▬❝ Crush? ❞

Reminder that whatever you’re writing, you shouldn’t give up because no one else can put the puzzle together the same way you can. It’s unique to you, so stop comparing yourselves to others. That completely eliminates the whole purpose. 

hear me out..what abt u and miguel in a hotub trying to hide that fact that you guys are literally screwing eachother in front of the others🤭🤭and he’s talking u through it..whispering in ur ear..telling u to be quiet while he’s literally roaming his hands all over u! 😋😋

this is a leeetle bit funny to me bc in real life, sex is the last thing i'd wanna do in a hot tub. But for Miguel..... 😍😍

Wandering Hands

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Husband!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: You're on a trip away with your husband, Miguel. He gets handsy. (Hot tub sex + Husband!Miguel)

warnings: 18+ , fingering, p in v, instructional, Miguel talks you through it, teeny tiny bit of f!dom, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, very very sappy. Minors DNI

a/n: this is disgustingly sappy and cheesy at some points - I kinda have to apologise in advance. I've had a rough week lmao

very big thank you to my beta reader @tianyhi <33

wc: 2.7k

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

Wandering hands: Miguel has wandering hands. 

It's your anniversary, and that's the thought you're left with as he kneads your thigh, eyes low at a fancy resort. A resort you practically dragged him to, mind you.  He's a workhorse; absorbed in his job and everything that comes with it. Your husband; diligent and devoted, as always; he needed a break. Somewhere hot, somewhere expensive. It’s what he deserved. And whilst he would never take the initiative to book one for himself, isn't that what a wonderful SO was there for?

To his credit, he's been 'unplugged' since the moment you got here - putting away his work laptop and ignoring all the calls he'd get from overbearing clients. His sole focus for this whole week is you; and he's made that abundantly clear. The lingering looks, gentle touches: everything about him screams love and warmth. And he's all yours - a fact that still sends you spiralling, every now and then. All yours. 

"You're not paying attention, cariño." He says under his breath, swirling the wine under his nose like the man in front of him. 

You're both at a wine tasting, like sophisticated adults (...who had made fun of the idea on the way over). Miguel's wearing pressed trousers that hang on his frame just right, and a tank top underneath an open button-up. The peek of flesh makes you hot under the collar like a Victorian housewife, and you flush when you realise you're staring. Miguel pinches your cheek with a laugh, soothing it with a simple kiss. 

Huffing, you take a sip of the expensive wine without thinking. There’s a gasp from the sommelier, and the small group turns to look at you. Your face heats up when you realise what you’ve done - shirking from the pack of eyes silent with sharp critique. A man beside you taps your shoulder with a slimy smile. 

“Miss, that’s a 1978 Monfortino. It probably costs more than your rent.” 

“...I thought this was a wine tasting. So eventually, we have to… taste. The wine.” Miguel chuckles into his drink, squeezing at your waist. You make a fair point.

The man laughs, smug. “With all due respect, it’s an experience of the senses… maybe this is your first time somewhere with this kind of price tag, but it’s quite rude to-”

Miguel clears his throat, flashing a disarming smile at the man to your side. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, with a dangerous veneer you’ve seen before. The smile he gives before closing a big deal at work, calculated and shiny – when he smells blood in the water. 

“With all due respect, watch your fucking tone.” 

His face drops just as quickly, and he downs the rest of his wine, standing up - hand outstretched to take you with him. Gladly, you follow, click-clacking in your heels and little dress; hand tight around his.

“...Pinche idiota…vete a la verga…smug little-” It’s under his breath, but his intensity makes you giggle. 

In the elevator up to your room, he stews, brow creased in little furrows. A force of habit, he pulls you closer, tucking away a stray strand of hair. With a smile, you knead his temples, smoothing the creases. He visibly softens and leans into your touch.

“You’re on vacation, Miguel. Relax, baby.” 

“S’not that simple.” He grumbles, but chases your lips with his own, regardless.

Defiant, you move at the last moment, chin up in the air.

“No, I’m being serious.” He snakes a hand to your ass, dancing over the hem of your dress. 

"I could think of a few ways to decompress, if you're up for it…" Voice low and silky, want pools at the base of your stomach. 

"Miguelito, the bedroom voice doesn't work on me, anymore." You slather on the charm, batting your eyelashes in a way that makes him laugh. He rolls his eyes. 

"Let's do something. I think…I think the spa's still open? We could get a massage-" 

"I don't want a massage unless it's you, baby."

"...or go to the sauna-"

"Didn't pack the right clothes, m'afraid."

"God, don't be mean." It's your turn to roll your eyes. And you whack at his chest, admonishing him gently. "What about the hot tubs?"

He turns his head to the side as if he's deep in thought. Pondering, weighing up the options; when really, the only thought in his head was you in a tiny bikini. 

"If you insist, cariño." 

~~~

The spa isn't too far from your hotel, a stone's throw from the beach. You walk with Miguel in the pleasant evening heat, flip-flops and cover ups light on your back. 

There at the back, open air, behind rows of beach houses and overlooking the sea. You settle into the tubs, each one sectioned by wooden slats and climbing plants - not visible from the main spa, but not completely closed off, either. You can still hear the quiet buzz of other people, although it's not too full this late in the day. 

You slip the light fabric onto the floor, and step out of the cover-up. Miguel, already in the water, watches the light ripple off of your skin. You don't catch him staring, but you feel it. His gaze is heavy as he drinks it in; you are dappled and gorgeous, and his heart is full. You slip in, shuffling up close to him in the dull thrum of the water jets. 

Eyes closed, you rest your head on his shoulder. "You're staring." 

"Yeah." It's so soft, said in the press of warm bodies, that you almost don't hear it. Playfully, he flicks your forehead - in that little triangle between your eyebrows that appears when you're resting. It's cute, he thinks. "...you got a problem with that?"

Laughing, you shake your head. "It's not too much?" 

He moves closer to you, hands on your hips and mouth pressing soft kisses into your neck. 

"The trip, I mean. It was a little last minute, and there was that thing with our passports…" You sigh, turning towards him, hand on his chest to stop him. "I just thought you needed a break. And I know this isn't usually your thing, but I want you to enjoy yourself. If you're not, let me know, and I'll book the first plane out of here, I promise." 

You're looking up at him, clearly worried, and his heart breaks. It's almost as if you've forgotten that an anniversary entails both people, together as one. The truth is, as long as he's with you, and you're having a good time… 

"Doesn't matter where we go, cariño. I'm right where I need to be if I'm with you." He says it like a statement - so matter-of-factly it makes your head spin. Because, you suppose, to him it was a ubiquitous truth: that in every universe, every iteration, the both of you belonged together. What would sound over the top or cheesy coming from someone else, is made so simple by Miguel. A fundamental truth: his home, his happiness, his heartaches and highest highs, were with you, and you alone. 

"Promise me."

"Hand on my heart, baby." He places a palm that spans the crest of his ribcage. "...I promise."

He guides you onto his lap, so your back presses to his. His kisses are so light and airy, you don't notice how his hand creeps towards your thigh and the gentle movement of his hips under yours. 

"You always take care of me," His hand snaps the band of your bikini bottoms, making you writhe on his lap. "Let me return the favour. Relax, cariño."

You nod, gently, eyes blown when you realise what exactly that means. Miguel's large palms dance over your tummy, pinching at the flesh to make you laugh; and then down to your thighs, to paw at them. He shifts, directing you over the jet by the base of the seat, and there is delicious pressure at your clit. 

He cups your pussy under the foam of the water, ripping a heady moan of which you try to subdue. You lean into it: the hand that's now migrated into your bikini, the rock of his hips, and the hickeys he sucks into skin. Coupled with the fact you were in public, he brings you to climax quicker than even he expected. You were so needy, everything about your body telling him you wanted more - needed more. He presses the pad of his finger over your clit, barely there, and you claw at his arms under the water. 

"More?" He coos, dulcet tones brushing the shell of your ear. "Pórtate bien,  okay?" 

So lost in your haze, you don't register the steady padding of a pair of people coming towards you, behind the wooden divider. A head pops over, and you still his wandering hands. 

"Oh, there y'all are!" You see the bronzed face of Jess and her husband, a couple you had met during the trip. She bounces towards you both with dizzying accuracy, donned in a bright swimsuit and sheer cover up around her waist. Her husband is quieter, opting for a nod to Miguel, behind you. 

"Can we join you? Hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Miguel meets your eyes. 

"Is it okay?" He says, a thousand words said in your exchange. We don't have to do anything, it's up to you.

"It's fine," You breathe and then louder, to Jess. "It's fine."

He kisses your forehead and squeezes you closer, shifting so you feel his growing length under his shorts. An action that would seem innocent to a passer-by but below the surface… 

He starts off slow, imperceptible movements as he strokes your clit. It makes you impatient, irritated that he had the audacity to start something he couldn't finish. Or, wouldn't, rather. You make lazy conversation with Jess and her husband; innocuous little things that barely take your mind off of Miguel behind you. 

Some time goes by, and he's somewhat conservative – hand pressed against your pussy like his fingers were made for you. You get used to the pressure, as Jess talks about her day.

"...they're having a sale, as well! We're gonna go back there tomorrow, because, God, there were these earrings that I couldn't take my eyes off of, real gold, and only-" 

"Fuck!" He slips two fingers in, without warning, sinking to the knuckle as your little hole adjusts. Jess pauses, a little confused. 

"I was just…" He scissors them ever so slightly, enjoying watching you squirm. "...t-thinking about how great that deal was. Like… fuck! Real gold!" 

Internally, you wince, hoping she buys it. Jess isn't stupid, but you don't think she knows you well enough to notice your husband fingering you in a hot tub. You hope. 

"Right." She gives you the benefit of the doubt. "Not gold-plated, real gold."

You nod, hoping the foam from the jets is hiding the way you rock into Miguels' fingers. They feel good, curling up into you at that spongy spot he knows too well. 

"There's a good food spot, by the boardwalk. I think they do…" She turns to her husband, who has an arm draped around her. 

"Pasta, baby."

"Pasta! Yes, of course. We had a gorgeous meal and they served mussels, with the dish you were on about, before."

A beat. And then another. There’s a pregnant pause, before Miguel nudges you gently. "Yeah, sorry. It was the… garlick-y… one that had, um…"

You can't concentrate, against his wide torso, his hands between your legs: your brain goes fuzzy. You catch a smile tugging at his lips; and you almost scream. It's cruel, and all he can do is laugh. 

"Miguel's more interested in that stuff, m'afraid." You give her a weak smile, and Miguel rewards you with a thumb to your clit. 

It takes you everything not to jump at the pleasure that rocks your core; and you clamp a hand to his thigh. You make eye contact and he smiles; the smug fuck; gently chattering on with Jess about your trip to a local market, the other day. He's as casual as can be, and seemingly unaffected. 

You try your hardest to nod and smile where necessary; giving simple answers that wouldn't require much thought. In the cool night air, the conversation is pleasant enough, but your husband insists on stretching out your orgasm – watching for the tell-tale signs and pulling away. It's a game of cat and mouse; and whilst you just want to get off, Miguel takes pleasure in the chase. 

"We should be heading off, I think." Jess says after a while. "Just wanted to catch up with you two."

Miguel smiles, dizzying and innocuous. "We're happy to, Jess."

They slip out with a splash, and she nods towards you. "You ok, sweetheart? You just seem a bit out of it, today."

Perhaps too hastily, you nod. "I think…I t-think it was something I ate."

"Oh." She looks a little worried, and it makes you feel guilty. "You get better then. I'll give you a call tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jess." And with that, they make their way out. 

Once out of sight, Miguel speeds up, his other hand on your thigh to wrench your legs open. The speed makes you dizzy, melting with your head back on his shoulder and desperately humping his hand for some relief. The rock and slosh of water over tiles barely registers in your fog. 

As you moan and writhe, he whispers filth into your ear. 

"Quieter, cariño. What if someone hears?" You whine and all he does is chuckle, lowly. "What if they find you, spread on my lap, fucking yourself on my fingers?" 

"You're being mean."

"Eso no es justo, amor." He titters, shaking his head. "You told me to relax, no? This is how I want to relax." 

Tears prick at your eyes, as he uses his other hand to rub circles into your clit, the warm froth washes over you both, but all you can feel is him. 

"¿Dime que quieres, hermosa?" What do you want?

"M'close, Miguel." You bite down another moan. “I’m ready.”

"Want to feel it, baby. Cum for me."

You tilt your head to the side, and he captures your lips with his own – in awe as you clamp around his fingers. Grinding down on his crotch, you ride out your orgasm. The way he makes you feel is hot, and wet and filthy. 

When your shaking legs still, you turn around to face him. He's hard, and too much of a gentleman to take his own pleasure. You slip a hand into his shorts, hand hot against his cock. It's his turn to lean into the bliss: head back and lips slightly parted with pleasure. 

You've always liked his lips, plump and kissable, a pretty pink that just fits against yours. 

"You're teasing." He hisses softly. 

You scrape your nails along his chest, and he keens, clutching your hand close to his heart. 

"...and what exactly have you been doing all night?“ You make a tight ring with your fingers, squeezing his tip and his hips jump up. 

"Vale, vale, vaaale…." He paws at you waist, a little desperate. "Fuck- I get it."

You give him a kiss, wet and needy, before slipping the gusset of your bikini to the side and sinking down on his length. He cries out and you swallow it, pressing yourself even closer to him. With your tits against his chest like that, he can't think straight. You shift against his length, finding a steady rhythm but it's too slow – and Miguel grows impatient. With a growl, he places both hands on your hips, forcing you downwards as you writhe on his length. 

"Dámelo, dámelo…" He slams his cock into you - hard and fast and just the way you like it. "Just like that, baby, just like-" 

That growing coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you clamp around him. But he doesn't stop, just fucks you through it until he cums, hot and sticky fluids spilling into you. Panting, you capture him into a kiss. You separate, and he's got a dopey smile on his face. 

Content. Relaxed, even. 

~~~

Jess calls you the morning after, and you answer. 

"Hey, everything ok?" You yawn into the receiver, a little tired from last night's activities.

"I said I would call, didn't I?" 

You hum. "...suppose you did."

"You feeling better now Miguel's not playing with your pussy in a hot tub?" 

Shit. You almost drop the phone. "Jesus, we didn't-" 

"Save. It." She grumbles something you can't quite hear; something you suspect you're better off not hearing, anyways. 

"...Sorry. We weren't really thinking."

"Damn straight." She pauses. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. Can’t even judge you, to be honest. As I always say, it's not a real vacation until you fuck your husband somewhere you shouldn't-" 

"Gross, Jess."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did the woman who got fingered in a hot tub just say something??" 

You wince at the vulgarity of her words. 

"....Ouch." 

She laughs into the speakerphone, and you join her. Besides you, Miguel stirs, a little smile on his face. Half asleep, he thinks he’s heard an angel, voice light and airy in the space of your hotel room.

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @tea-earl-grey-thot

The kids buy a van, unmask the evil head of Hawkins lab and adopt a dog. It is then revealed that Stranger Things is simply a Scooby Doo prequel series!

Dream Boy (1/?)

Steven Grant x F!Reader, Marc Spector x F!Reader

↪ Warnings: Fluff, Stuttering (Sorry), Not the best of Writing, Oscar Isaac

↪ Summary: Your first day on the job. Seems simple enough right? Well, that simplicity changes when you meet your new boss and new coworker. Simple....right?

A/N : I'm so sorry for this. The stuttering does get out of hand tbh- I hope this isn't too cheesy. This is from my Wattpad. It's sure going to look childish. Yeah, just read it. What could go wrong?

Cheerio!

Words: 1k :)

It was a day like no other.

You had work today at the Museum. You had just gotten a job there and didn't want to go. Sure, it was to pay off rent, and yeah, you thought it would be fun.

But, waking up at 6 am just to sell things that didn't associate with Egyptians seemed foolish.

You lifted yourself off your very comfortable bed. It was the most relaxed you've been in a while. You had such a groggy feeling as you lazily opened your eyelids. Your eyes gave a second to adjust.

The sun shined through your curtains. You stretched your arms and yawned as you set your eyes on your alarm clock.

6:55...

That's what it read. right? You squinted your eyes so that you could make sure you were reading it correctly.

"Oh, bloody hell.."

You huffed as you quickly got up to grab your clothes from your dresser. Two words repeated in your head as you tried to rush your way out of the apartment. 'I'm Late. I'm Late. I'm Late!'

You eventually did make it out the door but, dang, you didn't have your keys.

You rolled your eyes as you barged back into your apartment to find your keys. Didn't take you long, but it could've been quicker to find them.

You stormed out the door, locking it swiftly. You would be delighted to just look decent since you didn't get a chance to even look at yourself in the mirror.

Just what you need to start your new day at work.

. . . . . . . . 𓆩❤︎𓆪 . . . . . . . .

You had eventually set foot into the museum. Sadly, you were looking for the gift shop. Your field of vision was a bit lazy as you tried your hardest to look around without looking like a twat.

Your search was stopped when someone tapped your shoulder.

Your body jolted towards the tap. Your eyes had moved first as your head followed to reveal a woman. A very disappointed-looking woman to be exact.

Your eyes went straight for the name tag. It read 'Donna'

'Shit, it's my boss'

The stiffness in your body grew as she stared at you with a disgusted face.

"Annndd where the hell have you been?"

Her accent was strong as she scolded you. You gave her a sheepish smile as you scratched the back of your neck.

"I- I'm sorry, I wo-"

"I don't need your excuses, your 'partner' was late too. Can I not even have loyal employees?!"

Her voice rose. You were stuck on the word she used for your secretary. They are supposed to help you in the Gift Shop department since you've never been good with cashiers. You would've never expected them to be late.

"Well? get to WORK!"

Your eyes grew wider as people around you began to stare. You nodded to Donna, yet, you still had to ask her one more question. Where the hell is the gift shop.

"Don-"

"To your right"

"Yes ma'am"

You saluted her off for some reason. You shook it off as you jogged towards the Gift Shop. Luckily, it was easy to see. You were also glad to see that there weren't any customers.

You finally reached a white counter that shined bright against the lights from the ceiling.

You looked left and right for your so-called secretary. You couldn't quite find them so you just decided to take a minute for yourself and put your stuff away.

You had also found a small mirror on the counter.

You decided it would be best to fix the mess of hair that appeared to be a bird's nest.

You laughed a bit at yourself as you attempted to fix it. Along with your eye bags, you grabbed some under-eye foundation, which you thought was very useful.

As you began to place the substance on your face, some sort of eerie feeling came upon you. It didn't feel right but it didn't feel wrong either.

You shook your head slightly and finished the rest of the mush on your face so it didn't look out of place.

Suddenly, your eyes met with another's in the mirror. You looked concerned as you slowly turned towards the being.

"Oh..h-hi"

Someone said with a flustered voice. Your face met with theirs. You scanned them, it was a guy. A very handsome guy to say the least.

You had forgotten about their greeting so you blurted out,

"H-hello!"

Your face went into a bright pink as the man chuckled a bit at your response. You tried to laugh along but your brain felt like it was shutting down.

"I-I'm guessing you're the one working with me, no?"

You forced yourself to nod a 'yes' towards the black-haired boy. He appeared to be wearing a grey jacket of sorts with a button-up collar and some very nice dark grey jeans. He had very curly hair which fell on top of his forehead. 'Talk about smoking hot!'

You hadn't noticed, but a smirk grew onto your face as you scanned the man's features.

"Let m-me show ya the ropes"

"Sure"

He spoke fluently, yet, he always stuttered at least once in his sentences. Probably because you were a new person to appear in his life. An attractive one to say the least.

He began showing you where everything is. You had a fond memory so it wasn't too hard to recollect everything. You took one whole circle around the Gift Shop until you came back to the counter.

"So? Y-you think you're good to go?"

You meddled with your hands as you were stuck on one thing. The stupid cash register. That's the one thing that you struggled with the most.

"I-I um... Could you p-possibly.."

Why was this so damn hard? You were usually so good at speaking your mind and finding words without thinking about it. For some reason, it was so hard to find the words to ask how to use a singular cash register.

You rolled your eyes at yourself. The curly-haired boy didn't seem to take it that way.

"S-Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

A confused look came back to you as you waved your arms around.

"No! of course not, why would you think that?"

He started to fiddle with his thumbs as he couldn't think of something to say. You looked at him for a second to spot a name tag. You quickly read it.

"Steven"

Your right hand covered your mouth from the sudden outburst. 'I didn't mean to say that out loud!'. Steven looked at you with his cheeks turning a dark red. His eyes were wide as his mouth was partly open.

"How-"

"Your name tag! Don't worry I'm not a stalker!"

You both laughed a bit in relief. This was getting a little awkward. You sure as hell didn't want Donna to come back and yell at the two of you for not getting your work done.

"Just- could you help me with the register?"

Steven's eyes looked joyous. It was as if they were sparkling.

"M-my help?!"

He was pretty joyful. He looked like a puppy as he led you towards the back of the counter.

"Cute"

You whispered as you followed. He looked at you but went right back to the cashier with a bright smile on his face. Then he began to show you how it works and yada yada.

. . . . . . . . 𓆩❤︎𓆪 . . . . . . . .

The shift was almost over. You should've been grateful, but you weren't. You felt this pain in your chest as you began to close off the shop. 'What's wrong with me?'

You've never felt this, it didn't feel right. Your face looked disgusted as you turned around back to Steven, who had just finished putting away the plushies that were on the floor.

His face looked gentle as he strolled over to you.

"Are y-you alright?"

Your face fell back into a calm smile as you spoke to the nervous boy.

"I'm quite alright, you?"

"Feelin like a ray of sunshine"

He gave you a warm smile. You both chuckled as you left the shop to finally close off your nights.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

You said as you held the back of your neck with your hand. Steven put his gaze on you, it was as if he was staring at you lovingly. 'As If!'

"Can't wait.."

He darted his eyes towards the ground as you both walked out of the museum. You were going to say goodbye until you noticed something. Steven had been walking the same way as you towards your bus stop.

"Uh, Steven?"

His face jolted up to look at you once again

"O-oh, hello"

"Do you take this bus too?"

His face froze as he looked at the bus stop. It sure was his bus stop. His head turned towards you and then his eyes did.

"I guess it is"

His smile never faded as you both waited for the bus. You did eventually get on it, together. Steven was kind enough to pay for you. You reassured him that he didn't need to. He shrugged it off saying that he owes you.

"Owe me for what?"

"F-For being so kind"

His smile just somehow grew larger and brighter. He sure was optimistic. You ran a hand through your hair as you looked out the window for a second. It was almost time for you to get off.

Butterflies formed in your stomach. The butterflies seemed to be a good and bad feeling. They came from Steven's compliment but also came from the fact you were going to leave someone who made you happy.

Your stop became closer and you sighed.

Steven's face grew concerned. He didn't say anything but he did glance at you from time and time.

You got up from your seat and waved goodbye.

"Now I will see you tomorrow"

A loving smile formed on your face as you looked at the curly-haired boy one more time. He smiled back. You could hear your heart pound as he said his next words. It was the cutest thing he said all day.

"Laters Gators"

A/N: Wasn't too bad, yeah? I might post the second chapter. Idk, we shall see... Hope you enjoyed my awful writing <3

hate to love you

ˣ pairing: poe dameron x f!reader

ˣ summary: being stranded on a planet? not a problem, at least rescue’s coming. the real issue is that it means for twelve hours, you’re stuck with poe dameron.

ˣ warnings: 7.7k wc. explicit smut (oral/vaginal) and language. enemies-ish to lovers & forced proximity trope. mentions of blood & injuries. kinda soft!

ˣ a/n: “it’s been 84 years…” seriously tho i apologize for the big delay in posting ;_; but yay here’s my first official poe fic! i didn’t intend for this to be quite long, still i hope you enjoy 🤍

You’re seething with anger.

A red, hot, and blinding rage.

One more word out of your Commander, and you swear you’d make him regret having survived that crash landing.

You couldn’t care any less for his half-assed excuses. The weak explanations and baseless assumptions that only boil your blood. Even the sound of his mere voice has you so irritated that you wish the explosion had blown out your ear drums.

If only he had listened to you, then the two of you wouldn’t be in this mess— you wouldn’t be stranded on some unknown, barren planet deep in the outer rim.

Quick to point a finger, this was entirely Poe Dameron’s doing.

This was all his fucking fault.

Keep reading

Something really shitty has just been passed by the UK goverment.

A new bill that is stripping out human rights has been passed and we need to fight it before it costs lives. The new Human Rights Bill has made nazi Germans esc changes that will effect you or somone you love.

The most notiable parts being:

-If you are admitted to hospital with a disability or chronic condition a doctor can put a DNR do not ressusatate on you and you can’t appeal it.

-They are stopping woman from being able to move fowards with assault charges

- They are making it impossible for victims of terrorism to get justice. They won’t let people like the victims of  the hillsborough disaster hold the people responsible

Please do your own research if you must but we can’t let this happen!

There a petition to sign that’s already half way there so please share it around and tell ppl in the UK what is happening.

 https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/607712

Petitions - UK Government and Parliament

Petition: Do not reform the Human Rights Act

The proposed Human Rights Act reforms must be withdrawn. The Government must not make any changes to the Human Rights Act, especially ones t

Like turning on the light (Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader Smut)

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x younger(adult)!fem!reader

Summary: After Obi-Wan gets you and Leia back from the Fortress Inquisitorius, the feelings you have been stifling finally come to surface on your way to Jabiim.

Warnings: Obi-Wan Kenobi spoilers, smut (minors DNI), age gap (legal - I imagine reader in her early 20s), loss of virginity, fingering, unprotected p in v (pulling out), all very soft, Obi-Wan feeling a little guilty though, no daddy issues explicitly mentioned but this whole thing is, like, deeply rooted in them, extreme loneliness? and being touch-starved? mention of light injury on reader, being kidnapped, canon-typical stuff, nothing specific about the reader's family but she is 'alone in the world'

Word count: ~9.7K I needed to get this out of my system pls don't judge me

A/n: So... I didn't use to have a crush on Obi-Wan, but then the show happened and then Obi-Wan being all sad and protective happened and then... this happened. I took a little liberty with the timeline in the first ep but it's blink and you'll miss it.

Already mentioned that it's consenting adults but just to be safe: if the age gap is not your thing please scroll past this😄

***

You hiss. The wound is a little deeper than you originally thought and a little awkward to reach, slightly to the back of your upper right arm. It could be much worse, had the Stormtrooper aimed an inch to the right, or if it weren't for you dodging the blaster shot in time for it to only graze your flesh instead of burning a hole through it. 

In the end, though, you'd take that version of events any day over one where yo never got to push Leia out of the way at all.

No use imagining that. You're safe now, on the ship taking you to Jabiim. The Fortress Inquisitorious is thankfully behind you, but far from being a distant memory whose burn has faded. 

There is a small, secluded area on the ship meant for Jedi refugees who need rest on their way to safety. You are there now, sitting on a cot as you try to take care of yourself, like you always used to do before crossing paths with him. You don't truly want to be alone, but to be honest, you're not ready for the things you would say or do in the presence of others. The last thing you saw before retreating to the other room was Leia taking Ben's hand in comfort, her tiny one disappearing inside the large palm of his. She is so brave. All it does is remind you how afraid you'd been - the gut-wrenching feeling Reva had managed to plant in the depths of your chest with three little words spoken in sadistic satisfaction.

Obi-Wan is-

-bound to come check on you. So, you are hardly surprised when there is a knock on the automatic doors, and more than certain who they will reveal once you give permission and they open with a hiss.

He looks tired. But then again, he always does, even freshly awoken in the morning. Tired and troubled. His eyes are worried, his voice soft.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'll survive," you say, glancing at the cut on your arm. "How's Leia?"

He smiles fondly. "Strong. Like her mother."

"I wish I could say the same," you confess. "Never thought I'd miss Tattooine."

The short time you spent on that planet, you hated it. The heat, the smells, the constant feeling of thirst. But most of all, you hated the way that awful man you worked for looked at you, as if you held even less worth than the pieces of meat you spent hours on end chopping and packing for the miserable excuse of a wage he paid you at the end of the day. Hardly any of his workers received the credits they were owed in their entirety, but you? A young woman, new to the planet, all alone in the world? What trouble could you possibly give him if he decided to take from you the most?

None that wouldn't get you a much worse fate.

"This is barely a quarter, won't last me a week!" you all but cry out when the droid drops the sad little pile of coins in your hand. "At least give me the half you usually do!"

The foreman's smirk is sadistic under his unruly beard. "I did give you half - of a half. Now, get out of my sight before I take it away."

"Why you big, stinking bantha-"

You see red. You have no idea what you mean to do, the man is twice your size. But you take the two furious steps that get you right in his face. Whether you were about to slap him or spit in his eye, you get to do neither before he shoves your shoulder, hard, and you fall to the ground.

"Last warning, sweet cheeks," he sneers down at you.

All the workers waiting in line behind you to get paid are watching, silent as the dead. No one says anything. No one does anything. You want to look up defiantly, scorch the bastard with a withering glare, if nothing else - but there are tears of humiliation burning behind your eyes, your heart is running rampant, and fear blends with your anger as you feel something else start to burn within you as well.

As always, there's no controlling it. It builds in your gut, your bones, your very soul. And before you can even begin to try and shove it down, there are particles of sand thrumming to life around you, driven by light vibrations of air that are dangerously close to becoming noticeable to everyone watching. 

No, no, no.

You've seen what becomes of anyone who dares show the smallest connection to the Force.

Someone crouches down next to you, and you almost shove them away blindly. But then there's a large hand on your arm, and an urgent, but soft voice whispering for your ears only.

"No. He's not worth your life."

You look at the man speaking to you, stunned. He was behind you in the line. You see him everyday, just like all the other workers, but this is the first time you truly notice him - bearded, blue eyes, lines of age and an understanding on his face that leaves you no doubt he knows. And he's not using it against you. 

The air around you stills as his eyes put you at ease.

They still do. It's why you hold his gaze, even as you continue to clean your wound. You need the reminder that you have pulled through, and that come what may, you'll pull through that, too. With him.

You wince when your hand slips.

"Here, let me," Ben says. He comes to sit next to you, the doors closing behind him. He reaches for the bacta-soaked gauze you're using, and you let him take over brushing the wound with more practiced and gentle movements, his other hand holding your elbow as he works. You relax into the small contact, taking in the slight furrow of his brow. It feels so natural to put your safety in his hands now, and it goes without saying that you don't even have to ask.

He only refused you once - the first time you did.

"Wherever I go, whatever I do, sooner or later, it always shows. I don't know what to do with it. If you won't teach me how to use it, then at least show me how you hide it. Please. I'm tired of running."

He says no. Just keep your emotions in check, your head down. But then a Jedi gets hung on display in the street, and after your eyes somehow find Ben's in the crowd of terrified onlookers, he tells you to meet him at his cave once the two suns have lowered. 

You do. He's far from a good teacher these days. It's like his instinct tells him to guide you further towards the Force, even as he searches for the words that will explain to you how to shut it down, shove it so deep within yourself that you forget it's there. Like he still struggles to.

It really shouldn't take too long. But you can't hide it without learning to control it, at least in some capacity. And he has a tip or two to spare about how to defend yourself, even without it. 

One evening turns into two, then more. Your face becomes familiar. He starts to learn the sound of your voice - the first and only one apart from his own and Teeka's to echo off the walls of his cave.

The one you've made a dwelling out of (because how could you afford to rent any kind of place with a lock on it?) is much smaller, unprotected by a droid sensor like his. You haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks - always jerking awake at the slightest of sounds, keeping a small knife under your pillow just in case.

He thinks you'll refuse - hopes you will as much as he dreads it. He means no harm when he offers, but why would you agree to share a sleeping space with an older man you'd barely just met? Why would he be willing to share his?

Responsibility, that's why. That pesky Jedi itch to protect that's etched into his very bones, starting to creep in on him as if he doesn't already have a duty to fulfill, towards the boy. As if the last time he was entrusted with someone else's destiny didn't spell the tragic end of both the man he once was and that someone.

His name still hurts to think about.

You do take what little safety he has to offer. There is a fair amount of distance between your sleeping spots, but he can still hear your deep, even breaths. He remains awake for a long time that first night, listening to the presence of another. He knows you a little better now, well enough to know all you want in the world is a home. This isn't it. Not here, not him. Which makes it all the more selfish that he sleeps remarkably well with you by his distant side. 

The lonely didn't use to be so loud before you. It's strange how not strange it is to have you around, part of his daily routine. Even if he still keeps most of his past to himself, the parts of it that would endanger you both were he to reveal them. The more time he spends close to you, however, the closer they come to slipping into the light.

"Ben?"

He wakes up one night to the dampness of sheets, a horribly dry throat and your hand gripping his shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize the yelp he heard was his own, and that the flames of Mustafar have given way to his - your - dark cave. 

"You were mumbling in your sleep. Thrashing around." Your voice holds concern. Your hold on him loosens, but you don't let go. "Seemed like you were having a nightmare."

He often does, but he's never been distracted from them so fast. At the forefront of his mind is that you've never been so close at night. Now that he thinks of it, you've never touched him before, not since the day you met and he took hold of your arm to ground you. 

The warmth of your hand is a welcome balm after the heat of battle, and feels like a cool blessing compared to the mere memory of the fire he'd watched consume him.

"Not a nightmare," he says eventually. "Nightmares aren't real."

You seem unsure, frightened even, to ask. But there's a sort of soft curiosity in your eyes that wins over as you do, almost too quietly for him to hear.

"Who is Anakin?"

He doesn't answer. And you don't break the long silence that follows with further questions before you quietly step away.

The following night, he dreams differently. There's still blood and fire and betrayal, but it's the warmth of your body rather than being nudged awake which pulls him out. You're lying half on top of him, one leg casually slung over his and your hand over his heart, where your head was just resting before you raised it to look at him with those same soft, curious eyes. You caress his bearded cheek, and the tenderness makes him shudder as if your fingers were the tip of a blade. He can't hold your gaze when you touch him like that, so he shuts his eyes. This isn't what you're here for, it can't and shouldn't be. 

And then he opens his eyes to realize he was never truly awake at all. You're in your own makeshift bed, as you have always been. He's no stranger to the feeling of guilt as it washes over him, but the cold that comes with lack of touch when the ghost of it still lingered painfully real on his skin… that's a new kind of torment.

Not unlike shooting out of a bacta tank, the liquid freezing on his bare, recently scorched skin as he learned that you and Leia had been taken. He didn't want to imagine what might have been happening to you before he had you back, and it is a tremendous relief to see that the little girl is perfectly well and the only wound you have to show for your ordeal is one that happened when you were already on your way to freedom, right by his side.

Still, he asks.

"Were you hurt? Anywhere else?"

Oh, you were. Still are. But not in the kind of place that bacta can heal.

The words don't come out quiet yet, though.

"The Third Sister, she… she wanted Leia first. Thought she would break more easily." You shudder. "I tried to get her to take me instead but…"

But you couldn't make any difference, and it nearly cost the child you had promised Ben you would protect even more innocence than she had already lost. You hardly realized when it all stopped being about you and him, and became about her.

You go with him when he leaves to find Leia, despite his protests. Tell yourself you're doing the right thing, using what has always felt like a curse as a force for good. And maybe that's true, but just as true is that you'd rather follow Ben to the darkest hole in the galaxy then be alone again, sleeping in an empty cave as you wonder night after night whether he is ever coming back. 

It's been different for a while. Since his nightmare, or perhaps before. You've become more aware of him, more attached - that dreaded word forbidden by the Jedi. It's taken physical form - a sense of ease when he is near, the opposite when he is not. You wonder what he would have done, had you not retreated back to your own sleeping spot that one night. Back then, you felt his muscles loosen under your touch, the first one, you could tell, he'd felt in a long time. Like it was for you. More than once, you've thought of slipping beneath his covers when his brow furrowed with the memories plaguing his sleep, though you weren't sure for the comfort of whom. And while you don't question his pure intentions… yours are more unclear by the day. He is safety, but not peace - not when you find yourself growing restless at night, wondering what the lines of his face would feel like under your fingertips. Your lips.

He can't not know. And if you're being honest, you know about him, too. It lies dormant in the layer of the Force around you, hiding in plain sight in the words you avoid.

"If anyone asks, you're his daughter," you instruct Leia, crouching in front of her on a busy street on Daiyu. Ben subtly scours the crowd , watching out for any potential threats coming your way. The girl looks him up and down, raising a skeptical little eyebrow.

"Granddaughter, maybe," she mutters under her breath, earning a slight frown from Ben, and an accusatory whisper of her name from you. She doesn't even do you the courtesy of looking sheepish as she concedes, "Are you supposed to be my sister, then?"

There's a short, pregnant pause.

"I'm a friend," you settle for, the word hanging awkwardly between the three of you. "Close family friend."

She's not stupid by any means, but she's still a child. She doesn't understand. Few would. But then you get separated on Mapuzo, and even though he isn't there for you to call out to when she cuts you and Leia off, The Third Sister does see the blade waiting to be yielded clear as a lit saber - and twists it as far as it can go inside your gut.

"Obi-Wan is dead. He burned to death on Mapuzo."

"No use dwelling on that," he gently cuts your earlier train of thought about Leia, pulling you back to the present. By now, he's applying the bandage, careful to cover the entire length of your cut. "You were both spared the pain, that's all that matters."

This time, the words tumble out.

"She told us you were dead. I doubt she could have done any worse."

His hands freeze.

Of course it's not completely true - you wouldn't wish Leia's suffering over anything in the galaxy. But when it comes to yourself, an interrogation droid would have left you less rattled than that one lie.

Ben's done patching you up. Your arm, at least. But his hand is still a warm weight on your shoulder as the gravity of your words hangs between you.

"Y/n…"

You don't want to cry. You did enough of that, alone in your cell. Which is why you look straight ahead instead of meeting his gaze.

No one is coming for you.

But he did. And in the midst of blaster fire and the underwater base sinking in on you through broken glass, you could do nothing but run and keep at bay the immense wave of relief that threatened to sweep your legs from underneath you.

A ragged sigh escapes you, raw exhaustion and tears that never had the time to pour out. Even then, you hesitate, almost halt your motion the moment you start to lean in - but then you bury your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms around him anyway, and when he instantly pulls you in close with one hand cradling your head you half-sob into his tunic. 

"Oh, dear," he murmurs sorrowfully, fingers lightly caressing your hair as you tremble in his arms.

When you run into him on the base, you nearly shoot him in the head with the blaster you stole from one of the Troopers. Freshly broken out of your cell, knuckles white on the weapon and your heart beating like that of a hunted animal, you allowed yourself to think of nothing but finding Leia as you snuck through the halls of the fortress. You never expected to see her around the corner, hand in hand with Ben. And though you're still in the Empire's clutches, and you still have to keep yourself together when you feel like the world is coming down around you… it's infinitely easier to do when you're not on your own anymore. The Maker only knows how you'd ever done it before.

"I felt so alone," you confess, head still tucked in his neck and voice heavy with tears. "All my life, I've been alone, but… not a day since I met you. I could live with it before, I thought I'd be able to again, but… now there's her," you breathe out, terrifying yourself again with how much Leia has come to mean to you in such a short time, how desperately you need to not let her down. "I can't do this without you, Ben. If you hadn't come-"

"Don't think of it," he:s quick to soothe. His hold on your tightens just the slightest. "You are not alone, y/n. I'll come find you. Whenever you need me, I'll always come find you."

He speaks the words with all the conviction he's capable of, like a vow. You react deeply, viscerally, almost. 

He's so strong, but also soft. He holds you in such a safe embrace, you almost shudder at the feeling. You shouldn't, not here, not now. Oh, you know you shouldn't - but you feel it between your legs. It trickles there in a slow, but steady flow, warmth that turns to the beginning of a familiar ache. Perhaps it's your body's way of coping, this nearly instant spark of pleasure that ignites from an innocent touch, but you've felt it before, with him, and knew you couldn't hold it off forever. And when he speaks to you like that…

His name falls from your lips. A low, pleading sound. His fingers in your hair halt.

"What is it?"

It's his presence. His touch. The skin of his neck and the brush of his beard against the arch of your nose as you slowly angle up your chin until your lips are where your forehead used to be, lingering on his pulse point. You swear you can feel his heart stutter as his arms tense around you. He says your name, now - a whispered question. You lift your head, and meet his eyes in such a way that should be enough to give the answer. You can't tell if it does, but he's still holding you.

So, slow and steady, you lift your leg over both of his, shift your weight - and straddle his knees. You settle there, hands on his shoulders and eyes searching his. He doesn't dare move, only sits completely still without looking away. His arms have untangled from around you with the movement and his hands hover over your hips, unsure. You're so close you can feel each other's breath, and every nerve ending in your body is alight, though no inch of your skin is touching his. It's almost frightened, the way he looks at you, but you know him by now. It's the same look he had when Bail Organa asked for his help. Not fear of being broken, but of breaking something without meaning to, the way he still blames himself for having done before. 

Your gaze drops to his lips. They used to be most often dry, as was everything on Tattooine, but his time in the bacta tank must have worked to dial back some of the years of dehydration. Not that it makes that much of a difference - you were as eager to taste them before as you are now. 

You lean in to do just that.

"Wait."

He takes firm hold of your waist. A way to keep you from closing the distance - and his hands from touching somewhere else.

"I meant what I said, y/n. But I'm not the man you need," he says softly. His mellow voice does the opposite of his words, making your chest ache with longing.

"You're the man I want," you finally confess, brushing a strand of sand-coloured hair away from his temple. "I feel safe with you, Ben. That's all I've wanted for so long."

"But it doesn't mean you want this."

"You don't?"

He can't say that he doesn't. He knows you're an adult with every right to choose who you give yourself to, but Maker, he feels so old and weary. And perhaps that wouldn't feel so wrong, if only he weren't so broken. He wishes he could feel for you what he used to feel for Anakin - the need to protect you, to guide you through the ways of the Force. In a way, he does. But he wants you closer. Has craved the comfort of your touch since before he cared to admit it. Your fingers in his hair are caring and gentle in ways he has long left behind, and if he were the kind of man who values relief over the person offering it, he would have you sighing beneath his eager mouth already.

But he is not, and he doesn't wish he were. He only wishes for you to be alright. Which is why his answer is a half-truth. "I shouldn't."

Your brows furrow in a disheartened little frown that makes his heart ache. "Because of the Jedi code?"

"I'm not a Jedi anymore," he says without hesitation. "I simply can't risk hurting you."

"How could you hurt me?"

You ask that question with such innocent incredulity, like the mere thought of it is more preposterously absurd than a flood on Tattooine. He can't help a fond, but sad smile.

"I'm twice your age, sweetheart. And ten times as worn out."

It's not that you don't know it. And though you felt the urge to avoid saying it before, if anything, hearing it out loud makes you realize how little it matters to your feelings.

You trace the lines at the corner of his eyes with a feather-light touch of your thumb, your other hand cupping his bearded cheek. It's surprisingly soft, and you relish the feeling as much as he does as his eyes fall shut under your tender attentions. 

The shadow of an adoring smile blooms on your lips as you whisper, "Well, then… you age like wine, Master Kenobi."

Ah, you sure know how to stroke a man's ego. He can't remember the last time he received a compliment, especially one that catered to his appeal as well as his Jedi skills. The corner of his mouth threatens to curl upwards as he opens his eyes into yours, and finds nothing but sincerity there.

"I'm flattered," he manages to sound composed, even when all he wants is to tell you how beautiful you are, and pull you closer. "But that doesn't change the fact that I can't give you the life you deserve. Perhaps it isn't forbidden and perhaps it feels good in the moment, but… you'll grow to regret this, y/n."

You're silent after that. You lower your gaze for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek as you let your hands fall from his face to his shoulders again. He already mourns the loss of you in his arms before you've even had a chance to leave them.

But you never do.

"Do you care for me? This way?"

There's something in the way you ask as if you don't know - like it hasn't been right there, lingering just below the surface of every exchange of words and glances - that drives him to reach up and caress your cheek as if he has to prove it. 

"My dear, you know I do," he admits, and it's both relief and self-accusation as you lean into his touch. "I can't help it, I do."

It's all you need to hear.

"Then let me decide what I'll regret."

That being said, you inch closer. And when he makes no further move to stop you, when his breath hitches and his eyes fall to your lips in surrender, you close the small gap that was left between your mouths.

Obi-Wan hasn't been touched in years, let alone kissed. Jedi rarely do. Physical relief isn't - wasn't forbidden. When the Code still mattered. But there was always a mission, always more and more lives to be saved, and little to no time for such dealings. His memory doesn't completely fail him, though, not unlike the Force still running through his veins, however sluggishly. And he has plenty of time to shake off the rust as you take it slow and steady, though it's for your own sake that you do so rather than his.

It feels right, although foreign - the brush of his beard, the wetness of his lips under yours. He was so still at first you feared you had misread his desire after all, but he quickly thawed. You kiss with small, languid movements of the lips, and your skin prickles with goosebumps as he slides the hand on your waist slightly up your back, large palm splayed over the small of it and pulling you in closer.

His other hand slides down your neck, coming to rest over your heart. Feeling the gallop he's earned with just a kiss is enough to send blood rushing below his belt. To feel you trembling with need in his arms, hips starting a subtle roll as more of you seeks out more of him… the man he thought he'd buried in the sand along with the lightsabers comes forth to respond in kind, just as the Jedi he once was had returned to fight and defend for the right cause. For the right person.

For the first time in ten years, he wants with all the vigour a man could want, and more passion than he was taught a Jedi ever should.

Damn me for this, he thinks half-heartedly. But your desire shows as clear as day, and he is only human. A lonely human haunted by the past who has gone much too long without being cared for, just as you have. How could he deny you? Or himself? You pull away, lips swollen and breath heavy with the weight of your desire, and he couldn't think a word past 'breath-taking' if he tried.

You tug at the fastenings of your trousers, trying to get them open. He's frozen in the moment - watching your face, pinched with concentration and lust as he caresses your cheeks. He still wonders why you want to bare yourself for him. The galaxy lies ahead of you, and there are many arms stronger than his to be found there. Many eyes swirling with youthful vigour, free of crinkles at the edges and lines of sleepless nights beneath. Many hands hardened by honest work instead of a battle for the Light that had been doomed before it began.

But it is his hand nonetheless - calloused, rough and a stranger to tenderness for the past ten years - that you take in yours and guide down, down, down, between your legs.

Your eyes fall shut at the first touch of his fingers, and he has to fight the urge to do the same because, Maker - how wet and warm he finds your flesh. 

"See?" you breathe out, mouth falling in an 'O' as you work your fingers over his, pressing them into your soaked folds in slow, blissful circles. Your eyes flutter open into his. "I want you. I've wanted you for… ah!" you gasp when he takes the lead by reawakened instinct, easily locating the swollen bundle of nerves aching for his attention as you clutch at his shoulders with both hands "... for a while."

Your clit feels so delicate under his fingers - so sensitive to the touch, the gentlest move can clip your breath, earn a sound of bliss from your throat. You tend to bury your face in his neck, pant and gasp your pleasure there, but he cups your cheek and coaxes you back so he can study your face as he explores, his fingers seeking all the right ways to please you like you have so sweetly asked him to.

Once they are positively drenched, they venture lower, inside. One, which draws a sharp mewl that you muffle in his mouth as he tests your wetness for a while, gently stretches you before he adds another. And then he curls them like he once learned to, mindful to press the heel of his palm into your clit with each drag of his fingers.

It's a simple movement he hasn't used since what feels like a completely other lifetime, but it does the trick in this one just as well. You grind into his hand, a string of whimpers falling from your lips as you chase your pleasure, and he nearly pants in time with you, his cock beginning to strain and throb in its confines.

You come undone with your face in his neck, your fingers in his hair and clutching at his shoulder, and he holds you as you tremble your way through the long-awaited release. Even so, you hardly make a sound, no more than a short, high-pitched mewl and a few sighs on your breath. He'd think you mean not to be heard by those outside (and more than rightfully so), but you hide your face from him long after his fingers have slowed to a halt and gently left your sensitive sex. For the first time since he met you, he feels you shy, your presence in the Force meek and… shocked, almost. It scares him to see you reduced to silence after you've declared your want for him so boldly, over and over. Surely, you haven't changed your mind once the deed was done? For the love of the Force, let that not be the case.

"Are you alright, dear?"

You chuckle softly, nuzzling his neck. "More than," you murmur there as you melt into him, making both of you at ease. "Oh, Maker. I just… I didn't know it would be like this."

You practically feel his mind stumble over your words, even before he lifts your head from his shoulder and you meet the stunned furrow of his brow.

"Y/n… you've never…?"

You just came on his fingers. That doesn't mean, it seems, that your skin stays cool, or that your words are above a murmur as you admit, "Only on my own."

He inhales slowly. He never imagined… Maker, his are the first and only hands to have ever touched you so intimately. Your first memory of giving yourself to another will always be of him. 

He hardens further at the thought, even as he berates himself, "Then my soul is twice as damned." 

He claimed that privileged place in your life without knowing it, hadn't even thought to ask-

A sweet laugh escapes you. "Oh, Ben. Why would it be? I wanted this. I liked it." Your voice drops to a near whisper, heavy with new-found desire. "I want more."

It's heady, how much power those three little words hold over him. You know why he feels he should hold back, you understand - but he isn't taking anything that isn't offered, and if he were to see himself the way you do, he would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is, in fact, everything you need. 

"Are you certain?" he asks, as you suspect he will every step of the way.

"Very. I've thought about it before, you know?" You lean into his neck, again pressing a tender kiss right where bare skin gives way to his beard. You feel as well as hear his softer than soft groan when your hips press closer into his, and he sinks a gentle hand in your hair as you murmur between kisses, emboldened, "I would have liked to sleep next to you. With you. I stayed awake wondering what it would feel like if… if you would touch me like you just did."

"So have I," he confesses mindlessly, and feels you smile into his skin. "I wished you would join me in bed. Well, what served as a bed." He frowns. "Not at first, I promise. My intentions were not-"

"I know," you're quick to reassure him, pulling away so he can see on your face that you mean every word you're about to say. "You're such a kind, honest man. There's nothing I wouldn't give you, Ben." You let your forehead fall against his, overcome with the utter truth of your confession. "Nothing."

"Sweetheart," he breathes out, as floored as you, if not more so. Your breath hitches.

"I love it when you call me that," you gush as the endearment sends a pleasant tingle down your spine. You want him to feel the same. "Can I call you by your name?"

He didn't quite realize you had yet to, despite having learned it. He hasn't heard it in so long, not as anything other than The Thirst Sister's sadistic taunt on Daiyu. It's almost frightening to think what it would do to him to hear it from your lips. Called out. Whispered. Moaned.

"Yes."

You save it for later. For now, you smile, take his face in your hands and kiss him, more boldly than before. You lick at his lips, demand to explore, to feel more. Maker, how you taste when he lets you. Like hope and strength and sweet salvation. And him - he's a rock. Yes, hard as a rock between your legs as your hips start a slow grind against his - but he's steady as one, too. Once he's yours, he's always yours - to call on, to come back to. At this point in life, they say it should be adventure and freedom that sends your blood rushing through your veins, arouses you with dreams of endless possibilities at your fingertips. But you've had enough of that - of running and having no one to rely on, no one to come find you, always. 

And for that, you want him - desperately, with a passion, want all of him - the protector and the friend and the lover.

Just as you reach between his legs, he groans, a sound deep and masculine and devastating to your senses, and lifts you in his arms to gently lay you down on the cot, covering your frame with his larger one, hips slotted between yours. He keeps himself from rolling them in search of relief, not before he breaks the kiss to look at you.

"Would you like us to…?" He brushes his fingers over your temple reverently, as if tucking away a strand of hair. "What is it you want, sweetheart?"

You smile at the endearment, and it ends with you biting your lip. Your gaze follows your own fingers as they trace an exploratory line down his jaw and neck, coming to rest below the hollow of his throat, where the hair on his chest peeks above the neckline of his robes. The amount of times you caught yourself yearning to touch him there… But you let your hand travel lower, over layers of fabric that are soon to be removed, you hope, and cup the bulge between his legs.

"You. Inside me."

Your experimental squeeze paired with your words draws a groan from his throat. Your hand stays there, massaging his clothed cock, and your desire matches his perfectly - he, too, desperately wishes to bury himself deep inside you, to be skin on skin as he rocks you both to the peak of your pleasure. But then again-

"That… that may hurt the first time," he gathers himself enough to say. "It's been a very long time for me as well, I… to be honest, I can't promise I'll be able to make it as pleasant as before."

"That's alright. I just want to feel you." You feel him twitch in the palm of your hand, and your hips squirm beneath his as the ache in your core builds again. "Please."

Such a breathless, needy utterance - he couldn't resist if he wanted to. And he doesn't, he shouldn't. He captures your lips in a short kiss, savoring the last couple of rolls of his hips into your hand before he sits back on his heels.

He wants to shed his own clothes first, lest you feel your state of undress is unfairly unequal to his for one moment. But of course, his is unequal to yours, and he finds himself quite self-conscious as he bares his upper half and your eyes rake over his torso. The right half and shoulder are still rosy with scars that haven't fully healed in the bacta tank. That aside, he's not as well-built as he used to be - still slender, but not as athletic. 

You don't seem to mind, though, and you truly don't. It almost scares you, how your heart nearly gallops out of your chest before you even see the part of him that's supposed to enter you. But the rush of seeing what you've only imagined before isn't all that makes your breath catch in your throat - it's the story etched on his skin, the one you thought was nothing but one of Reva's lies meant to break your spirit.

"Ben…" you sit up, fingertips barely daring to touch his right shoulder.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," he answers the question in your eyes. He opens his mouth, suddenly uncertain. "Perhaps I shouldn't have… I could cover-"

Before he even gets to finish that sentence, you're laying a hand over his heart and pressing your lips to the remnants of burns on his shoulder in a lingering kiss so tender it hurts. 

"I'm sorry," you mumble into his scarred skin, the guilt and fear returning, "We left you to face him alone. I knew, I knew something was wrong, I should have gone back instead of Tala, sooner-"

"My sweet, dear girl," he gushes, taking your cheeks in his hands once more and pressing his lips firmly to yours. It seems once he's allowed himself to do so once, it's an act as natural as breathing. Especially when he needs to chase away whatever distressing thoughts you so unjustly think of yourself. "It is not your fault," he says once he's pulled away, and is looking into your misty eyes. "Nor is it your duty to look after me. Although I'm sure you'd make a remarkable job of it," he smiles, though your look says loud and clear you believe otherwise. "You did well," he insists. "You told them nothing. You were already coming after Leia when I found you. In truth… I don't think you need me as much as you believe you do."

Any other time, you would argue. But the taste of his lips lingers on yours, and he's so maddeningly close, more than you ever dared imagine he would be. The sight of where Vader had burned him was an inescapable reminder, but in this moment you'd rather not think of anything that happened before, or what will happen once you reach Jabiim. So, you only say this:

"Let's agree to disagree. Because I've never needed anything as much as I need you now."

In a spur of boldness, you pull your shirt over your head. The air on the ship is cool, and you almost shudder as you bare your breasts to it, but the heat of his gaze is more than enough to warm your skin and make your nipples harden from so much more than the slight chill. Everything suddenly feels so real. You don't know who he's been with before, what those women looked like. It didn't seem to matter until you were sitting on a bed, half-naked with him kneeling between your legs. Foolishly, you start to wonder whether you're what he expected, what he likes. 

Whether it's written on your face or he feels it in the Force connecting you, he knows. 

You don't quite realize your eyes have been glued to his chest until you feel his knuckle beneath your chin, nudging it up so you meet his gaze. The look you find there alone takes your breath away - raw desire swirling in darkened eyes that are somehow still soft, still safe.

"You are so beautiful, sweetheart," he says, his voice low reverence spiced with lust. His eyes fall to your chest, and he cups the delicate swell of your breast with an impossibly gentle hand, blanketing your flesh in the warmth of his calloused palm rather than squeezing. "So beautiful," he mutters almost as if to himself as you melt into his touch, eyes falling shut. You gasp, almost taken by surprise when you feel the subtle scrape of his beard, and your pebbled nipple is engulfed in the warm heat of his mouth. Your hands fly to his hair, and there is wetness gliding over your sensitive nipple, tugging and sinking into your pliant flesh in delicious ways that leave you gasping - his tongue. On you, tasting you, pleasing you.

Maker, you can feel yourself dripping in your underwear, you're desperate to close your legs and ease the ache - but he's between them. He sucks gently on your nipple, and it's debilitating. You whimper as your body goes limp and you let yourself fall back on the cot. He follows, mouth still attached to your breast, but pulls away and brings his face level with yours once you're settled.

"Would you like me to go on?"

He's almost as breathless as you. You nod without hesitation, but can't help the temptation of his lips when they are so near yours and you pull him down for a kiss first. You taste his tongue knowing now what it feels like on you someplace else, and it's somehow even more dizzying than before. 

Your hips are rolling into his at a steady rhythm at this point, taking whatever sliver of relief there is in the action and threatening to strip him of his increasingly precarious composure. But if he's to be your first, he needs you as wet and ready as possible.

And, well, he doesn't hate to tease. Never did. He remembers as he trails heated kisses down your neck, relishing your little sounds of pleasure. Though he's not sure how much time you have left until you reach Jabiim, he takes as much as he feels he should kissing down your chest, then offering your other breast the same treatment. He could make you come like this, he thinks - lavishing attention to your chest, his hardness grinding into your core through your clothes. Maker, he could make himself come like this, like an eager young man. The way you arch into his mouth and fingers, your own carded through his hair and tugging as you pull him even closer, the way your head is thrown back in abandon and the sighs he earns with each flick of the tongue and brush of fingers over your swollen nipples - it's dangerously close to being enough. 

"More?" he asks into your skin.

You nod, head thrown back and eyes still shut. "More. Please." You lift his head to look at him with feverish eyes. "I'm ready, I want you now."

Force help him, so does he. 

He leaves one last kiss right above your heart. And then he sits back again. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your trousers and underwear, and you lift your hips as he pulls them down, over your knees and then completely off. You shiver as the cool air meets your wet folds, but also as you're bared to his gaze. 

"Your turn," you urge him softly. The way he looks at you says he would worship every inch of your bare legs with his lips if he had the time, and while the thought of feeling his beard on the soft flesh of your thighs is incredibly alluring, you're more eager than ever to finally see and feel all of him, and have little patience for much else.

Still, he leans down for one lingering kiss on the inside of your knee before murmuring, "Whatever you want is yours."

He gently manoeuvers your legs to the side so he can stand while he removes his own trousers. You finally get to close them, and relish the press of your own thighs against each other momentarily. But it's not near enough as his last piece of clothing is discarded and your eyes land on his bare cock. 

You sit up on your elbows, practically feeling the arousal dripping from your sex. His is hard and swollen, and you're not sure whether it seems big to you because it is what they call big, or because all you've ever had inside you were your own fingers, and he's definitely larger than that. 

He's not sure what to make of your expression. There is desire and wonder written on your face, but also nerves. So, he waits for you to say the word. 

"Come back," you do, your gaze finally leaving his cock in favour of his eyes. And though your words are murmured, they're nothing but certain.

He returns to his position from before. Except now, there's nothing at all between your bodies, and the tip of his cock brushes your stomach as he settles above you, making your breath hitch. He braces himself with his forearms on either side of your head, cradling it in his hands as he asks, just one more time.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

Despite your body sizzling with anticipation, his voice soothes you deeply, just like it always does when he speaks to you with such care. It puts a small smile on your lips as you cup his face and reach up to press them to his, because this - this is what you've been saving it for.

"Make love to me, Obi-Wan," you murmur, a breath away from his mouth.

The three syllables of his name fall so sweetly from your lips, he almost buries himself in you right then and there. Instead, he reaches between your legs again, slipping a finger inside you, then two, like before, and is relieved to find you just as wet and ready.

"Tell me what you need," he says as you gasp and roll your hips into his hand. "Always. Especially if you want me to stop."

"Alright," you nod up at him, eyes begging for more.

He takes himself in hand, letting out a soft groan at the small relief, and guides his tip along your folds. Your hips respond in kind, shifting to seek out the friction, and you wrap your arms around him to brace yourself. You want him close, closer, even though his chest is already flush against yours and he has captured your lips with his in an all-consuming kiss.

He wants it like this - his tongue gliding over yours in heady abandon, pleasuring your mouth to try and take your mind off the pain as he sinks in to the hilt. 

Of course you still wince and whimper in his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. You expected worse - but it's not entirely comfortable, either. His cock is considerably larger than his fingers, and your body doesn't quite know what to do with the fullness, can't adjust to it faster than the jolt of pain shoots through your core.

"I know. I know," Obi-Wan coos against your lips. He leaves soft, soothing kisses along your flushed cheek, caressing your hair and your shoulder as he waits for you to become accustomed to his length inside you. The Maker knows you feel exquisite around him - the tight warmth enveloping his throbbing cock, your body entwined with his in every way after years on end without a sliver of affection. He would almost be content just laying there, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he revels in the intimacy of being inside you, if it weren't for the signs of your discomfort. And, truth be told, his own need to seek relief. He wouldn't dare move until you wish him to, though. And, thankfully, it isn't long before you do.

You relish his languid kisses, and press some of your own to his neck as you will your muscles to relax. However foreign it may be to feel so full, it's him you're full of. The man you trust with your life, body and mind. You card your fingers through his hair, like you've recently discovered you can't get enough of, and take comfort in the blue of his kind eyes.

"I'm good," you whisper.

This time, he watches your face carefully as he pulls back a few inches, slow and steady, and sinks back the same way. The movement draws a release of breath from both of you.

"Good?" he asks, searching your expression for the answer. There's still some discomfort there, but also a trace of determination in your gaze reminiscent of the day you'd chased after him on Tattooine, demanding to be shown the ways of the Force.

"More," you ask of him.

He grants your wish, carefully rolling his hips into yours once again and oh - there's something so strikingly right about it.

Before he even has the chance to ask again, you plead, "Don't stop."

Maker, your breathless voice will be the death of him.

He keeps his thrusts slow and deep, building a steady, gentle rhythm as your hips hesitantly start to meet his. The ship could land, and neither of you would notice. He's too lost in the way your flesh welcomes and clings to his aching cock, the warmth of your body beneath his, your fingers tugging at his hair and sinking in his shoulder, the little whimpers falling from your parted lips. And you know nothing but him, holding you as close as humanly possible, filling you up with overwhelming precision, each drag of his cock against your walls adding to the pleasure slowly building up within your core. So do the sounds he makes - raw, husky groans breathed hotly into your ear, raising delicious goosebumps on your skin.

He shifts to change the angle the slightest bit, using a hand to bring one of your thighs a little higher around his waist, and his cock presses just right into something inside you that makes you feel like you're about to fall apart.

"Obi-Wan," you all but cry out. He rests his forehead on yours, brows furrowed in the same pleasure-addled expression as he shushes you.

"You sound divine, sweetheart, but we shouldn't be too - ah," he almost goes against his own words as you tighten around him, "-too loud."

"I can't," you whisper, running your fingers down his bearded cheeks, ravenous for friction anywhere, everywhere. "You feel so good."

"Force help me," he rasps out. He can't help his hips quickening just a little, driving you both towards the edge even more vigorously. "I can't tell you how wonderful... Oh, darling," he moans before quieting your rising whimpers with his mouth on yours, gladly letting them melt on his tongue.

The cry you can't hold back is thankfully muffled as release ripples through you, your body writhing underneath his with the rolling waves of pleasure he coaxes out of you. 

It's a miracle he's lasted all the way through it, rocking into you so you can ride out every last drop of your orgasm. He's more than desperate for his own, and he'd love nothing more than to let himself spill inside your heat, milked by your fluttering walls. But he's already taken so much, much more than he deserved in the first place - he can't risk binding you to him in an even more permanent way. With one last shred of reason, he withdraws from the kiss and pulls out of you, face twisted in a grimace of pleasure as he strokes his own cock to release. His come paints your belly white in a series of trickles, and he groans deep in his throat at the sight. 

After, there is only the sound of your breathing. His hair falls around his face as he braces himself over you, catching his breath. You brush it back again like you so love to and lay your hand over his heart, relishing the afterglow and its slowing beat under your fingertips. 

"You were wrong."

His eyes snap to yours when you break the silence. "How so?"

"You made it very pleasant."

It takes a moment for his post-orgasmic mind to register what you are referring to. He chuckles, and you laugh softly as well as he relaxes, lying on his side next to you. The cot is too small for you not to end up in his arms as you turn to face him, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Your fingers trace feather-light, languid lines on each other's skin - his chest. Your shoulder. His cheek. Your hair. 

"Does it hurt?" he murmurs eventually, when it feels like you've gone for hours drinking each other in. 

"Not as much as I thought it would," you admit with a sated smile. "I'd like to do it again. When we get home."

The word hits him like a wake-up call.

Home.

He owes himself to Tattooine, to the boy who needs his protection, but you? Now that you've learned to protect yourself, there's nothing keeping you on that arid planet, no reason why you shouldn't explore all the opportunities the galaxy has to offer you at such a beautiful age.

At least not until him. 

It warms his heart as well as crushes it to imagine you spending the next years coming back to the cave you share every night. To have you, always. All the comfort, beauty and desire left in his life. But there would be so much for you to let go of - more than you even know, and more than you ever will if you do stay.

"Unless… you'd rather not," you go on, unsure. Your hand is over his heart, and the thumb you were running through the thatch of hair on his chest stops. It's only then that he realizes he's lost himself in his thoughts, and the lines on his face show his concern. It would be absurd, though, to allow you to think for one moment that he desires you any less now that he's had you.

"Oh, I do," he says in earnest, cupping your cheek to brush the pad of his thumb over your soft skin. "Forgive me, I was only thinking."

You turn your head briefly to press your lips to the palm of his hand, but your eyes on him are knowing. 

"You know, for a moment there, you were looking at me like you did when we met," you say, not an accusation, but a tentative question as to why. "Like you don't know what to do with me."

"Yes, I suppose I was," he confesses. His lips form a wistful smile as he speaks. "If I were twenty years younger and free to go wherever I wanted, I imagine I would… steal you away and show you the galaxy. Make love to you on every planet as many times as you'd have me and never tire of it." You hum appreciatively at the thought. Your little smile sadly doesn't last long as he returns to the less than ideal present. "But as I am not… I don't know what to do, indeed."

He only knows he wants it to be right by you. And deep down, you know why he looks at you the way he does, why he worries. But you must be close to Jabiim by now, and from there… who knows if you'll get to have a future to worry about at all. So, for now, these few moments of lying side by side before you must face the world again, you enlighten him.

"Hold me."

Whether he should hold on or let go, whether it's right or wrong, he doesn't know as he pulls you closer in his embrace and tangles his body with yours for what little time you have left, your head to his chest.

He only knows it feels safe - like turning on the light.

***

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