learn that romantic love isn't necessarily a weakness, she'd have to do similarly with parenthood. because god this child in her arms could break down every brick of the fortress she's built around herself. there's just such an innate and all-consuming love there. and it will obviously scare her, but by the time she and simon have kids, she's learned that there is strength in giving your entire heart up, too. she's learned that the barriers her parents may have put around their love are exactly what she doesn't want to pass on, even though it scares her.

meanwhile, simon.. simon knows exactly what it feels like for unconditional love to be tested and come up wanting. and i believe he will fight tooth and nail to never have his kids feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable at home. i do think that simon would have a decent amount of doubt during izzy's first pregnancy and the early months of that child's life, though, due to the early loss of his own dad. on the one hand, you have the lack of a father to refer back to, both in memory and as a means of advice--thankfully, luke exists, and has existed as a father in simon's life for a long, long time. but on the other hand, simon is all too aware of what it feels like to lose a father too soon, and with the heightened mortality rate among shadowhunters... instead of letting that fear of being forced to leave his child(ren) behind control him, though, he decides to just be that much more intentional with the time he is given with them.

this idea of intentionality is absolutely something izzy would present to simon, as it's one of her greatest regrets when thinking back to max's childhood, despite her being a child all that time as well. it was was a resolution that would have a concluded a conversation i think she had with herself years before she and simon even got married, as she considered whether or not she wanted kids at all. i think she would have gone through something of a "what's the point?" phase before that she doesn't want simon to endure after all he himself had gone through.

and so they're intentional. they have family reading time every night they are able to. simon dm's kids dnd games. they eat meals together. they have game nights and movie nights. izzy sings to them when they cry at night, like her mother used to. they host sleepovers with the cousins. izzy lets them try on her heels for fashion shows. they encourage their kids' interests outside of shadowhunting; this one likes to sing and that one's learning to sew. they take them trick-or-treating in the best nerdy constumes. they don't shelter them from the world, but rather show them the lives and the people they'll be protecting one day. i love you's are abundant, as are hugs and kisses and tickles and teasing.

in my mind their household is the perfect mix of cool and warm. cool like adamas and the truth and the spring. and warm like fire and dark eyes and fresh baked cookies. and maybe it smells like cookies too, like whatever secret recipe they finally got right and refuse to stray from bc they just know they'll mess it up.

#i have clearly thought about this A LOT #sizzy #tsc #sizzy hc #anon <3 #asks #simon lewis #isabelle lightwood #tmi

41 notes · View notes

allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 4 months

Text

With A Flap of Wings, Part 6

Nie Xunyao quietly watches his youngest cousin play with the cousin he has not yet gathered up enough nerve to meet.

Being placed in a proper resting place with a proper tablet seems to have given Nie Huaisang a little more... weight, for lack of a better word. Though he is translucent as ever and still cannot speak, he can now draw pictures in the earth under the tree for his little sister that she eagerly tries to copy in ink and paper.

If her steadily improving skills are any indication, his cousin would have become quite the artist… if he had lived.

Nie Xunyao lets out a shaky breath and leans against the door frame.

'If he had lived' is a phrase that carries so much water.

It's the reason he has yet to introduce himself. Even if they are family, how can he simply go up and greet someone he has already unknowingly owed a debt to for almost his entire life?

Though Nie Huaisang had never confessed it in words, even though the adults will not say it in front of them, it's obvious what the first calamity would have been. Nie Jinghe may have been gentle on her, but Yun-ma had never truly recovered from the nightmare that was her first pregnancy.

And if she had died in childbirth, there would have been no one searching for his mother.

Especially not his father.

He remembers vividly the day his mother had walked out of a conference being held in the great hall with tears in her eyes and had taken him aside to fold him in a tight hug and apologize for having ever believed his father would do right by them.

He also remembers vividly the first time he saw one of his -apparently numerous- half-siblings thrown out of Koi Tower like a piece of refuse.

His cousin has saved them from all that foolish hoping and the bitter fate that might have come with it, and instead arranged for them to have a proper place in the world with a family that loved and wanted them.

'If he had lived.'

How does he even begin to pay that back?

Better... better to wait, he decides. Until he has an idea.

Though it turns out not to be his decision to make.

When his little cousin spots him watching, he doesn't react fast enough to keep her from running over to grab him by the arm and drag him off the porch with all her weight.

Ugh, she just had to take after her brother and father in both strength and stubbornness.

"Sang-ge~! You haven't met Yao-ge yet!"

Nie Huaisang looks up and Nie Xunyao feels a little chill creep down his spine. Though his cousin's gaze is as smooth as the polished pale jade it takes its color from, the air between them ripples with emotion; Love and Hate and Betrayal and Regret all twisted up and tangled together like kites in a windstorm.

Well.

That answers the question of whether or not they'd somehow crossed paths despite the loss of a tether between them in the form of Yun-ma.

Steeling his nerve, he kneels in front of the ghost, then looks at the drawing materials scattered around them. "He-mei, go get more paper."

"Aw-!"

"Unless you want me to have to write on your drawings...?"

"No! Don't you dare!" she huffs, running back towards the porch. "I'll make Huahua bite you if they're messed up when I get back!"

It's not much of a threat, given that the bird in question is a toy, and he can't help the way his mouth twitches in amusement before he gets himself back under control.

As soon as the door bangs shut, he forces himself to look his remaining cousin in the eye again. "What fate did you save my mother and me from? Was it whatever created all that hate between us?"

Nie Huaisang tilts his head, but otherwise gives no indication that he heard the question.

"Did we ever know we were related?" Nie Xunyao presses.

That earns a flinch. A little twist of Regret. So... not before Something Important had gone very, very Wrong.

Nie Xunyao involuntarily bites the inside of his lip to fight back the dread threatening to close his throat.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Until he's in control again.

He leans forward, gaze intent. "What do I owe you, biao di?"

The silence stretches between them. But, just as he thinks Nie Huaisang is going to simply block him out entirely, the ghost closes his eyes and sighs inaudibly, all of the tension in his body bleeding out, then bows his head and stretches out a hand towards the ground.

Nie Xunyao looks down and watches as the words emerge under the scratch of his cousin’s nails -right side up for him, rather impressively- in the earth.

'Be content with this family.'

Nie Xunyao frowns, wondering what exactly that's supposed to mean. Of course he knows he's doing much better here than he could have been, why would he need to be reminded to...?

Oh.

Wait.

"Did the life you saw me living involve me trying to join my father?"

A nod.

Nie Xunyao's breath leaves him in a sharp wheeze, as if the ghost had outright punched him in the stomach. "Ha. Ah… You won't have to worry about that. My mother and I know better now." Screwing up his nerve, he reaches out and takes hold of his cousin's free hand. "But that... that can’t be all you want from me, can it? After all of this? Everything you gave up?"

Another head tilt, this time of consideration.

Then a second nod.

And he understands. Whatever else had gone so horribly Sour between them, it must have been born out of that desire to be with his father.

Before he can ask anything more, the door bangs open again and Nie Jinghe comes running out with several blank scrolls and sheets of paper. "You better not have done anything cool without me!"

Nie Xunyao smiles at his little cousin. "Just boring grown up talk."

"You're not a grown up! You’re ten and a half!"

"I’m still more grown up than He-mei is," he retorts just to tease, all the little nervous knots in his stomach vanishing as he catches his other cousin hiding a small smile behind his sleeve at their bickering.

#mdzs #nie family #nie sect #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #fanfic #with a flap of wings

9 notes · View notes

goodnightmemes · 2 years

Text

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON, S01E01 “THE HEIRS OF THE DRAGON” SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Welcome back. I trust your ride was pleasant. ❜

❛ Try not to look too relieved. ❜

❛ I believe I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you. ❜

❛ I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory. ❜

❛ We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield. ❜

❛ Now take a bath. You stink of dragon. ❜

❛ Well, that sounds suspiciously like good news. ❜

❛ And are we meant to weep for dead pirates? ❜

❛ The crown has heard your report, and takes it under advisement. ❜

❛ You must understand that these things are mere estimations. ❜

❛ We have no way of predicting the sex of the child. ❜

❛ Court is so dreadfully boring. ❜

❛ I bought you something. ❜

❛ You’re always like this when you’re worried. ❜

❛ I want to fly with you on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake. ❜

❛ You aren’t worried about your position? ❜

❛ I like this position. It’s quite comfortable. ❜

❛ Bad humors of the mind can adversely affect the body. ❜

❛ Cauterization would be a wise course of treatment. ❜

❛ You spend more time in that bath than I do on the throne. ❜

❛ This is the only place I can find comfort these days. ❜

❛ After this miserable pregnancy I wouldn’t be surprised if I hatched an actual dragon. ❜

❛ You do understand nothing will cause the babe to grow a cock if it does not already possess one? ❜

❛ I’m certain of it. I’ve never been more certain of anything. ❜

❛ The dream. It was clearer than a memory. ❜

❛ I know it is my duty to provide you an heir, and I’m sorry if I have failed you in that. I am. ❜

❛ Carry on. You were saying something about my impunity. ❜

❛ Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws. ❜

❛ Our city should be safe for all its people. ❜

❛ You know how my brother makes sport of provoking you. Must you indulge him? ❜

❛ Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games. Having your favor would all but assure it. ❜

❛ She’s fighting with all her might, but it may not be enough. ❜

❛ And the day grows ugly. ❜

❛ These knights are as green as summer grass. None have known real war. ❜

❛ We must either act now or leave it with the gods. ❜

❛ Don’t be scared. ❜

❛ This is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent. ❜

❛ Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace, I feel it important the succession be firmly in place for the stability of the realm. ❜

❛ What are you saying? My brother would murder me, take my crown? ❜

❛ The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power. ❜

❛ My wife and son are dead! I will not sit here and suffer crows that come to feast on their corpses! ❜

❛ All I wanted was for someone to say that they were sorry for what happened to me. ❜

❛ But dream and pray as they all might, it seems I’m not so easily replaced. ❜

❛ The gods give just as the gods take away. ❜

❛ You cut the image of the conqueror. ❜

❛ We must all mourn in our own way. ❜

❛ I have only ever defended you! Yet everything I’ve given you, you’ve thrown back in my face. ❜

❛ I’ve only ever spoken the truth. ❜

❛ He doesn’t protect you. I would. ❜

❛ I have decided to name a new heir. ❜

❛ When you look at the dragons, what do you see? ❜

❛ The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They’re a power man should never have trifled with. ❜

❛ I’m sorry. I have wasted the years since you were born wanting for a son. ❜

❛ You are the very best of your mother. ❜

❛ Promise me this. Promise me. ❜

#rp meme #sentence starters #rp sentence meme #sentence meme #rp prompt #inbox meme #roleplay meme #roleplay prompts #sentence starter meme #rp memes #rp prompts #*tv #*hotd

63 notes · View notes

lisbonnova · 2 years

Text

PANIC 04. TWENTY QUESTIONS

TAGGING : @tessa-lisbon , @marinalisbon , @bridgetlisbon, @cecilylisbons

LOCATION : the dollhouse

TRIGGERS : abuse, forced pregnancy, miscarriage

NOTES : i would like to speak to the manager of panic™

“Let me out! I don’t want to play this stupid game anymore.” Nova practically pleaded for what seemed like the thousandth time since she had been unceremoniously plucked out of her everyday life, tugging at the cuffs around her wrists desperately, hoping that by some miracle she had enough strength to free herself. Miracles, however, were for people who had faith in some higher power. For people who expected life to give them any kind of mercy. A notion that Nova had abandoned a long time ago. Or at least she thought she had. Yet here she was silently reciting every prayer she had learned in Sunday school. In between crying and aggressively banging every surface she could get her hands on hoping to find some kind of escape path. She wasn’t a horror buff by any means but she knew enough about movie tropes to figure what role she was to play in whatever weird snuff film this situation had taken inspiration from.

It seemed that all of her fight and bargaining apparently fell upon deaf ears since she remained stuck there for the foreseeable future. Or at least until they grew bored of whatever scheme they had concocted she supposed. She wasn’t exactly sure how long she had been cooped up in the room, or maybe cell was a better word for it, she had been thrown into. Whether it was hours or minutes. Time just seemed to blend together the longer she was kept in there with no explanation as to why. And the more time passed the more anxious and desperate she was to get out. The idea of being trapped and alone triggering some deeper underlying trauma from literally being locked away from the rest of the world by her parents. The lack of control over her own life and safety taking her back to that point in time when she truly felt weak and helpless once again. If the goal of having her wait it out was to let her defenses down then it was definitely working.

“No sense in keeping me here if i’m not gonna play along with your bullshit anyways.” She said tiredly, obviously tired but with the usual tenacity and brattiness of her usual self. And that was when she was hit with a shock, yelling out as the pain ran through her body. It was a test shock, she was notified over a speaker overhead by a voice that she quickly recognized as Penn’s weasel voice, and a warning of what consequences she would face if she didn’t comply with the challenge. Apparently it was too late to back out now that she had let it go this far. And if the idea of being put through that pain again wasn’t bad enough the stakes were raised even higher when the screen in the room lit up with the image of Marina in a similar position. The rules were pretty simple. Answer a series of twenty one questions correctly and they would both be set free. And if she didn’t one of the two girls would be shocked.

The questions came in random increments of time but for the most part started out relatively simple. They had her divulge information about herself in a similar manner to those lame ice breaker games they would make kids do back in school. And for the most part she went through those with ease. It almost seemed like it was all some big joke. For just a moment she truly believed that she had a chance at getting through this challenge with her and her sister unscathed. But she should have known they were only warming up.

The questions soon turned to more personal topics, from verifying outlandish rumors that had spread about her since her days at St. Agnes (like if it was true she fucked the whole basketball team) to inquiries about her family. It wasn’t until then that the purpose of the challenge really sunk in. The real reason why she wasn’t allowed to just drop out. The Lisbon sisters had always been an enigma in Rosewood. Lots of questions but never any real answers as to who they were, where they came from, or why they were the way that they were. And with how much the girls liked to keep personal subjects close to the chest and stick to each other for the most part all anyone could really do was come up with theories. Whoever was behind this game wanted information, they wanted to demystify the legend that surrounded her family now that they finally had their claws in them.

Do you secretly hate your sisters?

“No! Never!” She answered firmly without a second thought, confident about her answer since it was a no brainer. Her sisters were everything to her. It was kinda how people liked to say someone was their other half. They were her other half, or the other 4/5ths of her. Even though she was probably the most selfish out of the bunch, not a single thing she did was done without thinking about her sisters. Even when they were at odds with each other. They had grown up with only each other to rely on and had forged bonds that were never going to break. No matter how many trials and tribulations they went through. But it seemed her response wasn’t deemed good enough because a few seconds later she registered Marina’s pained expression akin to the one she was sure she made earlier when she was shocked. “What the fuck? I told the truth. How the fuck are you gonna tell me how I feel? Hey! Answer me!” She remarked. “Maybe at some point I felt resentment or disappointment over the way certain things went down but that doesn’t mean i’ve ever hated them.” She said mostly for her sisters to hear, if they were watching at this point.

The next few couple of questions started getting into their parents, probably trying to decipher that relationship. Why it was that they weren’t a part of their lives. And Nova was happy to answer those, exposing the abusive pieces of shit they were. How emotionally abusive and manipulative they had been all masked behind their so called good intentions and tough love. She of course didn’t go into as much detail when she felt it was something that could expose any of her sisters personal secrets. But she was tired of staying quiet and in turn giving them a pass for the bullshit they had put the girls through. Not when she was still trying to break free of the mental toll their words, and actions, and reprimands had taken on her; breaking down all her sense of worth and self esteem.

Why did your parents pull you out of school senior year?

“....don’t do this....” She cried softly, feeling like all of the air had left her lungs in that moment. The silence that followed spoke more volumes than anything else she could have said in that moment. To any outside observer it might have seemed that she wasn't answering only to save face, that she valued her own reputation over anything else. But as hard as Nova tried to mutter another word her effort was to no avail. Not a peep came past her shaky lips. And before she knew it she had ran out of time. She squeezed her eyes shut as a shock more powerful than the one she had first felt hit her. She screamed out in pain but honestly the shock wasn’t in quite as much pain as her heart was at the moment. Nova laid on the floor curled up, crying and recovering. Waiting another indefinite amount of time before the next question came.

What was found in your things at St. Agnes that was bad enough to have the your parents lock you up from the rest of the world?

This time Nova wasn’t as caught off guard. The fact that whoever had made up these questions went out of their way to ask the same question only with different wording let her know exactly what they were actually trying to get out of her. The one secret she planned to take to her grave. The one secret she hadn’t told anyone. Not her therapist. Not her boyfriend. Not even her own sisters.

“A pregnancy test. A positive pregnancy test. I was pregnant. Is that answer good enough for you?” She spat out with all the rage and venom that had been festering within her from all the years of pent up resentment. A kind of anger that she had never let herself feel before.

Where is that baby now?

This time the question came without repose, the judges probably figuring that it was better to get the answer out of her when she was still so raw and vulnerable. Which they would have been right about since it seemed she had nothing left to lose. All the bad memories she had long tried to bury and move on from were out in the open to everyone now, there was no hiding anything behind any sense of mystery or mystique. That was gone. She sighed heavily and shook her head.

“Didn’t make it past the whole pregnancy stage. Despite my parents best efforts to see it all the way through. Guess I just wasn’t made to be the maternal type.”

At this point she was letting it all go. All she wanted was to get the challenge done as quickly as possible so she could get her sister to safety. And so she could be done with this challenge. Whether she won or lost, none of that mattered to her anymore.

#chwpanic #self para

6 notes · View notes

grayathena · 3 months

Note

"Misogyny is sex-based oppression" means just that, that misogyny is oppression based on sex. The same way racism is oppression based on race, etc. It means that the oppression women face is due to their sex, it's not random hatred.

Yes, menstruation is one such example, e.g. when women are told they are unclean during their periods, or sent to menstrual huts, or told their feelings are invalid because they're on their periods and therefore hysterical.

No, men aren't directly saying they hate women because women can bear children. But wanting to restrict abortion access, aka controlling women's bodies, is misogyny based on the fact that women can get pregnant. And pregnancy is a female thing, aka it's a sex-based issue.

There are more examples of sex-based oppression, like the preference for a son and abortion of female fetuses, or the mistreatment of female children because they are seen as less valuable than male ones, just to name a very serious one.

Misogyny doesn't "target" those things, that would imply that misogyny exists separately from them and then for some reason decides to target them. "Less support" is a result/effect of the misogyny, the lack of support is not just random. (Re: your tags)

Basically, misogyny is experienced by women due to being female, not due to having a woman gender identity. Because when a girl is shamed for her period, no one asks if she identifies as a girl, she is shamed for her (female) bodily function.

Hope this helps a bit.

Hm, okay, this does clear up the issue a little. I guess my idea was more that women experience sexism in ways that are also not directly tied to anything biological- women are often seen as less capable and intelligent than men, which has nothing to do with any objective aspect of female biology. When people say ‘sex-based oppression’ it strikes me as incomplete bc women face sexism based off of things that have little to do with bio sex.

It is interesting to see how this intersects with trans lives, though. Certain forms of sex discrimination still affect trans people (trans men need abortion access and assistance with menstruation same as cis women) whereas any trans woman who passes is going to face casual sexism (anything about women being seen as less competent/less deserving of certain things). I suppose that it seems reductive to say that ALL misogyny can be tied to simple sex characteristics, instead of saying that sex-based discrimination is a ASPECT of sexism.

(I bring this up bc I’ve seen TERFs say that it’s all based on sex, which I suppose is true if you think that sex and gender are inherently linked, but isn’t true if you think that gender and sex are interrelated but distinct enough that social discrimination occurs irrespective of sex characteristics.)

This is a rambly way of saying that while a lot of discrimination may have originated from sex characteristics, it currently exists independent of them and even presenting as a woman will earn you social discrimination even if you don’t have the expected sex characteristics. A girl having her period is being shamed for her female bodily function, and a trans woman being told she’s less intelligent is being shamed for her female presentation.

#this is kinda bad bc it’s late and I have a headache but my basic point is there I think #sex is part of it but not the whole thing #even perception of a female role is enough to earn discrimination bc everything female is discriminated against #not just the sex part

0 notes

infjtarot · 2 years

Text

Page of Cups ~ Anna Maria D'Onofrio Tarot

Valet De Coupe wore a wreath like a young girl in the Lover – Lamoureux Tarot (VI), he walked with a cup in his hand and was wondering whether to let it open or close. This is a timid character, has never been loved out of love from family or has had a habit of unconsciousness for a long time. His bisexual appearance can also show us that this character has yet to acknowledge his homosexuality. Discovering the emotional world that interests him and makes him frighten at the same time. At first, his heart said yes, then it said no again. He can be an embodiment of a desire to live mixed with fear, the one that can anticipate being rejected and hurt. He also evokes the transition from a child to an adult and the first love with great doubts and enthusiasm. He can also represent an older person who no longer dares to love. He can express a lack of faith in life and relationships and a pessimistic idea of love. On the negative side, he could be an emotional obstacle stemming from fears as a child, immaturity in emotions, tendency to dream too much, or a specter clinging to a failed love. A powerful creative inspiration pushes you to start projects or to create new things that strongly related to your emotions. In general, Valet De Coupe touches the world of art, whether it is dancing, painting, or some other aesthetic activity. You are likely to go through a period of great intuition, with all kinds of synchronicities and unusual, prophetic or inspiring encounters that will somehow reveal the path to follow, guide you, and drive you to follow it. In any case, your subconscious will always look for ways to get in touch with you, through inspiration. You will feel a strong desire to follow your intuitions, and it is quite possible that they will always be right. It is, therefore, time to follow these impulses. This is usually a card that conveys positive messages related to family and loved ones: weddings, commitments, births, pregnancies and all kinds of good news that will put you in a good mood. It is also important to listen to your emotions, to talk about them, to open your inner world and to share it. Perhaps, you have experienced extremely intense emotions compared to what you have been through. But you now look like someone with a heart on their hand, without fear of being hurt or affected in any way. Valet De Coupe has a lot in common with our inner child, who will always be creative, innocent, carefree and optimistic, so this card will recommend you more than ever to connect to that inner being and not to repress anything. Freedom and imagination are closely linked to this, and they are the fuel that drives your dreams. It about never stops dreaming because many times, the imagination is the only way to escape when the rest does not seem to work anymore. The message of Valet De Coupe is: “Have confidence”! It is possible that this card will appear after a period of austerity. She will then bring a ray of sunshine and carelessness. In the field of work, even if things have gone bad lately, it brings a wind of hope and good news because everything will improve, and even faster if you carry out a positive attitude, if you release fully your imagination and if you trust your heartbeat. If you are looking for a job, this card is a good omen. In love, it can announce the beginning of a relationship with a person younger than you. Although this person seems inexperienced, you should give him/her a chance. If you are already in a relationship, the card can announce the arrival of a child or the celebration of a marriage or a serious commitment, something very encouraging. When it comes to finances, this card brings good news: favorable agreements, salary increases or debt resolution. If you have been waiting for a long time because your financial situation largely depends on others, this card indicates that you will find a way to control the situation. Let’s use your imagination and keep hope, the money will come.

https://tarotx.net/tarot-card-meanings/marseilles/5-de-coupe-tarot.html

#Page of Cups #cups #tarot #court cards #Anna Maria D'Onofrio Tarot

0 notes

buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

daddy issues - chapter xvi

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N for this chapter: once again unedited. Will probably come back and make sure everything makes sense in the future 🔥 one more chapter and then just an epilogue, you guys! If there’s anything you’d like to see in the epilogue, please let me know!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The drive back home was silent. A lot was going through my head - too much, in fact. My heartbeat was so out of pace, it felt like I had just finished a race. But I hadn’t. Because the race in my mind was only just starting.

At least Ransom seemed as lost in his thoughts as I was, so I didn’t have to feel even guiltier about ignoring him or not giving him the attention he deserved. A part of me still wanted to weigh me down, though - asking me to snap out of my own thoughts to focus on him and try to make him feel better. I could only imagine what was going through his head right now, and it couldn’t be nice.

But I had to focus on myself first if I wanted to have any ability to help him. So that’s what I did. I thought about everything that happened back at his grandfather’s house and how I felt about it. And by the time we walked through the front door and I heard it close behind our backs, I knew what I wanted to do about it.

“Ransom,” I called out for his attention, keeping my eyes on the floor as I heard him hum behind me. “Would you take me to do a paternity test tomorrow?” Silence followed my question, and I held my breath at the lack of any sounds that indicated where he was or what he was doing. Finally, his figure stood before me and he cradled my face so I’d keep my gaze on his.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I knew that despite the harsh words, it was clear by my soft tone of voice that there wasn’t any anger at her. I was just genuinely confused, not understanding how after everything that had happened this is how she wanted to deal with it.

“I don’t want any doubts living in the back of your head,” she breathed out, clearly nervous and confused. I was nervous and confused too, but not about her, my feelings for her or for the baby that grew in her belly.

“I don’t have any doubts,” I assured her, but she was already shaking her head, trying to pull aways from me. I wasn’t having any of it. Quickly, I seized her wrists and used my grip on them to pull her against my chest, making sure she’d keep looking me in the eye.

“I’m just trying to give you some peace of mind.” Her voice was small when she spoke, looking up at me from under her eyelashes and my heart clenched at the realization of just how fearful she was.

“There’s no war inside of it.” I was enthusiastic in the way I shook my head, pulling her to me every time she tried to push herself away. “Darling, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you stay.”

She stopped fighting then, directly staring at me with a vulnerability in her stare I hadn’t seen her sport before - not even in the night she admitted how terrified she was of this pregnancy.

I hated that my family was the one to blame for putting these insecurities on her. But I was here for her, just like she’d been there for me back then. I’d make sure to wipe any hesitancy away from her beautiful, brilliant mind until there was nothing left but the certainty of my love for her.

Because I did love her. And I needed to make her see it.

“I don’t know how you can ever imagine I’d let you go - child or no child,” I began, slowly pulling her towards our bedroom, keeping her eyes on me as I backed through the hallways. “No one has ever defended me before, especially not to my entire family.”

“I don’t think I can ever live without this… this support anymore.” My confession was hard on me because I was exposing one of my deepest fears. What would I ever do without her, should she decide to leave me?

We were in the bedroom now and I held one of her hands against my chest, her palm spread over my heart. I was sure she could feel its beating against it. Her other hand rose up to my cheek, thumb brushing it softly as she assured me, “You won’t have to, honey.”

I lost my breath when I considered what she was really saying, even if it wasn’t explicit yet. This was enough. It would always be enough, just as long as it was the truth.

“I don’t have any reasons to pull away from you, Ransom. Not anymore.” I felt like I could fall to my knees in gratitude and excitement, breathing heavily as I tried to calm down my heart so I could listen to her speak. “Even after how I treated you… Even despite how hard this entire situation is, you’ve never done anything to make me doubt you. I’m not going to push you away anymore. I promise.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

He seemed paralyzed, but that was okay. I still had a lot to say. “Honestly, honey… I just want to be here for you, whichever way I can. Now that I’ve met your family, I’m impressed how you managed to be as well-resolved as you actually are.”

He snorted, hands still covering each of mine on his chest and cheek. His eyes were glossy but they never strayed from mine. It made my heart ache as I considered just how lonely this man must have felt through most of his life.

“Would you like a hug?” I offered, laughing slightly - but it was a wet sound. I’d started crying sometime in the evening without even realizing, and when Ransom repeated the same broken note, I noticed his own tears had begun to spill.

“Yes,” he whispered, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, please.” My arms enveloped him immediately, finding some solace in holding this man close to my chest, offer him the support he very clearly craved but had never gotten.

“Ransom, babe,” I called out to him after a few minutes of caressing his soft hair. “Listen to me.” He pulled away from my body just enough to connect our eyes once more, the trail of tears still clear on his cheeks. “It’s not because you’re related that you have to deal with shit like that, okay?”

He nodded, but it was still a bit hesitant, so I rushed to voice everything I had to say. “I’ll be your family now, alright?” I asked, watching his eyes sparkle when he took in my offer. “I mean…” My tone was teasing now, as I glanced at my belly, separating our torsos. “We kinda already are.”

I saw the second that the desire awakened inside of him. It warmed up my body until everything felt scorching hot, fingers itching to take off my dress. “Please, let me kiss you,” he quietly begged, to which I nodded.

“Please, kiss me.” He started by rubbing our noses together, then gently pressing his mouth against mine. Gentle didn’t last long, though. There was a deep hunger in both of our beings, a hunger only the other could sate.

“Let me please you,” came his second request. “I- God, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted you more than I do right now. And believe me, I think about bending you over the nearest furniture and having my way with you all of the fucking time.”

He was panting, fumbling over his own words now and it only added to the fire in my lower stomach, panties drenched by now. “But seeing you mad… telling off my mother… God, that made me so fucking hard,” he admitted, making me inhale sharply.

“Then take me,” came my own plead, keeping my eyes on his so he’d see how badly I wanted him. “Take me, Ransom.” He didn’t need another word. In a simple movement he had me in only panties on his bed, a growl escaping his chest when he saw how drenched my underwear was.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.” I could only whimper in response, whimper that became a whine as he took off that last piece of clothing and spread my legs for his gaze. “’Ve been dying to taste you,’ he confessed just before he leaned over and licked me open, humming in delight against my pussy.

“Delicious.” I lost control of my own reactions, all I knew was that my legs trembled in Ransom’s hold as he ate me out into an incredible orgasm. I couldn’t help but praise him. “You make me feel so good, honey,” and the way his entire being lit up at the recognition only made me wetter for him.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I shivered when I finally fused us together, hands searching for hers so I could interlock our fingers as I bottomed out. “Is this okay?” It was quiet in the room and yet my whisper almost got lost while I took in the sight underneath me. Her, filled by my cock, panting in desperate need for me.

“Yes, god, babe, please!” She cried out, thrashing underneath me in an effort to make me move and how could a man hold back after that? I tried to keep my thrusts deep and slow but it seemed like she had a different idea.

“Sh…” I tried to calm her down, pressing kisses down her jaw until I could suck a bruise on her neck. “Let me make love to you, sweetheart.” Panting, I could feel the reality I’d been trying to ignore climb up my throat, making me sputter as I tried to push it back down. “Let me… Fuck… Let me…”

Her hand traveled up my back, fingers tangling in my hair. I grounded myself in that feeling as I kept moving, opening my eyes to meet hers. “I am so in love with you,” it escaped me, flowing freely in the room, a sentence I couldn’t take back.

I wouldn’t. Even if I didn’t originally want to say it like this, mixed up with the sexual hormones, allowing her to believe I could be confused about something of this magnitude. I wouldn’t go back on my own words because they were the truth.

I was gentle this time as I fucked her. I had never made love like this before, and it filled places inside of me I didn’t know I could get satisfaction from this sort of connection. But then again… it could just be her.

“Taking me so well…” In the end, after I’d pushed her over that edge again and ran to meet her there, I cradled her to my chest, unbelieving of the fact that this time, we’d truly be lying in this bed together. Not two people sharing a bed but being apart. Truly, together.

If this was a dream, I remembered thinking just before sleep consumed me… Then I don’t want to wake up.

#my series #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts #ransom drysdale series #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale writings

239 notes · View notes

shorkbrian · 3 years

Note

Villain! Bakugo out here with a Mommy kink hoping for milk? Sign me up

I did a bunch of research on this, and am armed with practical knowledge of how Bakugou might treat you if he had a lactation kink.

(What to expect - HEAVY lactation kink, not super NSFW but it’s there, dubcon. I get a bit more explanatory and less smutty lol sorry)

At the beginning of his kink development, Bakugou wouldn’t necessarily be looking to actually make his partner lactate. He just finds the sensations comforting, lying on a pillowy chest, wrapping his lips around a nipple and sucking until he falls asleep. Does he have an oral fixation? Maybe, but that’s not necessarily why he’d do it.

Something about the closeness, the skin-to-skin contact, the trust and safety that’s felt just really gets him going. He gets all soft and relaxed, sucking on his babe’s nipples. As such a rough, irritated guy, the oxytocin he gets from committing such a deeply intimate act is literally like a drug to him. He wants more and more of that feeling, of the close connection with his darling, whether or not they’d be willing.

It’s a huge, huge act of love and generosity, especially taking the time to commit and induce lactation.

Bakugou would go all out, he’d have pumps, creams, make his darling eat a special diet, I think he’d even go to lengths to get lactation-inducing drugs. Lactation can happen outside of pregnancy, it just takes a lot of time, patience, and research.

Those drugs (like Domperidone) have to be taken 3-4 times a day, pumping has to happen pretty regularly, and the woman has to be relatively relaxed and in a good headspace. Stress, poor sleep, and a lack of water or food can result in a woman’s production lessening and drying up, so Bakugou’s darling really isn’t going to ever get a break.

Like, she’s stressed because she’s with him, because he’s so controlling and possessive and won’t let any other man even look at her. Stressed because Bakugou insists on her lactating, even if she’s not that into it or if it makes her uncomfortable. Stressed how needy and demanding the man is, how it’s his way or the highway, how if she doesn’t go along with whatever he wants, Bakugou accuses her of not loving him.

So already, it’ll be hard for lactation to happen.

But every night, just like clockwork, Bakugou’s there.

He’ll knead your breasts for a while, warming them up, enjoying the feel of them in his hands. Sometimes he’ll do this when you’re watching TV, or trying to cook dinner, or on your phone. Just sidles up behind you and grabs your chest, squeezing and groping and massaging the mounds with care.

While he’s rough and aggressive during sex, he’s more controlled during times like these, softer and less prone to acting like he’s got a toilet bristle brush shoved up his ass.

After he’s sufficiently “warmed you up” you get sat down somewhere comfy - sometimes the couch, but preferably the bed, just in case Bakugou feels a little more pent up than usual and wants to relieve some stress using your body in another way.

If he hasn’t stripped you of your shirt already, that’s next, along with your bra. Bakugou prefers you to be completely nude, but you find that extraordinarily uncomfortable, so after a couple of heated arguments, Bakugou’s decided to relent on that rule.

The man’s shirt comes off too, so he gets to lie flush against your and feel your soft flesh against his own.

The first couple of times, he had always started out far too eager, pulling and tugging at your nipple painfully, creating such a tight suction with his lips that it made you cry, and you’d begged him to stop. He hadn’t, not until you’d made milk for him. Something that you had thought to be impossible, considering you weren’t pregnant.

But not he starts of gentler, with soft kisses over your breasts, little kitten licks across your nipples, hands holding your sides, your shoulders, anywhere he could grab with uncharacteristic tenderness.

When he finally does dip down and begin sucking, it always feels weird. NO matter how many times he does this, you can’t feel comfortable with it. It’s such a strange, pulling sensation, relieving, emptying.

Bakugou’s figured out how to suckle and breath at the same time, just like a baby. He’ll purse his lips and nurse, stop for moment to breathe through his nose, then continue. This results in his warm breath intermittently puffing over your skin, making desperate little noises as he continues to drink you up.

You’d never have thought that Bakugou Katsuki could be defined as desperate, or soft.

Whichever breast he’s not sucking at gets massaged with one of his hands, tweaking the nipple, groping your flesh. You don’t know how or when he got so good with his mouth and hands, when he was able to practice coordination like that, but the movements are seamless for him.

He spends a significant amount of time lathering one breast with attention. If his jaw gets sore, or his mouth feels tired, he’ll pull of for a few moments to nuzzle at your plushy tits before latching on again.

And when he’s ready, he’ll switch to the other breast, hand immediately coming to spread his saliva around your nipple, to try and combat the chill that always makes you shiver whenever your spit-slick nipple gets exposed to the air.

All you can do is lay there and let him drink his fill.

Trying to catch his attention or try to divert him back to different activities is like trying to water a fake plant - absolutely nothing happens.

You get ignored, or Katsuki slaps at your hands if you try to pull him off, squinting up at you like a petulant child.

He usually falls asleep like that, it’s been months of the same routine, every single night. Bakugou suckling at you like you’re the first drink he’s had in years, obviously desperate and wanting, but trying his absolute best to hold himself back from devouring you.

Sometimes, if he’s excited, he’ll fuck you like that, hips slapping against your while he’s hunched over your tits, panting against your flesh.

Cumming always feels better when that happens, but it’s not like you’ll tell him that. He already pushes for you to let him nurse at your tits any chance he can get, and especially when it comes to sex.

Even after an intense, tiring fuck, Katsuki can’t fall asleep unless his mouth is on you, tongue sucking at your nipple.

Bakugou highly enjoys suckling at you at any time of day - right when he wakes up, before you’re even conscious, when you’re watching TV or reading a book, at lunch time... really any chance he gets, his face is buried in your chest. He always gets sleepy afterwards though, so he’s prone to even more irritability if he can’t take a nap, of which he completely denies. Says you try to use that as an excuse to not let him touch you, and then it’s back to the old argument of Katsuki claiming you don’t love him.

He’s manipulative, but you don’t know what else to do except give in.

During the day, he has timers set for when you’re supposed to take your lactation pills. The man had hand-fed you them at first, not trusting you to do it right yourself, considering how you were against the idea.

When he has work, Katsuki video-calls you, makes you take the pill and show him your mouth afterwords.

Pumping happens semi-regularly, only if Katsuki hasn’t been able to nurse for as long or as often as he usually does. You’ve learned not to do it while he’s around, even if he’s in the house working on paperwork. Katsuki hears the sound of the pump and suddenly appears, bulge in his trousers, a gleam in his eye.

So you do it when he’s away, per his rigid instructions. He makes you text him when you do, as a video call would make him too excited.

He’s very good at keeping you taken care of. When you’re starting to chafe and get sucked raw, he makes sure to slather your chest with cold creams and oils to speed up healing time, to heal the angry, swollen skin. It’s like your body dislikes his nursing as much as you do, with how often it seems to ache from his treatment.

Bakugou makes sure you get eat foods that help increase prolactin, the lactation hormone. Dates and Apricots are staples in your diet, and you’re sick of them. Bakugou insists you eat them anyway. You’re going to produce milk, no matter how much he has to force it.

You provide him with safety, security, a warm place to lay his head at night (your chest) and the one thing that seems to help him calm down in any situation.

When he comes home angry, you only have to wince through his rough fondling before he begins to pacify, and by the time his mouth reaches your breast, he’s quiet and relaxed.

Something’s agitating him beyond belief? he comes to you, salivating, expectant and sure of relief.

Whatever you want, however you feel - that’s all an afterthought, always has been, and always will be.

#Katsuki might be lack toes and taller ant #but he doesn't care #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #tw dubcon #tw.dubcon #yandere #but not really #Bakugou's just a horrible partner #and reader doesn't know how to get out #breastfeeding #idk if Tumblr will like get mad at that tag lol #lactation #lactating

779 notes · View notes

vidalinav · 3 years

Note

I think what also pissed me off about acosf is how laughable all the antagonists are; SJM really has to make them fragile and easy to control in order for the IC to come out the winner. Even Eris, who was made out to be smart, cunning, and sly in the first 3 books, is somehow extremly childish and stupid in acosf - like she literally makes it clear multiple times that he has no chance against the IC. So how are we even supposed to fear for the characters when it's clear as day that no one stands a chance against them? And the worst thing is that Sarah Janet has to destroy good characters in order for them not to steal the spotlight from the IC.

I mean that's entirely too true. Briarlyn is never truly a threat, just some unknown background character with a vendetta. She doesn't really do too much even though she is supposedly the main antagonist. Even Koschei is stuck on his island, and pretty much Nesta gets all the items before they do. Eris doesn't do anything. At all. You could rip out his parts and it would make no difference. Feyre and Rhys almost die, but we've seen that happen so many times now, even with Amren, that death is of no consequence. Which really doesn't do too much if this is the height of the drama where we're obviously suppose to feel something. The more threatening entity is just... The opinions of the IC and Nesta's power? But that's lame.

I also think one of the issues is just that characters are not allowed to have their own motivations. I don't think it has to do with catering towards the IC/Fey/sand. I think it's just a consistency/lack of re-reading/taking notes issue. You can make Eris more integrated by connecting with Nesta's own motivation, while playing on Cassian's insecurities. It's right there. All of it is laid out. Why would Nesta hate Eris because Mor and everyone hates Eris, when she herself is hated by them? I understand her hating him because of his belittlement of Cassian, but... Nesta has also belittled Cassian. Cassian has belittled Nesta. So... ehh. It makes her seem almost brainwashed, especially when you parallel it to Nesta not telling Feyre about that pregnancy issue, Nesta eventually giving in to helping the IC.

But you could easily explain this and flush it out where it leads to some internal conflict.

That she doesn't like him, because:

A. He reminds her of Rhys, which would be fantastic for the development of both the opinion of Rhys and her own objective in the court. Of Eris himself. Are they good or are they bad and who does she support? Does supporting one make her a hypocrite?

B. He reminds her of Tomas. Tomas who has multiple brothers and does nothing while his father hits his mother, and belongs to tree cutters. Eris who has multiple brothers and does nothing she thinks while his father hits his mother (because that's already been hinted multiple times over the series) and belongs to a forest-y agrarian court. Both proposing some sort of marriage or traditionalistic relationship.

C. He reminds her of herself, because he's hated for something he did a long time ago, and though he seems to be trying, they still don't trust him and maybe never will. Does that make her a villain? Does that make her want to do better a lost cause?

All of that is so amazing... but nah. We didn't get jack shit. Which makes me thing that we didn’t get characters in this book. We got ideas with a lot of potential that potentially went nowhere.

#internal conflict what?#sorry but self-degradation is not enough of an internal conflict #people have more than two emotions #SJM critical #nesta archeron #eris vanserra

47 notes · View notes

quirklessidiot · 4 years

Text

Title: blood son [oneshot; filthy rich sequel] Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au ft. kageyama tobio as your son] Genre: major angst ahead, thriller, yandere!au-ish

Synopsis: A full circle of madness finally comes to an end.

Warnings: sexual themes, rape, yandere behaviorisms (just some obsessive and disturbing stuff), very dark themes, anxiety, trauma, depression, eating disorder, unwanted pregnancy/children (y/n hates her kid here), suicide, gaslighting, and Y/N’s decent to madness

Notes: happy 800 due to a lot of uh people asking for a short sequel, here it is...for better understanding, please read filthy rich skskksks anyways onto the story…i cant write smut for shit sIKE also fuck men and women like this, if you see them chok’em and chunk’em in the basin. yes tobio is ur bby boy here idk kageyama and sakusa have the same energy i just couldnt resist i swear sksks

Filthy rich // series masterlist

A moan escapes your lips when you feel the hot liquid fill your hole, your expression is tantalizing and completely erotic. Something that he can’t seem to stop looking at, your body that was now a canvas of his marks, was a reminder that no one could have you.

You're oblivious to it all, the things he did. The things he wanted to do to you, the dark thoughts, you were like a small rabbit in the den of a large wolf. Completely trusting, completely dumb and he’s taking advantage of it.

He stuffs and fills you up with his seed so that you’ll never leave him.

He wants to breed you.

Your belly swelling with his children.

It was definitely a dream come true.

Your eyes snap back to reality as the bus stops in front of the new town, you had moved towns earlier since the town started to become a tourist destination. The idea of staying there would be too risky despite having the alias of Kageyama Miwa. You were still in hiding and you feared to even open the news despite it being eight years since you ran away.

“Okaasan, are we going to go down now?” a small voice asks.

You turn to find his son staring right at you, it had been a cruel reminder for him to look a lot like his father. You knew that he didn’t have any part in this, he was a victim just like you but you couldn’t help but be distant and not-so affectionate.

This was his kid.

His blood.

You couldn’t help but shrivel away.

“...Okaasan will just take her duffel bag on the overhead, just wait right behind me.” You say quietly. Tobio was a good boy, he was quiet and obedient. If the circumstances had been different, you’d adore him but every time you looked at him, all you saw was his wretched father and the unnamed things he did in the name of ‘love’.

To be honest, you didn’t know what else Sakusa did aside from trying to get you pregnant and holding you back from leaving.

You didn’t even want to try to find out. If he was willing to go through such lengths to have you stay, it was more than enough reason to run away. You held onto your child’s hands as you made your way to your new home, it was smaller than the last one but this was alright.

It was clean and livable.

Tobio stays at the side, out of your way as you begin to fix up the house. The young boy isn’t social for his age towards his peers and you should be worried yet you can’t bring yourself to be, “Okaasan’s going to go to the grocery store, would you like anything?” you ask.

“Milk.”

“Alright, just stay here okay?”

He meekly nods as you awkwardly pat his head and tie your roughly chopped hair in a tight ponytail, over the course of eight years, time has not been kind to you. You had grown unhealthily thin, probably lost some hair due to stress, and the bags underneath your eyes due to the lack of good sleep was evident.

You tell yourself that he isn’t looking for you now.

That he probably found a new plaything but you couldn’t help but look behind your shoulder every time. You didn’t even expect to get this far away, last you heard whilst you were at the station towards the last town eight years ago, you were being searched up and down by the police all over Tokyo.

You really thought you’d be found out and you feared for the worse but the farther you went, the less news reports you saw.

They probably thought you had died.

Which was good on your part that time because you’d rather be dead in a ditch than be caught up with a man like him again.

“...-Kusa Kiyoomi is expected to marry the daughter of Akiko Corp soon…”

You tense up at the mention of the very familiar name as you pass by the appliance store, shakily you turn to the tv screen to find a video of Sakusa Kiyoomi with a woman who had the same hair color as yours. Everything around you is muted now as his cold gaze fills the tv screen, your heart is thumping quick.

He isn’t here.

“...It’s quite the love story of the century, don’t you think? After the disappearance of Kiyoomi’s beloved eight years ago, he met her a few years back and he seems to be doing well.” The tv anchor smiles on the screen as she talks to her co-host but inside you were shaking, what did happen to your missing person report? Curiosity starts to gnaw your insides as you head to the internet café before going to the grocery store.

You didn’t have the guts to look then but after seeing that report, you pull up on the secluded part of the internet café and search up your case. Your mouth dries up, the search was still on-going much to your surprise. There was even a website dedicated to it, “...Y/N L/N might be suffering from hysteria and psychological problems, please contact us immediately when you see her.”

Your eyes narrowed at the report as you shakily cup your mouth and choke back a laugh, that bastard really had the audacity to diagnose you with that when he was the one sick to the head.

Once again, the bile on your throat starts to pile up.

It still wasn’t safe.

You’d probably live your whole life on the run.

On the run with his son that scarily resembled him, how fucking cruel.

Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes glaze over the small town in discontent, apparently his bride-to-be wanted to get married here and who was he to refuse? All he wanted to do was get this over with so her father can shut up.

“Kiyoomi-san.” a small dainty voice calls out, he turns to his side to find (h/c) staring right at him. Akiko Hideyo is the daughter of one of the most powerful businessmen in Tokyo, he met her at a function a few years ago.

The very first time he saw her was from behind, it was a rather scary resemblance that he had to stop himself from approaching her by calling your name yet when he started to talk to her and hear her dainty voice, he realizes that she’s not even like you at all.

She was gentle and dainty like a deer.

Albeit his little bunny was gentle when they got together sometimes, he always recalled how you were filled with spunk. How you weren’t even afraid to put him in his place and how you were all over the place but seem to look beautiful whilst doing so.

He always recalled wanting to control you yet you never seem to succumb to it.

It had been eleven years since you first met, eight years since you had disappeared without a single trace and Sakusa is stuck with some third-rate look alike for relief. Every time they fucked, it was always from behind. Hideyo thinks it’s just his preference but in reality, it was because her back had such strong resemblance to you and he’d imagine every time that it was you.

He misses the roughness, the high, the erotica.

The only things you could provide.

It was never enough, it was only you, you, and you.

“...Have you decided what flavor you wanted? Komori-san mentioned that you liked vanilla.” his fiancé meekly says.

Hideyo was boring.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s just doing this because he has never seen someone closely resembling you, “Anything would be fine.” He replied in a clipped tone. As the car comes to a halt for a moment because of a large truck backing from a driveway, his attention shifted towards a young boy bouncing a volleyball against the pavement outside his window. There are scratches on his knee cap yet the boy had a blank look on his face, he was sort of reminded of himself when he was younger.

As he was about to look away, he sees a woman approach the young boy and bends down to his level to check the scratches.

The woman’s small figure isn’t even the least bit familiar yet his attention can’t seem to go away. He watches her tuck the strand of stray hair and he finally gets a good look and it feels like the world stops turning at how the woman scarily resembles you. Albeit the figure was smaller and the hair was another color and unevenly chopped short.

It was no mistake.

“Y/N.” He mumbles yet as he’s about to open the door, the car starts to move. Kiyoomi’s fist tightens as he uncharacteristically yells at the driver to stop the car, Hideyo jumps on the seat and before she could say anything else, the business mongrel is out of the car, running to where you stood.

Yet just like a ghost, you were gone and so was the little boy who had oddly resembled him.

These days you had even a harder time sleeping. Maybe it was because there was a little leak on the ceiling, or better yet, maybe it was because the heater wasn’t working, or maybe it was because you were at a new place which made it harder to adjust.

You sat at the side with your expense book on hand, your gaze on his son who was peacefully asleep. Tobio was growing older soon and he needed to settle down at one place for high school and college. A part of yourself ventured deep and dark in your mind, the thought of leaving him at an orphanage seemed better now.

He had a fake last name anyways, the bastard wouldn’t be able to find him.

You’d be doing this boy a favor since you never saw him as your kid and he’d be away from his very messy world.

Your thoughts are immediately disrupted when you hear a brief knock on the door. This made you tense up, it was late, Why would there be a need for visitors? Your son is quick to be awoken by the second knock and you immediately press your hand on his mouth and while your other finger is on your lips to signal him to keep quiet.

Another knock.

Tobio looks worried, it wasn’t his first time to see an episode from you but this time, something feels different. You're shaking more and you look like you’re about to pass out any moment. “Stay quiet.” you mouth as you crawl towards the door and press your ear on it to confirm who was on the other side, too afraid to even take a peak on the window.

Silence.

The only sound that could be heard was your thumping heart, Tobio had voluntarily placed a hand on his mouth to keep himself quiet.

Another knock.

You shut your eyes tight, praying to whatever god out there for this person to leave.

“...I don’t think anyone lives here.” You hear someone say on the other side, the voice sounded so familiar but you just couldn’t pinpoint who it was, this wasn’t Sakusa for sure, “Are you sure that the information was right?”

Silence again.

“Hm.” The person hummed, knocking again, “Well, this place seems like a dead end. The landlady said that she’s not familiar with the tenants here so we could be wrong…”

The voice started to decrease and you feel yourself slowly starting to breathe easier. Tobio slowly put down his hand and there you saw it, the fear on his eyes. You breathe in and out, calming yourself, this place isn't safe anymore, “Tobio, take your bags. We’re leaving.” you only say.

You don’t even hesitate to leave despite it being the middle of the night.

Tobio is right in front of you as you go down your small apartment and you think everything is well, you really do yet luck didn’t seem to be on your side that night.

“...Y/N?”

A dreadfully familiar voice calls out, didn’t they leave? Why? why was he here?

“O-Okaasan.” Tobio mumbles, grabbing your hand and hiding behind you.

Your head hurts, you wanted to just be selfish and leave Tobio here with this man, his father, the wretched, vile creature who had betrayed you. You wanted to run.

You didn’t feel safe.

Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t make you feel safe.

“Y/N…” He repeats, slowly approaching you, “It’s me, bunny.”

Oh, how you hated that pet name. It sounded like you were his plaything, like you could never escape from his set-up. Before you could say anything else, he invades your personal space once again and envelopes you in a very,very tight hug.

“I’ve missed you so, so much.” He whispers on your ear and your shivering, not from pleasure but from fear, “Shh, it’s alright. I found you. It must’ve been hard to be alone out here.”

Get away.

“Get the fuck away from me.” You yell, pushing him off of you as you stagger away from him. Tobio remains behind you, completely shaking.

“Now, Y/N-” he tries to shush you, “We should go home now, you’ve spent so much time away from me but I understand, you were probably just scared to tell me you were pregnant, right?”

He cups the right side of your face and places a chaste kiss on your temple, tears are threatening to spill as you realize that this was all over. You couldn’t escape now, this lunatic wouldn’t let you have at it.

The soft and plush bed is completely foreign to your back, Kiyoomi had you separated from Tobio because apparently you were still too ‘unstable’. It made you mentally scoff, between the both of you, he was the unstable one.

You wondered if they started to feed the small boy lies about you, Kiyoomi definitely milked it out to the press for sure. When he had found you, not only were your friends and family in a frenzy, the media was having a field day too. He had broken off the engagement and he used your ‘mental illness’ card on them and it worked.

Another story was weaved on papers, a love that transcended through time.

You let out a low sardonic laugh.

Mental Illness, you wondered if this could be a ploy for a suicide. After all, you’d rather be face first on the pavement than stay here with a son about to be fed on lies and a crazy bastard who sleeps next to you at night.

You stare out your window, the curtains were drawn as you looked at the free birds.

How envious.

“Y/N?” Kiyoomi comes in, a food tray in hand, “It’s time for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Y/N it’s been two days, all you ate was an apple-”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Y/N, our son-”

“He was never my son.” You harshly snapback, your voice sharp, “He’s yours through and through, a fucking incarnate of you and a curse. He’s not mine. He never will be.”

You suddenly feel the presence of the small boy behind the door and there stands his boy, staring right at your eyes yet you feel nothing for him. You never felt anything for him. The moment they placed him on your arms to nurse, there was no joy nor light.

All he brought was a painful reminder.

Kiyoomi places the tray to the side and closes the door behind him, Tobio’s blank gaze still on you, “...Those aren’t words a child is supposed to hear, Y/N. Especially ours…” he inches closer and you clench your fist tightly and he places his hand on your neck and lightly holds it.

You aren’t scared of him anymore, the nicest thing this guy could do was kill you, really.

“Maybe we should have a girl this time, hm?” his hand trails upwards to softly caress the side of your face.

You’re immediately frozen by his sudden choice of words, no, no-

“Maybe you’ll learn to love Tobio even more when you’re pregnant with another of mine-” before he could finish what he was about to say, you raise a hand and slap him right at his face, it must’ve been hard since it left a mark, “Ah, Y/N. I didn’t know you still liked it rough-”

“D-Don’t, I-I can’t get pregnant.” You're shaking this time as you try to come up with a lie, “I-I can’t…”

“Oh?” He tilts his head, “Why not?”

“I’ll die.” You lied, “When I had Tobio I almost died, my body couldn’t handle it. T-The doctor had said that if I were to have another, I’d die…”

The lie didn’t save you that moment, really. He has become an expert at detecting your lies so instead of a reply, he harshly places his lips on yours and despite protests, he just pins you down.

He’s harsh on you that night, spilling and stuffing you with his cum, whispering that you’ll have it all and that you’d be his everything but all you could do was let a small hiccup escape your lips as you tried to hold back your cries.

‘Someone, anyone, please.’ you pleaded internally.

You don’t see Tobio until a week later, the boy has grown a tad bit chubbier and is adorned with expensive clothes. Sakusa, on the other hand, has been force-feeding you to the point where you threw up right after meals (secretly, of course)

You sit down at the couch as your son blinks at you, “...I’m sorry.” He breaks the silence and you shut your eyes tight as you recalled the harsh words he heard last week.

“I’m sorry too, Tobio.” you could only reply because genuinely, you did feel like you went too far this time. He didn’t choose to be born, a part of you should’ve saved him the misery and left him at the orphanage that time, “Do you hate me?” you ask.

“No.”

“You should.” You say quietly, “You should hate your otosan too.”

Tobio remains quiet at your words.

“When you grow older, don’t end up like him. don’t end up like us. forget us when you have the chance.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good and If you ever get the chance to leave, promise me that you get out and don’t look back.”

Tobio may have been eight years old that time but he knows fear when he sees it and he knows promises aren’t meant to be broken. He remembers those words well because it was the last long conversation he has with you.

The month of December rolls by and it’s cold, you’ve given up fighting back at this point. Your glassy eyes are directed to the window, not even wanting to look down at your bulging stomach. Kiyoomi doesn’t even need to tell you twice to not leave the house, you decide upon yourself to just stay at your room on bed the whole time.

You wonder, just how high is it from up here? Would it hurt?

“Y/N?” a dreadful voice calls out.

“Hm.”

“You haven’t gone out of our room in two months. You haven’t even seen Tobio.” Sakusa points out, you were like a obedient doll now. So lifeless, so still, you wished he’d discard you already.

“I might say something again, I don’t want to bother.” You replied truthfully, gaze still avoiding his.

The raven-haired man starts to caress your plump face, you had grown chubbier since the beginning of your pregnancy, he couldn’t be anymore happier to finally be there for you.

This was perfect.

You were finally his.

You weren’t letting go.

“...Don’t you ever regret it?” You finally ask, turning to him, your blank eyes staring at his rather deranged ones, the eyes that you once loved was now just a reminder of your resentful life.

“Which one?” He asks, inching in closer to kiss your neck, your collarbone. You let out a meek sigh as you shut your eyes and internally prayed for this to be over quickly as he removes your ribbon that held your flimsy nightgown together.

“You killed people.” You uttered, “Took my life away, don’t you regret it?”

“Why would I?”

Right, how could a monster like him have such empathy? You feel his cold fingers brush against your folds, trying to stimulate it.

Everything except your body screamed no but you were just too powerless now. You wondered, how could you even end this all? Was jumping out the window the only solution now?

“...Right...” You let out a soft painful moan as he dips his finger inside. You’re under the idea that despite this happening countless of times, you’re body would be numb to it all yet each time it happens, it pains you even more, “You even had to kill your ex-fiancé’s father for us to get married.”

You had come to realize just how deep his obsession was, the man was willing to kill to anyone who got in the way of your ‘love’. You remembered finding out about your ex-chief one night, about how he had chopped off his fingers and left him to bleed dry in the alleyway for the rats to feast on.

You remembered when a news came up that his supposedly future-father-in-law had died in a violent explosion during breakfast time and how he was nonchalant about it.

“...It’s all for you, Y/N.” He implores as he kissed your thighs and continue to stimulate your now wet folds, “All for you, Tobio, and my new little girl.”

“You’re sick.”

“Mhm. You smell good, I should continue using the soap from awhile ago when I clean you, right?” he hummed, ignoring what you had just said as he dipped his head in and take a kitten lick on your sex. You let out a small cry as your body betrayed you.

Your prayers for today are unheard yet again.

“...Y/N, you barely come out of your room these days.” Komori exclaimed, it turns out the visitor from last time who knocked on your door was him and as much as you wanted to knock his teeth out, you decide not to because you don’t see the point in doing violence these days.

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, pregnancy does take a toll on your body.” He nods in agreement, it seemed like this was a casual thing for him, like you just weren’t repeatedly rape or mentally abused by his cousin, “Tobio certainly takes after his father, don’t you think?”

Your blood runs cold at the mention of the little boy, you had small hope for him either ways so you didn’t exactly cared for him anymore.

“I suppose so.”

“You’ve gotten boring these days, Y/N.” Komori plainly pointed out, “It’s a wonder how my cousin gets to stick around ya. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Komori’s eyes narrowed at your hollowed response, you were so ungrateful. Here his cousin was, treating you with such delicateness and with all the attention that the other women wanted but you looked anything but happy about it.

If this was Hideko, she’d be elated.

But no, he had to be stuck with an ungrateful pompous bitch like you.

“How high up are we, Komori-san?” you suddenly ask.

He blinks at the rather weird question, “Fifty floors.”

“Hm.” You hummed, “That certainly is high.”

Komori would regret answering that question very soon though.

When the winter dawned upon a new year and you finally snap, you decide to answer your own prayers and opt to salvage yourself from this madness and cruelty once and for all.

Sakusa Tobio is nine years old when you, his mother, six months pregnant, jumped out the bedroom window from a fifty-foot story building two months into the new year. Your face is flat on the pavement and completely unrecognizable, the last conversation you both had replays on his head like a broken record through the years and only when he’s old enough that he realizes that he was no one’s son.

His okaasan didn’t loved him nor did he want to be associated with his father for all he did was bring pain and disgust.

The boy is eighteen, fresh out of the academy, right in front of his baby sister’s and your mausoleum. He makes it a habit to visit you both a day before your death anniversary, not wanting to be in the same room as his father yet this year he makes an exception.

Recently, he had turned over some evidence and his own testimony about what his father had been doing. Everything, from illegal works to the people he killed to your tragic end. It’s enough to file a case and have him set to jail for life, even his fancy lawyers couldn’t defend him.

His lips sting because his Uncle Komori had punched him in the face and called him an ungrateful bastard like you but it was alright.

It was all over.

He plans to change his name back to Kageyama Tobio (the haux name you had given him when you were on the run) right after all the fiasco, it’s a kind name and the first name you had given him, he likes to think that this was also a gift from you that time, a new beginning straying away from you and his father's cruel ties. He had also felt that it was too unkind for him to use your last name despite his grandparents' persistence (he was after all, conceived through forceful means).

And although he wanted to hate you for those words you said that time when he was eight. He couldn’t really bring himself to after hearing what you had to go through, you were a victim. He couldn’t dare imagine what his father did to you during the last few months leading to your death.

Yet, right now. It was finished.

You could rest now.

“I did it, Y/N-san.” He mumbles as he bows down. As he got older, he has also foregone the idea of calling you by the name you loathed and shriveled away from, “I got out and I didn’t look back. Thank you for everything.”

Kageyama Tobio never visits you right after again, as promised.

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu!!#haikyu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu yandere #sakusa kiyoomi imagines #sakusa x reader #haikyuu x you #sakusa headcanons #sakusa imagines #sakusa scenarios #yandere!sakusa #yandere warning!!!#oh right tobio is ur son here #filthy rich #📝📝.filthy rich series #hostclub.adulting

674 notes · View notes

chaoticpuff17 · 3 years

Text

When the Chips are Down

Part 3

masterlist

The flight had been long, and Y/N was exhausted. By the time they had landed she was too tired to even recognize that they had landed beyond the hazy realization that Namjoon and Jin had moved her to one of the seats up front for landing, and that she had been moved to a car.

The next thing she really knew was when she opened her eyes to find herself back in the master bedroom at the estate. She had been tucked up under the blankets and someone had placed pillows under her belly to help keep her comfortable, but there was no Namjoon, something for which she was eternally grateful. It was nice to wake up without him looming over her. She needed time to mourn the life she’d lost.

There was no way that Namjoon was going to let her out of his sight anytime soon. There was no way he was going to let her leave again. Security would be tighter, and once the baby was born, there would be even less chance of leaving him. He wasn’t going to let her escape him a second time let alone with their child.

One of her hands wandered down to her belly as she wondered what their lives were going to be now that Namjoon had them back. What were their boundaries going to be? Was she going to be confined to quarters again? Was she allowed to roam the estate as she pleased? Namjoon hadn’t told her anything on the flight over. He had promised that they could go back to the way they were, but the way things were hadn’t exactly been stable the last time she had been at the estate. She had been confined to a room for the first weeks of her stay. She’d had an ankle monitor. She had babysitters. She had been chipped. What exactly was normal for them?

She was about to pull herself out of bed when the door to the room opened revealing a familiar face. Miss In stood at the door bowing respectfully, a gentle smile on her face.

“Buin.” She greeted. “Welcome home.”

“Miss In.” she nodded as Miss In motioned in a small train of maids carrying trays.

“Your husband has requested that we bring you breakfast in bed today. He thought you would be tired after your flight.” Y/N nodded tiredly. “Would you like to take breakfast in bed or shall we set it out at the table?” Miss In asked motioning towards the chairs and coffee table that were settled by one of the windows.

“At the table, please.”

“I’ll have the maids draw you a bath as well.”

“Where is my… husband?” she gritted out the title hating that he was the one that held it.

“Mr. Kim is overseeing some additions for the nursery. Shall I tell him you’re looking for him?”

“No.” She shook her head pulling herself out of bed to make her way to the breakfast that was being laid out. “No, don’t tell him that. It would give him far too much satisfaction.” She sighed lowering herself down onto the chair

“As you wish, buin.” The older woman agreed the slightest smile flashing across her features. “It’s good to have you home, buin.”

“Home sweet home.” She murmured sarcastically as she perused the food laid out before her and wrinkling her nose as nothing looked appealing. Morning sickness had been a bad at the beginning of the pregnancy, and she’d had a distinct lack of appetite ever since. It drove Mark nuts, and it would probably do the same to Namjoon control freak that he was. Mark had usually managed to get her to eat a piece of fruit most mornings though. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He also made sure she’d make up for it by snacking throughout the morning.

“I think I’d just like to take a shower.” She sighed pushing herself back up again only to have the housekeeper.

“You should eat something, buin.”

“No.” She shook her head slightly, gently pushing the older woman away. “My stomach doesn’t sit well in the morning these days. I’ll have something later.”

“Sajangnim would not like this.”

“He doesn’t like a lot of things.” She sighed making her way towards the en suite. “You can blame me if he gets pissy.”

“And why would I be getting pissy?” A deep voice called from the door. Both women turned to find Namjoon leaned up against the door frame with a brow raised as he watched them. He made his way across the room placing a gentle kiss to her forehead as she looked at him in annoyance. “Good morning, jagi. Now, why would I be upset with you?”

“I’m rejecting your breakfast in bed.”

He frowned at that but remained calm laying a gentle hands on her shoulders to rub soft circles against the fabric of her pajamas. “You need to eat, jagi.”

“I’ll eat something later.” She sighed pushing his hands away.

“Think of the baby.”

“The baby will be fine.” She huffed her brows scrunched together. “I’ve made it this far without your prenatal advice.”

A dark cloud passed over Namjoon’s face, the barb not sitting well with him. Any reminder that he had missed out on the majority of the pregnancy left him bitter. There was a rage churning low in his gut every time he thought of his girl, his wife, thousands of miles away from him preparing for his baby with another man. He wanted to scream at her, to shake her and ask her what she was thinking, why she had taken this from him, but no good would come from that. He’d been the one to frighten her away, and her reaction was understandable in that way, but it didn’t quell his anger. Instead, he directed all of that rage towards the one who had taken her from him.

The pest was situated in what was commonly referred to as the dungeons. Hoseok had made sure that Mark felt very welcome in his new home as Namjoon settled Y/N at home. Mark had been sent ahead on an earlier flight. Jungkook had accompanied him, and the only one who was even close to being as enraged as Namjoon by Y/N’s disappearance was the maknae. Mark’s punishment had begun the moment they’d found him in Italy.

“Jagi,” He growled warningly. They were both tired from the flight home, and he didn’t really want to fight with her now.

“I just want a shower.” She sighed running a hand through her hair. “We can fight about this later.”

“I don’t want to fight at all.” He called after her.

“Then let me take a shower!”

Namjoon sighed in frustration before turning his gaze on Miss In as though she had all the answers and could guide him through the minefield of a woman that was his wife.

“She’s only tired, sajangnim.” Miss In smiled gently as she looked at the bewildered man. “It was a long journey home, and she is very close to giving birth.”

“She needs to eat.” He growled flopping down in the chair that his wife had abandoned. “Why does she insist on being difficult?”

“It is her right as she is carrying your child.” Miss In mused motioning for the maids to clean up the untouched meal. “I’ll have something light sent up for her. She needs time.”

“I know.” Namjoon groaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “But she doesn’t make it easy.”

“She was never an easy woman, and yet you married her anyway. She wouldn’t be the woman you married if she was anything less. She has a will to match yours.”

“If only she wouldn’t turn it against me so often.”

“You will find balance with time.” Miss In hummed. “And a child changes many things.”

Namjoon nodded as he listened to the older woman. “The baby will be good for us. I’m going to show her the nursery today.”

“She’ll enjoy that. If I may…” She paused waiting for Namjoon to give her permission to continue. “Perhaps it would be good to allow buin some female company. She had none before. It might set her more at ease.”

“I’ll call Yoongi and see if Sen could come. She could bring the baby as well.”

“Perhaps she would like to see Miss Iyla.”

Namjoon stiffened at the mention of his wife’s sister. “That’s not a fight I’m willing to have yet.”

“She’ll find out eventually.” The older lady scolded gently. “It will be better for you if she finds out sooner rather than later.”

“I don’t want to put any unnecessary stress on her and the baby.”

“She is already under stress, but it is good to have family around when a baby is due.”

Namjoon nodded even though he was still reluctant to let Y/N know about Iyla. He knew his wife well enough to know that she was going to murder him, Hoseok too, or at least she would try. She was a fierce woman, and Miss In was right. He wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t even if it made his life difficult at times. He wanted a woman who could match him, not some wilting flower.

“I’ll tell her, but not today.”

“As you wish, sajangnim.” The woman bowed before taking her leave, leaving Namjoon alone with his thoughts.

After a while, Y/N emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a robe with her hair damp. Before he could even get a word out, she had disappeared again into the depths of the closet where she found an alarming assortment of maternity clothes.

“I don’t need this many clothes!” She called, and Namjoon perked up from the other room hearing her voice. “I’m due in a few weeks. I’m not going to wear half of this.”

Namjoon walked into the closet watching fondly as she scowled at the maternity wardrobe he had assembled for her.

“I want to take care of you.” He hummed wrapping his arms around her from behind and doing his best to ignore the way she went rigid in his arms. “I can’t spoil the mother of my child?”

She scoffed pushing him away as she searched for something to wear. There were still far too few pairs of pants, but that was fine. The idea of squeezing herself into a pair of pants had become more and more daunting as her pregnancy had progressed, and now it seemed almost impossible as she looked down at her belly. Dresses and skirts were just easier at this point.

Eventually she settled on skirt and shirt combination that looked comfortable. It wasn’t as though there was anything that could really be classified as ‘comfy clothes’ in the closet except for pajamas, and there was something almost defeatist about the thought of lounging around the estate in a pair of pajamas and moping about her situation. She wasn’t going to give Namjoon the satisfaction of seeing her defeated. She wasn’t there yet.

“You look lovely, jagi.” He complimented wrapping his arms around her again once she was dressed. “I have something I want to show you.”

She nodded tiredly but allowed Namjoon to lead her out of the master bedroom in the direction of her old room. He pushed open the door and let her in only for her to stop short at the sight that greeted her.

The room she remembered was gone. In its place was an extravagant nursery done in shades of soft grey and white and a few accents of the muted teal and gold that had characterized the room when it had been hers. Even she had to admit that the nursery was beautiful.

The fireplace was boarded up, a safety precaution. There was a crib against one wall, ready for the baby, a changing table against another wall. Little framed paintings lined the walls, artwork that made the nursery seem warm and welcoming. Everything about the room was warm and welcoming from the colors to the basket of stuffed animals sitting in the corner. But her favorite was the chair. A rocking chair sat by the window ready and waiting with the blanket she had made for the baby slung over the back of it.

She made her way over to the chair and took a seat, sinking into the comfort of it. Even if she was angry at being back in Korea, she loved this chair. It was perfect. It was comfortable and seated nicely in the sunshine. She’d always loved rocking chairs. Even if this wasn’t the one that Mark had picked out for them, it was still lovely.

None of this was what she and Mark had picked out. They’d put so much care and love into their little nursery in Italy, but this one showed a great amount of care as well. It was clear that Namjoon had put a lot of thought and effort into preparing for the baby. He’d made sure everything was ready to bring them back even if they came back kicking and screaming. He was ready for them.

“What do you think?” He asked coming to kneel next to her.

“It’s beautiful.”

Namjoon smiled brightly resting a hand next to hers on her belly feeling their baby give a little kick where their hands rested. “All for you, jagi. Anything for you.”

part 4

216 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

Until the End of the World - 18

Until the End of the World: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 2763

Rating: E

Warnings: pregnancy, labor, induction without consent, forced medical proceedures, mentions of forced pregnancy, action, violence, death

Synopsis: Four years after Steve and Bucky got to the bottom of the HYDRA conspiracy that had led to you and your son being hunted for the first three years of his life, you, Bucky, and Steve have carved out a nice life together. Things are calm and you feel like a family unit. When Geo starts calling Bucky and Steve ‘dad’, a decision is made to try and add to your family.

Things aren’t as calm as they seem. When your pregnancy hits the papers, HYDRA rears its head once again, and Steve and Bucky need to track you down to protect the family they had created

Chapter 18

You had sent Geo back to his bed with his instructions. You didn’t think you could get out of here with him without getting caught. Yes, he could open all the doors for you, but there were still guards, and you had no idea where you were. The risk was just too high. Not to mention, that if Viper had been telling the truth, there were other people here who were being experimented on again. If you could get Steve, Bucky, and the rest of the Avengers here, then that was the best option for everyone. You hoped Geo could do as you asked; if you could send a message to the tower - however primitive it was - you trusted that FRIDAY could work out that it was Geo sending it.

You slept badly. The bench was hard and uncomfortable, and they had provided no blankets or pillows. That teamed with the stress of you and Geo being captured, and how close you were to your due date, you were uncomfortable and highly wound. Even with the lack of sleep, a group of HYDRA guards still managed to startle you awake the following day.

They had no concern about treating you gently in your heavily pregnant state. They didn’t even shake you awake, so much as march into the room, grab your arm, and drag you out of bed and down the hall. You had trouble walking and you stumbled down the bright white hall as they dragged you along with them.

You were brought to a room with a hospital bed and a lot of medical equipment, as well as a sterile-looking sofa chair and a clear plastic bassinet and incubator. It looked like a delivery room in a hospital that cared nothing for the comfort of the mother. Viper was waiting there with a group of medical staff dressed in green scrubs.

“What’s going on? Where’s Geo?” You asked.

“Geo is safe,” Viper assured you. “And we’ve decided we’re going to induce labor. Staying in this location is risky, so within the week we’re going to move you. We figured if we move you and your children separately, you’ll be less likely to try and draw attention to yourself when we inevitably see other people.”

“I’m not due yet,” you argued.

“It’s not ideal, I know,” Viper said as the guards muscled you onto the bed and strapped you down. “But it’s close enough. We did consider just cutting that little thing out of you, but they said this way would be safest. Don’t make me change my mind.”

One of the medical staff inserted a cannula into your arm and another began doing an internal examination as two of the guards held your legs apart. You tried to fight them, but there were just too many of them.

“Don’t worry though, dear,” Viper said. “We decided to help keep you calm you’re going to have an old friend here to help you with your labor. A birthing partner. That’s what they call them isn’t it?”

You looked at her wild-eyed, completely confused, and panicked. You had no idea why she was doing this. If they really wanted the baby out, a c-section would be quicker. Though you guessed, with the surgical recovery time it would be harder to move you unnoticed. The whole thing just felt like mind games though. Like she was trying to show you exactly what kind of control she had over you, both your mind and your body.

There was a pop and a gush of water between your legs as the doctor broke your waters and you began to cry. “Why are you doing this to me?”

She patted your cheek. “Consider it your payment for evading us for so long, and destroying my whole operation,” she said. “Or at least a down payment. I don’t plan to make anything easy for you.”

She tapped your cheek again and strode to the door. Just as she reached it, she turned and looked at one of the doctors. “If she behaves, you can let her up, but if she does anything to mess with this labor, strap her down again.”

“Yes, Madame HYDRA,” he said, saluting.

She left the room and the doctors went back to fussing around you. They put monitors on you that seemed to track both yours and the baby’s heart rate. When they seemed to be done most left without a word. One doctor remained. He had a sharp face and dead eyes. “If I let you up, will you behave?” He asked. “I warn you, if you take any of this off, you’re risking the life of that baby.”

You nodded. “I’ll behave,” you agreed.

Your restraints were unfastened. There are guards at the door, not that you can get out,” he said. “And you are being monitored on cameras all over the room. Behave and we’ll be in to check on you regularly.”

As he left a woman was led in. She looked like a wild animal that had been caught in a trap. Her hair was lank and didn’t look like it had been brushed in weeks and her hollow eyes looked around wildly. She was wearing a simple floral nightgown and in her arms was an infant that couldn’t have been more than a few days old. It took you a moment to realize you knew her. She had been in the medical trials back when you were in college. “Azi?” You said.

She turned to look at you startled, furrowing her brow as she assessed you. “Oh my god,” she said and rushed to your side. “Oh my god! What are you doing here? I didn’t know they had you too.”

“How long have you been here, Azi?” You asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. A long time. I don’t know. They came right after the trial ended. I wasn’t pregnant then. Now I have a baby. They move us.”

“Oh my god,” you said, wrapping your arm around her. “Come, sit down.”

You led her to the sofa chair and she sat, cradling the baby. It fussed a little but fell back to sleep as its mother held it close. “Azi, what did they do to you?”

“They took me… and some of the others in the test,” she said. “They’re all dead now…” her eyes snapped up to you.

“They’ve been chasing me. This is all my fault,” you said. A dull pain throbbed out from your back and sides, and you winced and gripped the IV stand. Azi looked up at you alarmed.

“Are you in labor?” She asked.

You nodded. “They just induced me.”

“Did they… did they …?” She asked.

You shook your head. “No. No… I think they were waiting. I’ve been living with someone. Some men. I think they were waiting to see if we’d just end up having kids. What… how… did they force someone on you?”

She shook her head. “It was a medical procedure. I know whose it was… I think… do you remember Gal?”

You nodded. Gal was short and funny and you remembered during the tests he always got telekinesis. He thought it was funny to tap people on the shoulder while he was standing on the other side of the room. “You think he’s dead?”

She nodded and then shook her head. “I think… I don’t know. They were injecting us with things, to make our powers come back, but it wasn’t working. Katrina died. And Shae. And … and…”

“It’s okay,” you soothed, rubbing her back. “It’s okay.”

She looked up at you with wide brown eyes. “If I die, will you take care of my baby? You were always stronger than the rest of us. You’ll look after him. Get him out of here.”

“Shh…” You whispered, crouching down. “We’re gonna both get out of here. Okay? And your baby. What’s his name?”

“I called him Gal. I think… I think that’s only fair,” she said. “Promise me you’ll take care of him.”

“I promise. But you’re going to do that yourself, okay?” You assured her, hoping that Steve and Bucky would come for you soon.

Whether it was the drugs they were using or the fact it was your second child, you couldn’t be sure, but your labor seemed to progress very quickly. Once Azi got used to being in the room with you, she became a little more of a comfort to you. She put baby Gal into the bassinet and would rub your back and soothe you through the contractions. Not that there was much she could do. Having someone on your side was better than being alone with HYDRA scientists, but all you could think was how much you needed Bucky and Steve. Even if they did find you now, they were going to miss the birth of their daughter, and the longer your labor progressed, the harder it was to hang on to hope they’d find you at all.

Azi rubbed your back through a long contraction as you bent over the bed. You’d been left alone again, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until the urge to push hit you. You were in that period of serious pain where everything felt helpless and all you wanted to do was be with your boyfriends and curse them out for doing this to you. Instead, you were in pain and terrified and with a woman who was even more scared than you. Gal slept in the bassinet and part of you was even concerned that if you made too much noise would wake him and take Azi’s attention off you.

“You’re doing great,” she soothed. “I think it won’t be long.”

“I don’t want them to deliver her,” you whined. “I don’t want to do this here.”

“I know,” she said. “I know. I’m here.”

A siren started sounding, waking Gal so the baby's cries blended in with the harsh screeching of the alarms. Azi looked around and hurried over to the infant. “Hey, mommy’s here… I’ve got you,” she said, lifting him and holding him so one ear was pressed to her chest and the other was covered by her hand. “What is that?”

Hope began to creep in again. They’d found you. You knew it. It was only a matter of time before you’d be safe again. You might even get to have this baby with them there with you.

Another contraction hit and you felt the need to push. With Azi distracted with Gal and the sirens sounding, you weren’t sure what to do. “Oh god,” you groaned, gritting your teeth and resisting the urge.

The sirens stopped and you heard footsteps run down the hall. You couldn’t be sure, but you had a feeling they’d left you unguarded. Another contraction hit and as it was ending the doors opened. “Mommy,” Geo cried as he ran over to you. “I don’t wanna be here.”

“I know,” you said, rubbing his back. You looked around unsure what to do. If you stayed here, then you were somewhere set up to deliver a baby, and hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long for Steve or Bucky to find you. The problem was if you stayed here all of HYDRA knew where you were too, and if they were going to try and take you out of here before Steve or Bucky could get to you, then staying here let them do that.

You gritted your teeth. “Geo,” you said. “Do you think you can get the building to take us to a safer room?”

He nodded and took your hand. “Azi, let’s go.”

She didn’t move and you doubled over in pain as another contraction hit. “Mommy?” Geo said, looking at you in fear.

“It’s okay, Geo,” you assured him. “Your sister is coming.” You looked back to Azi. “Azi! We have to go!”

She jumped and followed after you. Geo led you out into the hall, clinging to your hand and pulling you along. There were the sounds of shouting and gunfire, but while none sounded close yet, it was rapidly getting closer. It was coming from several different sides and you began to worry that there wasn’t going to be anywhere safe to go.

Another contraction hit as you turned a corner and you almost collapsed to your knees. The urge to push was intense and you had to consciously clench. You were worried she might already be crowning.

“Mom, please,” Geo said, a look of pure panic. “They’re coming.”

You tried to move, but all you could manage was a few staggered steps.

“Stop them!”

Azi jumped and you flinched at the sound of Viper’s voice as she came around the corner. You pushed Geo behind you and tried to get him to move him forward. Azi squared up, holding her baby so he was slightly protected. “Get away from us!” She screamed.

“There’s no use running, you idiots,” Viper snarled as the guards moved forward. “Where do you think you’re going to go.”

Azi pushed Gal into your arms and charged at the guards, a look of wild rage on her face.

“Azi! No!” You screamed.

Everything happened in slow motion. Azi charged at them hands up like she was going to claw their eyes out and lept at the guard closest. He stumbled back, and the gun went off. Azi’s face froze as blood erupted out of her back. You pulled Geo close as he began to wail and hid his face in your side. For a second you weren’t even aware of the alarms going off again, as both Geo and Gal were screaming.

“Geo, run, go,” you said, pushing him forward. He wouldn’t let go of your hand and you were worried that you weren’t going to be able to convince him to move.

“You idiots! We needed her!” Viper screeched. “Get out of my way!”

She ran at you and you pushed Geo forward in an attempt to get away, knowing full well in your state you weren’t getting anywhere. You managed to waddle forward a few steps as loud blasts erupted behind you. Viper grabbed your shoulder and yanked you back. You held Gal closer to you, sure she was about to make you drop him and a gunshot ran out behind you.

Viper’s grip relaxed and she slumped to the ground behind you.

“Daddy!” Geo shouted as he looked around your legs.

You spun around. Behind you, the hall was complete chaos. The lights were flashing red and white and there were some of Iron Legion rounding up the few guards that Viper had with her. Ari’s body was on the ground and one of the Legion seemed to be assessing it, while Viper's body lay at your feet.

Bucky hurried down the hall, shouldering his rifle. “I’m here,” Bucky said, scooping the boy up. “I’ve got you.”

Geo buried his face in Bucky’s neck and gradually the alarms calmed down and the lights settled. Bucky put his arm around you. “I’ve got you, darlin’,” he said.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you said, the emotions breaking as you started to tremble in his arms. “Take the baby.”

He took the infant from you and you held his elbow as another contraction hit. “Is this her?” He asked.

You shook your head. “No…” you said through gritted teeth. “But she’s coming.”

“Shit,” he cursed. “Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe.”

Geo pointed to a door and Bucky helped walk you to it, even as your body fought you moving at all. “I need one of you to guard,” Bucky barked at the Legion. One flew into place, standing at the door with its hands up and repulsors at the ready.

Bucky moved you inside and your knees buckled - like you’d been holding out until you had even one fragment of safety. Bucky kneeled down beside you, still juggling Geo on the baby. Geo was clinging to him like a koala and he hadn’t lifted his head from the spot in Bucky’s neck since he’d lifted the boy into place.

“Let me see,” Bucky said.

You got on your hands and knees and lifted the gown they’d put you in, spreading your legs until you were as comfortable as you could be. Bucky sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Steve, you read me?” He said. “I’ve found them. And I’d suggest getting to us as quickly as you can if you wanna see your daughter born.��

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #pregnancy #until the end of the world

224 notes · View notes

penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

561 notes · View notes