The Many Faces Of Marc Spector - (2022)

The Many Faces of Marc Spector - (2022)

Dream Boy (2/?)

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

↪ Warnings: Fluff, Tiny Angst, Not the best of Writing

↪ Summary: Your coworker seems to be a weirdo. but not a bad weird. Maybe, a cute- a cute weirdo?

A/N : Mostly just a sub in story. This is from my Wattpad

Tags : @later-gators12

Words: 1k

The sun hit your closed eyelids.

You grunted as the light continued to irritate your eyes. Your hand came up to your forehead to rub it. Trying to soothe the pain.

You had another day of work to get to. Luckily, waking up wasn't too bad. Once you remembered what you had to do today it made a smile creep on your face.

Not necessarily what, but more like who.

A loving sigh escaped your lips as you rose from your mattress.

"Steven.."

You smiled as your eyelids lifted. You saw the sun, once again, making sun rays through your window.

It was a wonderful sight as you read your alarm.

6:00...

"Much better.."

You mumbled as you reached for your phone. You checked one of your list apps to see what you had planned for today. You wrote down what you needed to bring, some goals, and some exciting books to get to.

Especially your Egyptian books. Those are what interested you most.

Steven had appeared back into your mind. You tried to shake the thoughts away but somehow they didn't.

Then a look of shock came from your face.

'He doesn't even know my name'

Your hand softly touched your lips as you thought about this. You sighed, your heart felt broken but you knew it wasn't. What was happening to you?

This feeling. You didn't understand it.

You pushed yourself off your bed and made a plan. 'Don't get attached'

You gathered all your essentials and made it out the door with some time to waste. You thought it would be best to grab a coffee. You greeted your neighbors as you walked down your street. It was a calm morning with birds chirping, and the sun shining onto your soft skin.

You felt cool. It wasn't too hot nor too cold. Just cool.

A calm smile was set on your face. You rested at your bus stop sipping your coffee, excited to see a familiar face at the museum.

. . . . . . . . 𓆩❤︎𓆪 . . . . . . . .

Finally, the bus had made it to your stop. You had finished your warm beverage and threw it out. As you got on, you noticed how packed it was.

'This isn't going to be a fun ride, is it?'

An unamused sigh exited your lips as you squeezed past people to make it to the back of the bus.

You were suddenly pressed up against another man. Your hands couldn't be placed on your sides so you were forced to rest your hands on the poor man's chest.

You were too embarrassed to look up to the victim who was now in your grasp.

"I-I know you"

The man huffed. You darted towards the voice to see someone familiar.

Steven.

The bus suddenly swerved to the left, causing Steven to push you up against the wall of the bus. Your body tensed up as you tried to keep balance.

Steven's arm was right above your shoulder. Hopefully, this didn't spiral into a mess.

The curly-haired boy looked down at you and looked incredibly embarrassed. He tried to move his arm away, but the bus was moving in a way that if he did remove it, he would smother you with his chest.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry about this uh"

He seemed to try and call you something. Your brain remembered the fact he never got your name.

"Y/n"

You huffed out trying to find somewhere else to look besides his beautiful hazel eyes.

"Y-yes, Y/n, I'm terribly sorry"

You instantly reassured him. He accepted the reassurance but you could tell that he somehow didn't fully attain it.

His eyes seemed to be glued to you. When you noticed his glare he would turn towards the window. Then after a couple of seconds, he would turn right back to you.

You chose to accept this game that he didn't know he was playing. You scanned Steven's face and noticed that his eyes had dark circles under them.

You stared harder to make sure they weren't bruises. 'Has he not been sleeping?'

This situation with you being trapped by Steven made an electrifying feeling occur below your lower abdomen. This was definitely gonna be an interesting bus ride.

. . . . . . . . 𓆩❤︎𓆪 . . . . . . . .

You stumbled out of the bus. Steven jolted towards you trying to catch you. He seemed to be ready for your fall but you caught yourself just in time.

Steven still went to grab your arm, since he didn't notice you caught yourself.

Your face flushed from seeing how much he cared about your well-being. Sure, the bus ride was a tease, but this was something else.

'Why are you doing this to me universe'

You and Steven were right outside the Museum. Yet, you both were stuck. Stuck on the fact Steven hadn't let go of your arm.

If you asked him to let go, you would miss the warmth. If you didn't, then Donna would eventually find you two. Her most unloyal employees.

"Ste-"

"Yeah, sorry"

Steven let go and stormed into the Museum. 'That...was....interesting'

You followed after him. Once you entered, you saw that Steven was already by the counter. This was unusual behavior coming from him.

You felt like you knew that he would apologize sincerely and make you feel like he did an act of crime. But this, this was not normal.

Sure, you've only met him for a day, but it seemed like you knew him for years. His hair was swept back from his forehead, and you noticed that his accent had disappeared.

He sounded like a proud American. 'Weird'

You shook it off, you didn't wanna make a scene and ask all these weird questions towards a man that you just met.

You walked into the Gift Shop. You saw that there were only a couple of customers inside. You set your stuff down and took a deep breath in.

'Let's get this over with'

You turned towards the cash register. Your eyes instantly fell onto Steven, who was reorganizing some stuff on the shelves.

His posture seemed different. It was almost like he was more formal and not so flimsy. Your eyes were so fixated on the young man that you didn't notice a customer come up to you.

"Excuse me? Helloooo?"

You heard the man but you didn't turn your attention towards him. You were just too focused on Steven.

"Hey!"

The man then slammed his hand on the counter. You shook and looked at him with wide eyes.

"Deepest apologies sir"

"Yeah yeah whatever, scan this"

The man shoved something into your hand. You didn't care to know so you just scanned and rang him up.

"$5.00 please"

You heard a scoff as he handed you the money. You bit your lip in anger as you gave him his change and receipt.

"Have a nice day!"

You said sarcastically. The man rolled his eyes and exited the facility which left you to admire someone.

But, when you looked back, Steven was nowhere to be seen. You looked down at your hands disappointed. Your arms rested on the cold countertop.

'This job just doesn't get any easier'

You started to lean forward on the counter and began to lay on your hand, which was holding up your head. You swayed your rear end side to side as you stood there with nothing to do. No sight of Steven and absolutely no customers.

You sighed as your eyelids began to fall. You weren't tired but the feeling of boredom made you, well, bored.

Your waist stuck out more as you finally lay your head on the counter. This wasn't comfortable at all.

You thought about sleeping on the floor, which made you laugh a bit.

"O-oh Y/n?"

You rose from your position and turned around to find Steven right behind you.

Your heart began to beat out of your chest. You started to get sweaty and you felt like you were having a panic attack.

"How long were you there for?!"

You pushed out. You noticed that Steven's eyes were fixated on your figure. It made you feel nervous and yet it also made that stimulating feeling come back.

"A couple of minutes I would say"

Your eyes widened and you gulped intensely at the fact that you remembered swaying your behind not too long ago.

You noticed that Steven was slowly growing a smirk on his face.

'This isn't how Steven would act at all!'

You tried to smile but you thought about how Steven's personality changed.

Steven's legs began to shuffle towards you. Almost hesitantly. You turned your head towards the shop to see if anyone was there to interrupt whatever this was.

No one, absolutely no one was in sight. You darted your eyes towards The curly-haired boy. He had his eyes set on your frame.

Steven had stopped right in front of you. You began to slow down your breathing.

The male then reached for something in his pocket. Your breath hitched, 'What was he grabbing?! Is this where I die!?'

Your eyes shut, waiting for the worst.

"Here"

Steven spoke softly. You reluctantly opened your eyes to find a name tag in the boy's hands.

"You alright?"

He said with a scoff. You smiled sheepishly as you swept the tag away from him.

"Quite amazing actually"

You gave him a thumbs up with one of your hands as you clipped the label onto your shirt with the other.

He rolled his eyes playfully and chuckled as he began to walk back to one of the shelves.

"Jesus.."

You huffed out trying to catch your breath.

Once you finally settled. A customer rang up. You put on a smile and got back to work.

'What a turn of events'

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

No, his robes are blue.

Keep reading

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myorestes

2 years ago

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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2K notes View Post

myorestes

2 years ago

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.

16K notes View Post

myorestes

2 years ago

no longer apart | obiwan

Warning: smut with fluff toward the end, rough in the beginning, 18+, dom obi-wan undertones.

Summary: Obi-Wan gets back from Geonosis, smut ensues, cuddling at the end.

Word Count: 439

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183 notes View Post

myorestes

2 years ago

ok but imagine sucking or nibbling on Steven's boobs 👀 I bet he'd be a blushin mess and be a little shocked at this unusual action ...but I think underneath he would like it and beg for more 👉👈

— 🐸

not me hoping someone would talk more about his tiddies lmaoao

OMGGDSDFHKSK I FIND THAT HOT TBH. like imagine a heavy make-out sesh with steven. you're straddling on top of him, kissing a fiery trail down the column of his neck as your fingers quickly undo the buttons of his printed shirt. slowly, your mouth moves lower, nipping at his sharp collarbones and ghosting a hot breath over the mounds of his chest. with a soft whine, his muscles tense underneath you, and you decide to test out something new.

steven nearly combusts when your teeth barely graze his nipple before lightly flicking it with the tip of your tongue. oh, this has his body quivering under you, and he throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut as a stuttering whimper escapes from him. he's not used to the sensation at first, but god, he now finds himself enjoying it waaay too much.

meanwhile, you're absolutely delighted about how sensitive his nipples are. spurred by the pretty noises steven makes, you begin sucking on one pec with a hand massaging the other, rolling the dark, taut nipple between your thumb and forefinger. he's an incoherent mess at this point, crying out your name as he begs and pleads for more.

you can feel how stiff steven is against your stomach. honestly, you're confident you can make him cum like this— just by pulling, pinching, squeezing, and nibbling all over his broad chest as he ruts his hips into you. you're proven correct when moments later, an all-too-familiar warmth and stickiness is seeping through his pants, a look of bliss settling on his face.

yup, you're definitely doing this again next time.

and by next time, you mean as soon as steven's ready for another round.

;)

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myorestes

2 years ago

I WISH I could draw like this 🥹🥹

Oscar Isaac as Jake Lockley

dudebros... I am speechless

i can't believe i made that from scratch I MADE THAT

I'M SO PROUD

649 notes View Post

myorestes

2 years ago

freak like me...

this is my first smut go easy on me

pairing: oscar isaac x reader

summary: a long night of dancing, turns into some skincare fun, but you have something else up your sleeve.

wc: 1.75k

warnings: cursing, SMUT, slapping, degradation, dom fem/ sub mas, tying up

“i’m exhausted.”

“yeah, maybe going out dancing wasn’t that great of an idea for date night”

“next time let’s watch a movie and order pizza and get fat together.”

you and oscar had been dating for around two years now. and he still had new ideas for date nights, it’s like his superpower. you had gone into the bathroom to go take off the rest of your makeup that the sweat hadn’t taken off.

“hmmm. he can’t be that tired. let’s find out” you thought excitedly.

you saw that he was sitting on the bed, slipping off his sweat matted button up and his undershirt. you put up your hair to start your night routine.

“gonna start your skincare routine that lasts 3 hours?”

“it literally takes 20 minutes oscar. come on let’s do it together”

“ok but only if i can put the mask on you”

you both head to your own sinks in the bathroom and wash your faces. then you pull out three different kinds of face masks.

“what’s the difference?”

“you gotta brush this one on, unwrap this one, and peel this one off” you instructed.

“oh. let’s do this one!” he pointed to the clay mask in the small container

“ok let’s do you first”

you open the container and dip the brush into it. he watches you carefully as you hold his jaw steadily and brush it over his face.

“can i look now?”