#but this is what's particularly been swirling in my mind lately

[wanderingcas]

if you want my two cents about it - dean pre-season oh, let's say 11 or 12, believably has no idea that cas is in love with him.

he knows their friendship is... different? he feels differently about cas than other friends he has. but dean has so few friends and cas is an angel to boot, so of course things are going to be different with him.

but then lucifer kills cas right in front of dean and he's forced to look at a lot of things. like why this death hurts more than anyone else's. why cas dying this time makes dean feel like he's walking around with a permanent hole in his chest.

and when he really sits down with himself and realizes not only does cas loves him, but he loves cas? well he shuts it back up into a box right away. won't look at it directly in the eye. at first it's because cas is dead and not having him - well, really thinking about that would probably leave him comatose on the bunker floor. and then he gets cas back, and it's the happiest fucking day of his life, and the new reason is cas just got back, he has a son now, give him some space. and then fear takes over. if losing cas without the romance shit attached hurts this much - what would it be like if they actually crossed that line? if dean knew what it was like to have cas, truly have him, then lose him? so it's just easy to take hunt after hunt, to get swept up in saving the world, losing other people... it's easy to keep those feelings for cas tight in a box.

but then he nearly loses cas again. not to death; to dean's anger. after saying those cruel words to him after losing mary. and he realizes that if he lost cas again in any capacity at all, it might just kill him.

so he opens the box. he gets on his knees in purgatory. and he prays damn hard for cas's forgiveness. and he's ready to put it all on the line before cas stops him from saying anything out loud.

i think that post confession, it wouldn't come as a surprise to dean that cas loves him. i think that, due to him being captain emotionally insecure with himself, he'd be really fucking confused by why cas is in love with him in the first place. but i don't think he'd be shocked by it. i think he'd have to come to terms with loving someone like that and losing them, and knowing that cas didn't even hear dean's reciprocation. i think that's what would tear him up the most.

[azrielsdove]

Softly: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Smuttttt, 18+. This is just a short, smutty fic for my az babies out there <3

***

You hadn’t been around many Illyrians before. You remember the first time you saw Azriel, how wide your eyes had gotten at the sight of the large wings behind him. You had never seen anything like that, anything so dangerously beautiful.

You had been shelving books in your little shop when he had come in. You had turned with a wide smile to greet your new customer, faltering as you took him in. Everything about him was big. You had trailed your eyes over his body before remembering your role here. You cleared your throat and put the smile back on, asking “How can I help you today?” He seemed to have not noticed your reaction to him, or was pretending he didn’t notice.

“I’m looking for a specific book, I was told you may have it here?” Azriel had responded, pulling out a piece of paper with a title and author. You had nodded and disappeared to find it for him. When you brought it back, he had given you a thankful smile and left rather quickly after.

You wanted to see him again.

Much to your pleasant surprise, Azriel began frequenting your little bookstore. You didn’t have too much traffic and sometimes he’d stay for hours talking to you. You started to consider him one of your dearest friends, looking forward to seeing his shadows enter your business.

As time went on your feelings grew for the Shadowsinger. You felt called to him. You started to need to see him, getting anxious whenever it had been a few days since his last visit. You only hoped Azriel hadn’t noticed your change towards him. You knew he would never feel the same way.

Years had gone by since your first meeting, and Az still visited you at least once a week, often more. He had started coming closer to close, helping you lock up and walk you home. You would invite him in occasionally, the two of you staying up late talking and drinking. Those were your favorite nights.

It was a night much like that when everything changed.

You admit you had a bit too much wine to drink that night, but it had been a particularly stressful week with your shop. A sudden increase in clientele had been excellent for your business in theory, yet in practice you weren’t prepared for all the new customers. You had struggled to keep stock, having to turn away many disappointed and angry faeries. Tonight you just wanted to drink and forget about all those problems.

You laughed as Azriel told you a story about his brother Cassian, tipping back more wine. You were probably sitting a bit too close to him on the sofa, but he didn’t seem to mind. You watched the way his eyes lit up as he spoke of his brothers, the way color tinted his cheeks when he revealed something embarrassing. You saw the way his shadows would swirl excitedly when he talked about something dangerous, and you loved the way his wings fluttered with them.

Oh, those wings.

They were one of your favorite parts of Azriel. You loved the way they would catch the sun, brown and red light shining through. You loved the way they reacted to his emotions, how you could tell what he was feeling that day depending on his wings. You loved how they hung strong on his back, giving him that deadly appearance.

You wanted to lick them.

You didn’t think as you reached a hand out and lightly stroked the edge of the wing closest to you. You didn’t even realize what you had done until you noticed Azriel go rigid, his story ending abruptly. You straightened up immediately, your cheeks going red. “Oh, Az I-i’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that without even asking. Did I hurt you?” You asked, embarrassed at your actions. He shook his head, refusing to look at you. “I don’t know anything about Illyrians. Was that rude? Oh I am so sorry!” You rushed out, feeling hot tears of humiliation fill your eyes.

Azriel quickly looked at you when he heard the break in your voice, spotting your tears as they spilled out of your eyes. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” He said comfortingly, reaching over to brush your tears away. You ducked your head, focusing on your glass of wine.

“They’re just beautiful.” You whispered. “I wanted to know what they felt like.” You slowly looked up to him, asking; “Can I touch them again?” Azriels eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally he nodded, saying; “Softly.” You broke into a giddy smile and set your wine glass down on the table. You carefully reached your hand out, stroking the wing in the same spot. You let your fingers brush over their softness, wanting to feel every inch of them.

You were so caught up in memorizing the feel of Azriels wings against your fingers that you didn’t notice the way his hand gripped the armrest of your sofa. You rubbed down a particularly sensitive spot on his wings, stilling your motions as you heard him let out a heated groan. You looked into his eyes, shocked to see them blown wide with lust. “Az?” You asked curiously, confused as to what was happening.

“Do you know what touching an Illyrians wings feels like for us?” He asked, voice deep. You shook your head as you removed your fingers from him, wondering if you had hurt him in some way. He turned to you, leaning close. Your body was caged under Azriels, your heart going a million beats a minute. “It feels like this.” He spoke lowly, running his fingers over your neck. You gasped at his touch, heat flowing through your body. He seemed to enjoy your reaction, a small smile coming onto his face.

You had imagined a situation like this so many times before, so many nights with your hand between your thighs. Nothing compared to having Azriels hands on you, and all he had done was touch your neck. You were fucked.

You felt like he could read your mind as his smile widened and he leaned down to press a light kiss to the place his fingers had just moved from. You arched into him, wanting more, needing more. “I’ve wanted to touch you for years now.” He whispered over your skin, one hand falling to press your hip down into the couch. You gave a soft moan at his words, desire ripping through your body. You didn’t think twice before you reached up and ran your fingers over his wings again.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years.” You breathed out, his hand tightening on your hip. Azriel wrapped his other hand around your throat, forcing your eyes to look into his.

“Do it again.” He ground out, a low moan ripping through him as you ran your fingers down the ridges again. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He said before sliding his lips over yours.

The kiss was passionate, needy, searing. It was everything you wanted and more. You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, the other running down his wings again and again. You gasped when he ground down into you, his tongue sliding into your mouth.

You. Were. Fucked.

The hand on your hip slid under your waistband, finding you over your underwear. He chuckled darkly against your mouth when he felt the wetness seeping through. “All for me?” He asked, kissing you harder. Azriel slipped his fingers under the delicate lace, running them up and down, teasing you.

“Az,” you moaned out, pushing your hips into his touch. He pulled away and smiled down at you, enjoying the lust all over your face.

“What do you say, my needy girl?” His voice was hot, dangerous. You were going to explode if he didn’t touch you.

“Please, Az,” You breathed, his fingers toying with you. “Please touch me.”

At those words his fingers plunged into you, your back arching off the couch as you threw your head back. Fuck. The hand on your throat angled your head back to look at him, a smirk on his face. “Now now, I want to look at those pretty eyes when I make you cum.”

Oh gods. Oh gods. You were done for. You were done for. Azriel moved the palm of his hand so it was rubbing against you, heightened the pleasure you were feeling. You couldn’t help as moan after moan spilled from your lips, the coil tightening in your stomach. You were so close, so close.

Azriel flicked his fingers inside of you once more and you came with a scream, shaking under him. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.” He murmured, kissing your neck, your ears, your face as his fingers helped you through your high. He stopped once you let out a cry of overstimulation, pulling his fingers out of you before popping them in his mouth.

Fucking. Hell.

“Az, if you don’t fuck me right this second i’m going to lose my mind.” You said, your words dripping with desire. His eyes darkened as he leaned over you, the hand on your throat tightening.

“I don’t believe you give out the commands here,” was all he said before attacking your lips with his again. Your hands were all over him, on his chest, on his wings, desperately undoing his pants. You slid him out once you got the ties undone, groaning at the thick length in your hand.

“Az,” you moaned again, pressing your hips into his. “Please.”

“Please what?” He teased, dragging his tip through your folds. You grabbed his head and pulled him down to you, kissing him with as much desire as you could muster.

“Fuck me.” You whispered against his lips, a cry coming from you a second later as he began to push in. Gods, he was so big.

“That’s it, that’s it. You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He moaned as he sunk down into you, inch by inch. Once he bottomed out he took a moment for both of you to catch your breath.

You raised your hand, running a finger down his wings again. “Please move, Azriel.” You gasped out, feeling his body push into yours at your touch.

“As you wish.” He answered, pulling out before thrusting all the way back in. You couldn’t help the scream that tore from you. You dug your nails into his back, your other hand still playing with his wing. He began biting and sucking on your neck, relishing the moans you were giving him. “I won’t last much longer if you keep doing that.” He ground out as you ran your fingers down his wings again.

“Good. I want you to cum in me.” You breathed against his skin, a particularly strong bite settling on your neck as he took in your words. Az picked up speed, hand sliding between your legs to circle you. You began moaning his name like a prayer, unable to think anything else. He brought your eyes down to look at his again, fucking you through another orgasm. You scratched your nails on his wing and he came a second after you, spilling into you with a roar.

You both laid there for a few minutes, breathing heavily and processing what you just did. You began to worry that he was going to regret it, that it was a drunken mistake, that he was never going to want to see you again. Azriel pulled out of you slowly, watching as his cum dripped from you.

“I don’t know if I can go without seeing this everyday for the rest of my life.” He said, voice deadly serious. Your eyes widened at his words, your heart soaring. You rose to your knees, pressing your hands to his chest as you lightly kissed him.

“Then make me yours, Shadowsinger.” You said against his lips, a smile breaking out on his face. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back down on the couch, kissing all over your face.

“You’re already mine.”

***

This was just a short little thing to breakup the angsty ones i’ve been writing! I needed something a little easy haha. Please give me all your feedback! My requests are open as well if theres anything you guys want specifically <3

[pathologicalreid]

Spencer ordering breakfast in and serving breakfast in bed on readers first day of spring break!!! He knows reader has been working so hard and it being hard on the bth people while he’s gone on longer cases :,) reader would def send a pic to Penelope and she’d show the others 🤭

breakfast in bed | S.R.

your boyfriend surprises you with breakfast in bed to celebrate spring break

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: fluff! fun fluffy fluff!!!!!! word count: 1.2k a/n: thank you for requesting!! it's my first day of spring break, so i figured today would be the perfect day to post this!!

At the click of the front door, your eyes fluttered open. The bright light seeping through the blinds of your bedroom led you to start squinting as you felt around the other side of the bed for your boyfriend, disappointment filling your chest when you realized he wasn’t there.

Rolling on your back, you sighed and let gravity press you into the mattress, letting yourself enjoy the comfort of your covers before sitting up and reaching over to your nightstand. You used your water carafe to pour yourself a glass of water, sipping it while you allowed your mind and body to wake up.

A rustling in the kitchen got your attention, and it wasn’t long until the door to your bedroom swung open, showing your boyfriend on the other side of the opening. “Good morning,” his voice chimed at you, “I thought you were still asleep.”

You shook your head softly, setting your water glass back on the nightstand, “Just woke up. What’s going on?” Quickly, you analyzed the sight in front of you. Spencer was dressed casually, definitely not his usual work garb – strange for a Monday morning.

He padded over to you and presented you with a tray, he extended the legs of the tray and placed it over your lap. “It’s spring break,” Spencer said matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked at him. “Yes,” you said warily, “it’s my spring break.” Spencer hadn’t had a spring break since he finished his bachelor’s in philosophy, and even then, he had been working for the bureau.

“I wanted to make it special,” he told you, disappearing back into the kitchen before returning with a drink carrier and an unlabeled white bag.

Your lips parted in surprise, “You went to Moe’s?’

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s your favorite,” he explained simply, setting the drink carrier on your nightstand before distributing your coffee and juice to your tray.

You reached for the coffee first, swirling it slightly in the cup before responding, “It’s all the way across town.” That was part of the reason you rarely went, the last thing you wanted to do at first light was commute through the district.

Spencer hummed in response, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your hairline, “You’re worth it.” He set the white bag on your tray before climbing up on the bed with you, sharing the tray. “You look pretty,” he observed, slightly out of left field.

Setting your coffee down, you cleared your throat, “I just woke up, Spence.” Gently, you reached for the white bag, opened the crinkly paper, and let the smell fill your senses.

“The time that you’ve been awake doesn’t alter how beautiful you are,” he informed you, watching as you filtered through the food in the bag. You grabbed your phone off of the charger and snapped a picture of your breakfast in bed, quickly sending it to Penelope before typing out a message about being spoiled.

Putting your phone away, you grinned, “Maybe you’re biased by the fact that I wore your shirt to sleep in.”

He beamed at you and nodded almost imperceptibly, “There’s also that.”

As the two of you ate, you checked the time as it got suspiciously late in the morning. Crumpling your napkin in your hand, you looked up at Spencer, “When do you have to go in?”

You knew that sometimes, after particularly rough cases, Agent Hotchner would tell the team they didn’t need to come in until a little later in the morning, but it was pushing ten in the morning now and you were curious. Spencer perked up a little at your question, “I have to be there at ten tomorrow for the debrief, but I’m yours until then.”

“You took the day off of work?” Silently, you tried to remember the last time Spencer had taken a day off by choice, but nothing came to mind.

He nodded eagerly, “I wanted to spend time with you, while you don’t have work or school.” He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before getting up and taking care of the mess.

When you weren’t at home or in school, you worked as a teaching assistant, so since classes weren’t in session, work wasn’t in session. “You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, grabbing your coffee off of the tray before he could clear it.

Spencer smiled softly at you, leaning over, and pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, “I missed you. We kept missing each other, I had to do something.” He slipped away to the kitchen, “I planned the whole day for us.”

A grin bloomed on your face, “You did?” You laughed lightly, “What are we doing today?”

Upon his return, Spencer paused in the opening, leaning on the painted wood of the doorframe. “We are going to go see the cherry blossoms, did you know I’ve never seen them?”

You cocked your head curiously, “You’ve lived in DC for eight years and you’ve never seen the cherry blossoms?” Really, you were surprised that you didn’t know that about him.

“Angel, I had to take the day off just to see you,” he reminded you, walking back to where you were perched on the bed. Tenderly, he cupped your cheeks in his hands, “Did you sleep alright? You looked tired last night.”

Nodding emphatically, you peered up at him, “Yeah, sleeping in felt nice.”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, “You’ve been working so hard lately, I want to make sure you’re remembering to take care of yourself. Especially since I’m not always here with you.”

You had to work hard, especially if you wanted to graduate early like you planned. “You’ve been gone a lot,” you concurred, “saving lives is a busy job.”

Carefully, Spencer sat down next to you on the bed, pushing the mattress down slightly under the weight of him. “I know it’s hard on you when I’m gone,” he whispered.

“I know it’s hard on you when you’re gone,” you echoed sympathetically. He had just been gone for two weeks, and when he came back, he didn’t have the energy to do anything other than rest his head on your shoulder while you worked on a term paper. When you finished for the night, he had fallen asleep like that. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up, so you both slept on the couch.

He hummed, dropping his hands to your waist, “I love you.”

Leaning up, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “I love you too, Spence.” You studied his golden irises, “So… cherry blossoms will take a few hours at most, what do you have planned for afterward?”

A sly grin spread on your boyfriend’s face, “It’s a secret. You’ll find out later.”

Confused, you watched as he turned around to the bathroom. Shaking your head, you reached for your phone to see that Penelope had responded.

Penny G: EEK Penny G: Morgan wants you to tell Spencer he was not aware of his game.

Rolling your eyes, you dropped your phone on the mattress and went to join your boyfriend in the shower.

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Henry wants to move away from the city and surprises you with a country house …

Surprise get away - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Precious anonymous, I hope you enjoy Henry's modest get away plan.

Henry disappears for weeks, only for him to come back with a surprise.

Henry as a lover is not particularly affectionate. He doesn’t suffocate me with besotted compliments and gentle touches. The space he allows me is welcomed with much gratitude, however, this doesn’t mean I do not enjoy the occasional in-bed morning kisses under Apollon’s playful, morning rays, the hours spent in the comforting silence of each other’s presence, or the way his hand finds its way around my waist or on my thigh so stealthily that I only notice it when the familiar warmth seeps through my clothes and into my skin as if it is the very fuel my body runs on.

Lately, he’s been somewhat more distant than usual. I have not talked or heard from him outside our almost everyday classes with Julian for weeks. The other day I even dropped by his apartment only to be greeted by scattered advertisements, cut-out mail, papers with phone numbers, and announcements ripped out of newspapers all revolving around extravagant countryside houses with imposing, marble columns, vast fairytale-like green gardens, and enough rooms to fit a family of ten. I couldn’t figure out why Henry was looking into houses, but something must have happened otherwise he wouldn’t want to go so far away from Hampden, from Julian, from me.

I am wasting my time worrying about him when I should be writing my assignment. He is more than capable of taking care of himself and I trust that if the situation calls for it he will ask for my help. Just as I pick up my fountain pen to finally start the long-overdue translation of the first few books from the Aeneid I hear the sound of the key turning in my door’s lock. The only one with a copy of my dorm key is Henry. 

‘Where have you been?’ I inquire just as he graciously walks in as if he hasn’t been absent for the past days.

‘Get dressed.’ He orders with no care about what I’m doing whatsoever.

‘I’m working on my assignment.’ I point out sharply. ‘You cannot demand me to get dressed without telling me what you have planned.’

‘I assure you, you will not be displeased.’

Moments later, I’m sat in the passenger’s seat watching humans, shops, and houses blur into moving, indecipherable colours as Henry drives us out of Vermont towards Demeter’s neverending golden plains and dense forests. 

‘I consider it unfair when you use my curiosity against me.’ I sigh, rolling down the window to vent out the smoke from the cigarette I just lit. 

‘It is a great disadvantage which the comfort of love drags after itself.’ Henry half-smirks at me, his blue eyes behind the glasses abnormally warm.

‘And what may this terrible disadvantage be?’ I hold my cigarette to his lips and he takes a long drag from it before I bring it back to mine.

‘The mortifying ordeal of being known.’ The smoke escapes his lungs with every syllable he pronounces and I find it utterly entrancing.

.

.

.

.

.

Henry’s faint voice swirls in my mind, disturbing the unconscious state in which I am. Even in sleep, I can distinguish his precious voice from any other external sounds. He whispers my name and it hits my mind’s walls echoing until I wake up.

‘We have arrived.’ He announces with a slight smile and helps me step out of the car.

It takes me a moment to realise the massive manor towering over me with its aged stone walls covered in wicked ivy, large, arched windows with intricate tracery that allow glimpses into the stately interiors and prominent towers crowned with finials and spires piercing the limitless sky. Two watchful statues stand by the grand wooden doors as if anticipating our arrival. Suddenly, it all clicks together and I glare at Henry.

‘Is this why you’ve barely spoken to me in weeks?’ He was already retrieving his luggage along with another one he had packed for me using the various pieces of clothing I had left at his apartment throughout our relationship. ‘I can’t believe this..’ I shake my head and cross my arms, staring at the incredible purchase, knowing that it probably cost him a fortune. 

‘Let us enjoy this.’ He comes to stand by my side, suitcases in hand. ‘I have already spoken with Julian. I told him we would not be attending classes for a few weeks due to personal matters. Naturally, he wasn’t very pleased, but there is nothing he can do.’

‘Henry Marchbanks Winter skipping classes? I did not think I would live to see this day.’ It is nice to tease him once in a while.

‘I needed a break from society. Everyone does after a while and this place is perfect for such an occasion.’ For once, he looks relaxed and I decide to do as he wishes for the time being.

‘Why bring me here then? Wouldn’t it be better if you were to be alone here with your studies?’ 

Henry looks at me as if he has not been expecting the question and bursts into genuine laughter. ‘And leave my only piece of sanity in Vermont? That is something I couldn’t even dream of.’ He starts guiding me toward the entrance, his hand once again finding its rightful place on my waist.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 9.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.0k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

so sorry for the long wait. ):

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, decapitation, death

story playlist

The sound of paper furling and unfurling were the only ones heard. Then the slam of a fist on a wooden desk. Then a sigh. 

“This is ridiculous,” Rhaenyra hissed, reading over the missive stamped with the Velaryon sigil for the near hundredth time. “Absolutely ridiculous— borderline treasonous.” 

The letter spelled out, in so many words, that Vaemond Velaryon was contesting Lucerys’ inheritance claim to Driftmark. Lord Corlys had apparently fallen ill in the Stepstones— damn that accursed place— which brought up the question of succession. There had been whispers over the years of Rhaenyra’s first three sons’ true parentage belied in the seed of a certain late Commander of the City’s watch. Such accusations have been unfounded and swatted away like flies if the argument was ever brought up in the small council chamber or throne room. 

Upon looking at them, the three Velaryon boys were only such in name– that much was obvious. Their brown eyes and curled brown hair struck a decided resemblance to someone that was not Ser Laenor Velaryon. 

Even if the rumors, as they may be, were plain as day truths, such things couldn’t be acted upon, much less said about the heir to the iron throne, could they? 

“How can Alicent even entertain this… this mummer’s farce?” she continued to seethe, resorting to pacing now, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her throat felt a bit dry at the situation. Her and Alicent had struck a comfortable balance since returning. This felt… it felt akin to a slap in the face.

“‘Tis not just Alicent entertaining it,” Daemon muttered, swirling wine in his cup. He was lazed in the chaise, one leg over the other. He seemed particularly laissez-faire about the situation at hand, as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance to him, like a leg cramp or an annoying bug. “That snake of a father she has has his fangs in every pot. Whatever suits him— and this would seem to be one of those things.” he glanced to his wife, wanting to say more about the queen, but thought better of it. Daemon Targaryen was, in all accounts, a man who spoke his mind– but he didn’t wish to ruffle his pregnant wife’s feathers by calling her ‘girlhood friend’ a cunt like her father. 

“Otto Hightower is a conniving man, that much is true. What could he hope to gain by currying favor with Vaemond?” 

“The Velaryon fleet. The Velaryon coin. The Velaryon connections. The well of opportunities for conniving cunts like Otto are endless.” he punctuated each point with a wave of his glass.

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut. She was silent for a long while before finally speaking again. “Well, Lord Corlys is not dead yet. This will be fought and we will be heard.”

—

The morning after the gala was… eventful, to say the least. She hardly remembered going back to her room, it all felt like a hazy, dizzy dream. 

Aemond had escorted her back to her chambers in (comfortable) silence, giving her another goodnight kiss before leaving her for the night. She had been reeling from it all, the adrenaline of their interaction.

She could feel his lips on hers and a delightful buzz on her face and… another unfamiliar sensation deep in her body, nestled behind her navel. It felt like a pulling sensation, like a thread connecting her and Aemond. Just the slightest tug on the string had her feeling warm and fuzzy— she wanted him. The implication of wanting him could mean a myriad of things. She was fond of him, of course, she always had been. His possessive declaration, to any normal person, could be deduced into one thing. But in Shera’s mind, there were many interpretations of such an action, it couldn’t be assumed to mean one thing! 

He said she belonged to him— that didn’t necessarily mean he… loved her, he just wanted her near him. The kiss… she had started it, of course! It was merely… something of comfort between them, like a soft blanket or a favorite smell, right? Nothing so deep as… as one might assume.

 But it was also… melding into one another with ease, like their lips coming together had been second nature, their feelings inevitable. 

She kicked her legs in bed, spooking Moongeist slightly. Burying her face in her pillow, she gave an uncharacteristically loud squeal— to personify her current feelings. This was girlish and so very silly! Her face was red, she knew, feeling the heat radiating off of it.

No, no— ‘twas not love. It… Aemond didn’t love her, he couldn’t, it was a passing fancy. Yes, he was possessive and had mentioned marrying her twice. But that didn’t… mean… 

She glanced over at the dozens of drawings and sketches they’d done over the past few weeks on her side table. Her eye immediately caught on the portrait she did of him in blue and purple pastels, fingers wrought over the etching as she thought back to when she presented it to him. 

“I do not look like this, Shera,” he scoffed as he rolled his eye at her depiction of him. “You made me look like a child getting their portrait done for the first time. I look like I am being held at swordpoint.” 

Her mouth opened, brows flying to her hairline. “What do you mean? This is what you look like to me,” she snatched the paper from his hand and put it up next to his face to compare. “And you wouldn’t sit still, you basically were a child. I thought you had more discipline than that– Ser Criston would be disappointed.” she tutted.

Of course, it was a stylized portrait– mayhaps overly stylized. It was lines and angles and he did look quite pointy in it. But it felt like him, harsh around the edges but there was a glint in his eye that was soft, something few people could catch in Aemond Targaryen. He had been agitated when she made him stand still and it was surprising that she didn’t capture that overbearing emotion– rather, she caught the softness reserved only for her that hung in the back light of his eye.

“You are blind.” Aemond huffed, turning away.

“Yes, we have established that,” she pushed his shoulder playfully.

Love. Love? Love!

She screamed herself hoarse again into her pillow until Moongeist tugged it away from her. 

She loved him. She was in love with Aemond Targaryen and had been for a very, very long time. 

She was still giddy about it, getting out of bed with a spring in her step, as if she were some sort of sprightly hare. She peppered Moongeist’s face in kisses, to which he returned sleepy chuffs and whines, cooing soft noises to him in lieu of words— her throat hurt from her girlish squealing.

She had almost forgotten about the incident. The warging. She wasn’t even sure it had been real, if not for the bruises where Aemond held her so tightly to stop her from falling to the floor, she thought it would’ve been a dream. 

Shera knew of warging– every Stark did, every Northman did. It was a seemingly supernatural phenomenon told by stewardesses to children. It was a thing of wonder and utter horror. She remembers her own stewardess, the very fleeting memories she had before King’s Landing of Winterfell, keeping her afraid with the threat that if a skinchanger died while inhabiting another being, they would be trapped in said being’s skin forever. 

“Some skinchangers are more beast than man, Shera,” the older woman said, wagging a finger in the little girl’s face, who was no more than four at the time. “If you keep up your antics, don’t be surprised if you wake up as a beast, you little hellion.”

Shera promptly bit the offending wagging finger.

Unfurling the paper left with her breakfast, a hearty plate of hot eggs and bangers (which looked ravenously appetizing), she skimmed it. The message was clear in its intent: the move back to Dragonstone was delayed. Biting into the sausage, she threw Moongeist some eggs.

One more thing to be delighted about– she felt like everything between her and… those who resided in King’s Landing was on borrowed time. 

‘Twas a pity about the hearing for Lucerys’ inheritance. She didn’t care much for Lucerys– but she didn’t really know him. She wonders if he even remembers taking Aemond’s eye, and Shera subsequently shoving him into a wall where he hit his head.

She ponders it more over breakfast, even asking for a second helping of sausage before reporting to the throne hall. The maids that dressed her had brought a separate garment, one unfamiliar and most certainly not something she brought with her.

“Princess Rhaenyra wishes for you to wear this at the hearing,” one of them murmured. 

Shera eyed the dress– it was deep, blood red with black and gold trim. There were embellishments of dragons and wolves across the chest and a sash belt that looked like it had wolf claws embedded into it. It was… nice in its own way, except for the ghastly color. The maids were relentless in the cinching of her waist and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she regretted her second helping of breakfast. The women didn’t say anything to her, really, but exchanged looks that said more than words. 

As she slips into the throne room, she feels a whoosh of air beside her. “You look garish in that color,” a familiar voice sneered. Aegon blocked her way, brows raised. “Some little birdie told me that you prefer blue.”

“... mayhaps I do,” she murmured. “And how exactly do you know that?” 

“Again, my little birdie. But also, I was at the gala and saw you and my brother eye-fucking each other. You two are seriously shameless, debaucherous almost.”

“That is truly rich coming from you, Aegon,” Shera cracked a small smile. 

Continuing her walk, Jacaerys sweeps her up into his arm and leads them over to… their side. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Lucerys and Rhaena are waiting. Across the opposite side of the room are Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent and Otto. In the center, stands Vaemond, swaying ever so slightly to the Queen’s side. The room is so clearly divided that it's almost sickening. Just the previous night, they had been making merry without all of this division. She sees Aemond, who gives her dress a onceover– his expression is reserved and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He looks at her for half a second, nostrils flared, before looking away from her. 

While the proceedings are happening, she swims within her own mind. She stands near Jace, who has his arm looped in hers in a protective manner. Scattered words of Vaemond come through her muddled thoughts, ‘Velaryon’, ‘Blood’, ‘Survival’, ‘House’. Her eyes were glazed over as she counted the cracks in the stones of the floor.

One, two, three… four… 

She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on until the heavy doors of the throne room open with almost silencing impunity, quiet chatter and shocked whispers pulling her from her reverie.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” the Kingsguard announced as His Grace, who still looked all the part of a royal corpse, hobbled into the room. He declined any assistance to walk and take his seat.

She gets a sinking feeling in her gut– something telling her that everything is about to explode. 

“I must… admit… my confusion,” he wheezes, winded by the small walk. Shera feels a small twinge of sympathy at that, understanding the feeling. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

“You are of sound mind in that, father,” Rhaenyra bowed her head, unfurling another paper, walking to the King to present it. “This is a whit and declaration of betrothal between my son, Lucerys Velaryon, and Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. It is signed and stamped by Lady Rhaenys, who upholds her husband’s declaration that Laenor’s son shall inherit Driftmark. This betrothal shall only strengthen his claim.” 

Viserys gave a small smile. “Thank you, my daughter,” he skimmed the paper, obviously with some struggle. “The matter… is settled, Ser Vaemond. It has been and it will… stay affirmed… that Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon is heir to Driftmark… the Driftwood Throne… and the next Lord of the Tides… and the children… of him and Lady Rhaena… will inherit it after him.” 

She feels the intensity in the air, it’s almost palpable. She feels sick as the voices raise, the blood in the room rises. 

Vaemond looks like he is about to burst, his body shaking in clear anger. “You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon,” he pauses for a moment as if to consider his next words, “No.I will not allow it.”

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” Viserys struggled to sit up, returning Vaemond’s vitriol with his own– as labored and unthreatening as it was.

“That,” Vaemond pointed to Lucerys, with a look that could raze an army. “is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” 

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond looked back to Lucerys and Jacaerys. The rage in his eyes were palpable as a humid day, the anger emanating from him sticking in the room like cloying smoke.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, eyes trained on the second son of Driftmark. The rogue prince was disarmingly calm, his voice like Caraxes’ hiss. 

“Her children… are bastards!” Vaemond boomed, stomping his foot and pointing again at Rhaenyra’s sons. 

Shera’s breath left her lungs. She remembered what happened the last time someone called them bastards. She glanced to Aemond, who was looking right back at her. 

“And she…” Ser Vaemond turned his damning finger to Rhaenyra, “is… a… whore.” 

The swing of a sword was all she heard. 

It is silent, save for the hushed and shocked breathing of everyone watching. One would think that people would scream, would gasp. But no, it was quiet as a mouse, quiet as Vaemond’s head was removed from his body and the gentle seep of blood staining the stone floor. 

Shera had never seen anyone die before– not like this. She can see into the passages of his skull, his eyes still open. Shocked, she looks at Daemon, who is wiping his blade against his doublet. Her eyes were glued to the ground, to the cracks she was counting before. They were soaked in his blood, the divots and fissures of the stone opening way for the blood to fall into, branching out into jagged rivers.

One, two, three… f-four…

This is what is he capable of, isn’t it? No one came to truly seize him, to arrest him for killing a man in broad daylight, in front of the King, in front of the Hand, in front of courtiers, in front of the Kingsguard. 

Alicent’s mouth was opened, her eyes wide. Even Otto was shocked, his fist clenched. It was as much emotion as Shera had ever seen the Hand express.

Her saliva feels cloying in her mouth as she glances across the room. Helaena has her ears covered and Shera wishes she had done the same. Aegon was staring off into space, pupils dilated. The scuffle of blades and minds beginning to come to a sense of what just really happened.

Aemond’s face finally held some emotion: enamorment. For the power that Daemon held, the prowess, the act of brutality itself– Shera couldn’t parse which. All she knew is that it scared her. That darkness lying just beneath the surface that she’d tried so hard to ignore–

Her extremities feel numb, the sharp sting of icy needles crawling up her arms and legs. She began to sway, unknowingly clasping onto Jacaerys. The room was spinning and shaking, the intense smell of copper— Vaemond’s blood— tainting her senses. 

A high pitched ringing overwhelmed her hearing as she slipped from consciousness into darkness. 

—

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s arm, hand over the length of the scar she gave her so many years ago. It seemed like a fever dream; that night. Her thumb traced the raised skin as the two women shared a moment in silence.

“I— I will return, Alicent,” the princess murmured, her hand over her belly. “I will take the children home and return for Shera. We… we have overstayed our welcome.” her throat bobbed as they spoke softly in the corner of the maester’s room. 

The queen’s eyes roved over Shera’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell softly and she seemed… troubled in her unconsciousness, soft whines emitting from her every so often. Her wolf stayed at the foot of the bed, standing at attention. Amber eyes vigilant, guarding. 

“How… how shall you transport her? She hasn’t woken up yet, Nyra,” Alicent asked, tilting her head. “The maesters say she is fragile.” 

“Syrax is a smooth flier— a makeshift cot is being constructed on her saddle as we speak. The flight wouldn’t be long and it would be much less taxing than a wheelhouse or horse.” 

Alicent nibbled on her lip anxiously. She had never been fond of dragons, despite most of those closest to her connected to one in some way. 

Targaryens and their queer customs. 

“Is… is that wise?” she pressed, brow knitting. “They do not even know if she will wake.” 

“I made an oath to her brother that I would keep her under my care, Alicent— we must go back to Dragonstone, our affairs cannot be put off any longer. I do not wish to birth my babe here, nor do I wish for Jacaerys to marry here.” 

But I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to leave that ingrate of a husband. She punctuated her unheard thought with a meaningful squeeze to Rhaenyra’s arm. A silent plea— it was the first time in years that something had felt right. 

But it wasn’t her place to say anything about it, the words were better left unsaid. “If you think that is wise, Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, her hand dropping from her skin as if it burned her. Mayhaps it did. “At least let our maesters monitor her for a few days— then you may take her.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she recused both hands to her belly as if to defend herself. “Very well, my queen.” 

They were so close, yet so far. 

—

It was hazy. Hazy and dreary— silent but all too loud. Her steps were calm and measured as her heart thumped in her chest. Shera felt light in her steps without any inhibition or reproach. Feeling no pain or vertigo, she flew down the staircase, skipping two or three at a time, giggling. This had to be a dream, didn’t it?

Descending, down… down… 

She was in the Red Keep, she knew. But it felt different, somehow. Younger in its stones, in the bones of its foundation, there was still some give. 

And yet, despite the airiness of the walls, there was a shadow looming

Two somewhat familiar figures were conversing near the skull of Balerion. She recognized them from portraits– young Rhaenyra and a much healthier, much more alive version of Viserys. 

She had always been fascinated by him, Balerion. Despite her heritage being very non-dragonesque, she always felt a childlike wonder whenever someone would speak of Balerion. It was hardly fathomable to her to imagine a dragon that would blot out the sun– one that even rivaled Vhagar’s gargantuan size. 

Viserys spoke softly but firmly to Rhaenyra, who was so young. She had just lost her mother and brother— the claim to the Iron Throne and named heir were up in the air. 

“Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra… all of Westeros must stand against it,” Viserys urged softly as the candlelight flickered against his features, fingers skimming atop the flames

“And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king,” he paused, looking at Rhaenyra once more, “or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’ This secret… it’s been passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Now you must promise to carry it… and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra,” the king looked directly to where Shera was standing, looking right into her eyes, as if he could see her, see into her. “Promise me.”

The metal of the Catspaw blade heated up atop the coals to a bright and almost fluorescent orange. Goosebumps prickled on Shera’s skin in tandem with the rising heat of the room. It was so warm, no, it was hot, scorching. The air vacated her lungs, replaced by flames licking at her insides, burning, consuming.

Young Rhaenyra had left the room, leaving Viserys to look at the skull of Balerion. He picked up a single candle, peering into the flame like it held the secrets of the world. 

He spoke again, but his voice wasn’t that of the era of King that Shera was looking upon. It was old, weezing– just like in the throne room from earlier in the day. The form of Viserys slumped, hair falling out and skin graying as he held the candle like a lifeline. He fell to his knees and the sound of his bones shattering could be heard, breaking and splintering into nothing but dust. 

But the candle was still lit. His hand, now nothing but bone and sinew, was fused to the wax. 

“No… more,” he coughed and sputtered, blood leaking from his lips onto the stone. Wax dripped, mingling with the blood. Finally, he focused on the flame of the candle. “My… love.” 

He blew out the candle with his last breath. With that, all of the candles in the room blew out.

Shera was left alone in the darkness and swirling smoke. 

It was cold.

–

She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. But she was still cold, shivering. The smell of smoke was still lingering. 

Her chest was heaving as she sat up and tried to walk, wanting that same flighty weightlessness she felt before. Her body failed her and she crumbled to the floor, a broken doll once again. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. The familiarity of sandalwood lulled her frantic nerves as she wholeheartedly buried her face into Aemond’s chest. She knew it was him. His arms laced behind her as he lifted her up easily as if not to taint her with having to stand on the ground. His nose buried into her hair, holding onto her as if he was afraid she would slip away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing near the corner of the room. The two of them were not alone– but she didn’t care. She clung to Aemond like her life depended on it, peering behind him slowly. 

Aegon was sitting behind them, knee bobbing nervously. He looked… disheveled, more than usual. Even more so, he was wearing… the crown of the conqueror. He was wearing the crown of his namesake. “You’ve missed a lot, Shera,” he muttered, eyes dark.

“Aegon?” she croaked, voice sounding hoarse and broken from disuse.

“‘Tis ‘your grace’ now.” Aegon said bitterly.

[rookiesbookies]

Greek God!Price x MaidenFem!Reader pt 2

Masterlist is pinned as always and please submit any requests to my inbox I dont bite

She had always been nervous around men, in her village they had always seemed rude and misogynist. Women were a commodity, their value based on purity and age. But Price was different. He treated her with respect and tenderness, making her feel safe and cherished. It was a new experience for her, and she couldn't help but feel nervous about it.

As she lay there, wide awake, she couldn't help but notice Price's movements in his sleep. He had gone from a respectful distance to spooning her side, his warm body pressed against hers. It was both comforting and unsettling at the same time.

She had agreed to spend the night in his bed, a decision that made her anxious. Changing in his master bathroom, she had put on one of his white undershirts that barely covered her upper-mid thigh. She worried about him seeing her exposed, about her own vulnerability in this unfamiliar situation.

The clock on the wall ticked away, reminding her of the late hour. She shivered, feeling the coldness of the room seep into her bones. Despite Price's warm body heat and the thick blankets, she couldn't find comfort. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of her nipples showing through the shirt or the possibility of her underwear being revealed.

But amidst her restlessness, she couldn't help but appreciate Price's gentle and kind nature. It was a stark contrast to her past experiences with the men who had tried to court her - often older and looking for a young housewife to act as a slave due to their wealth. She found herself slowly letting go of her fears and embracing the unfamiliar warmth that he offered.

Price stood out among the men she had encountered. He possessed a genuine gentlemanly demeanor that made her wonder if all gods were like him.

As her mind aimlessly drifted, she couldn't help but become fixated on Price's physique. Questions began to swirl in her thoughts, particularly about what lay beneath that thick sweater he now slept in. Were his muscles well-defined, sculpted from hours of hard work and dedication? Or were they hidden beneath a layer of softness, adding a touch of comfort to his appearance? The curiosity grew stronger, fueling her imagination as she envisioned the possibilities. It was a tantalizing mystery, one that she couldn't help but ponder, wondering if one day she would have the chance to uncover the truth.

As her mind wandered, it delved even deeper into his physical attributes, specifically focusing on what he possessed between his legs. Questions arose about its thickness, length, girth, and whether it was thin or substantial. She pondered whether he preferred a clean-shaven look or if his hair was coarse yet well-maintained, similar to his facial hair. Curiosity arose about the presence of freckles and whether it leaned towards one direction or the other. She wondered if it was pale or tan, what color the tip was. These thoughts consumed her mind, leaving her with a multitude of unanswered questions.

Her cheeks flushed with warmth as she realized the direction her thoughts were taking. It felt criminal. It was inappropriate to think of a man in such a way, especially someone like Price who was so sweet and such a gentleman. She began to question her own feelings towards him, fearing that she might be falling for a man who deserved a woman equally as remarkable to be his eternal partner. She pondered the qualities that would make a woman worthy of Price's affection. Would she need to possess extraordinary beauty, intelligence, or perhaps a combination of both?

The weight of her own self-doubt began to settle upon her, as she questioned whether she could ever measure up to the standards she imagined Price had. Perhaps he was waiting for some magic spark to ignite, maybe Eros to strike them with arrows to let him know it was meant to be or a letter hand-written from Aphrodite or Hera with approval. Something he seemingly so desired based on his adamant refusal of the other sacrificial women he considered for brides. He even said it himself, he wanted someone closer to his physical age to keep for an eternity as a partner, not just a wife.

Lost in her thoughts, she yearned for a sign, a glimpse into Price's true nature. She longed to know if he was as extraordinary as he appeared, or if her infatuation was merely a figment of her imagination, the facade of a god. Only time would reveal the answers she sought, and until then, she would continue to question her own worthiness of a god like Price.

He shifted again in his sleep, pulling her closer. His beard tickling against her neck, he took a deep breath. She couldn't help but think about the advice her friends had given her as a teenager. They had told her that men could determine if they wanted to marry a girl by the end of their first date. As she lay there, she wondered if the dinner they had just shared counted as a date. Did it hold any significance or was it just a casual outing with his friends? Her mind raced as she rubbed her legs together and nervously bit her lip. Being in such close proximity with a man was a new experience for her.

Suddenly, he began to stir in his sleep, a soft grunt escaping his mouth. Startled, she realized he was awake. "Why aren't you asleep?" he questioned, his voice filled with curiosity. "Humans need a good deal of sleep compared to us gods."

Her heart skipped a beat as she tried to come up with a response. "I... I couldn't sleep," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "I guess I'm just not used to... this."

He looked at her intently, his eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay," he said softly, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "We can take things slow. There's no rush."

As he held her close, she felt a warm and comforting feeling, giving her hope for a happy future. Could this amazing man be the one she would marry? And, by some lucky chance, did he really understand her deepest desires?

Finally, she drifted into a peaceful slumber, feeling a sense of tranquility and optimism. The man she had discovered, whom she might be falling in love with, had filled her heart with hope and affection. The thought of marrying him brought her immense joy and contentment. He was truly remarkable, and she could only wish that he felt the same way about her. Thankfully, it seemed like he did, and that realization filled her with even more happiness.

[charlieg1rl]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄!𝐀𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀!𝐀𝐔

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏.𝟔𝐊

For weeks, Hyunjin found himself caught in an emotional whirlwind, one that spun faster and faster with each passing day. He’d wake up every morning, the first thought on his mind being Y/N—the way her laughter echoed in his head long after they had parted and how her radiant smile had the remarkable power to brighten even his darkest days. Each moment they spent together felt charged with electricity, igniting a spark that sent his heart racing. Yet, despite the intensity of his feelings, every time he attempted to voice what lay heavy in his heart, the words seemed to get stuck in his throat, trapped behind the barriers of his own fear and uncertainty.

Their routine had become a comforting pattern: study sessions filled with laughter, casual coffee dates, or simply hanging out in each other’s company. But there lingered an unspoken weight in the air, a palpable tension that neither seemed able to address. Hyunjin could feel it pressing down on him, and he sensed that Y/N was aware of it too. She often regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and concern, her eyes searching his face as if she was waiting for him to break the silence, to share what was brewing beneath the surface.

One chilly afternoon, as they sat in their favorite café—where the cozy atmosphere was enhanced by the delightful aroma of fresh pastries and the rich scent of brewing coffee—Hyunjin found himself lost in thought, staring absentmindedly at his half-finished latte. The intricate foam art began to dissolve, mirroring the turmoil in his mind. He knew he needed to speak, to express the feelings that had been gnawing at him, but each time he opened his mouth, the right words failed to materialize.

“Hyunjin?” Y/N’s gentle voice pulled him from his reverie, snapping him back to the present. He looked up to find her watching him intently, her brow slightly furrowed in concern. “You’ve been really quiet lately. Is everything okay?”

Meeting her gaze sent a familiar flutter through his chest, a rush of warmth mixed with anxiety. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind, I guess,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her curiosity evident. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

There it was—the perfect opening, the ideal moment to pour out his heart. Yet, despite the clarity of the opportunity, he found himself nodding and deflecting, the truth slipping through his fingers. “It’s nothing serious. Just school stuff. You know how it is.”

A shadow of disappointment flitted across her features before she masked it with a smile. “Alright, if you say so. Just know I’m here if you need to vent.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he replied, feeling a pang of guilt gnawing at his insides. He longed to be honest with her, to share the tumult of emotions that swirled within him, but the fear of jeopardizing their friendship loomed larger than his desire to confess. What if she didn’t share his feelings? What if this fragile arrangement they had built came crashing down, leaving him with nothing but regret?

As the weeks dragged on, Hyunjin found himself increasingly consumed by his internal struggle. He’d watch Y/N laugh with their friends, her eyes sparkling with joy, and it broke his heart a little more each time he refrained from expressing the depth of his emotions. The weight of his silence became an unbearable burden, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that time was slipping away, like grains of sand through his fingers.

On one particularly rainy day, they had just finished a project together at her apartment. Y/N had been in high spirits, her creativity radiating as they crafted a presentation on innovative interior design concepts. However, as they wrapped up their work, an uncomfortable silence settled between them, thick and heavy.

“Hyunjin?” she said softly, her eyes searching his with an intensity that made his heart race. “You’re really quiet again.”

He inhaled deeply, determination swelling within him. This was it; he needed to tell her. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could finish, the doorbell rang, startling them both. Hyunjin felt the tension dissipate, frustration gnawing at him. Of course, just as he was about to bare his soul, something had to ruin the moment.

“Who could that be?” Y/N murmured, her expression a mixture of confusion and irritation as she got up to answer the door. Hyunjin leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of the unspoken words slip away, replaced by annoyance at the interruption.

When she opened the door, a wide grin spread across her face, and Hyunjin felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. It was Changbin, Chan, and Jeongin, their boisterous laughter and playful banter filling the room as they barged in, completely oblivious to the charged moment they had just interrupted.

“Surprise! We thought we’d crash your study session!” Changbin exclaimed, triumphantly walking in with a bulging bag of snacks.

“Yeah, we were just in the neighborhood,” Jeongin added, flashing Y/N a thumbs-up. “Hope that’s okay?”

Y/N laughed, a bright, genuine sound that made Hyunjin’s heart ache in an entirely different way. “Of course! Come in!”

As the room filled with the sound of laughter and lighthearted chatter, Hyunjin felt the weight of his unspoken feelings settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. He sat back, watching Y/N interact with their friends, her laughter infectious and carefree. It was in these moments that he realized how deeply he cared for her. It wasn’t just about their friendship anymore; it was about her happiness, her vibrant spirit, and he wanted desperately to be a part of that.

The evening progressed with snacks and games, but Hyunjin felt like a ghost in the room, his thoughts racing as distractions pulled him further away from his resolve. Each time he tried to refocus, a new interruption seemed to arise, pushing his feelings deeper into the recesses of his mind. It was maddening, an emotional battle he felt ill-equipped to win.

After a couple of hours, their friends eventually departed, leaving Hyunjin and Y/N alone once again. As the familiar silence returned, he felt the heaviness loom over them, a constant reminder of the words he still hadn’t found the courage to say.

“Thanks for inviting them over,” he finally said, breaking the stillness.

“Of course! I love hanging out with you all. It’s nice to take a break from studying,” Y/N replied, her smile bright and inviting. But there was something in her eyes—a flicker of uncertainty that hadn’t been there before, a hint that she sensed something was amiss.

Hyunjin’s heart raced. This was another chance, another moment where he could finally let everything out. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, she cut in again.

“Hyunjin, are you sure everything’s alright? You feel… distant. I know we’re just friends, but if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”

He froze, caught in a tug-of-war between the urge to confide in her and the instinct to protect what they had built together. “I’m fine, really,” he said, though the words felt hollow as they slipped past his lips.

Y/N studied him intently, her eyes probing his. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I promise I won’t freak out or anything.”

The sincerity in her voice made his heart race even more, and he felt the pressure of his unexpressed emotions building within him. “I just… I’m not good at this, Y/N,” he finally admitted, the honesty spilling out before he could rein it in.

“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“I don’t want to mess things up,” he confessed, the words tumbling forth. “I just… I’ve been trying to figure out how to say what I need to say, but it’s hard.”

Y/N stepped closer, her expression softening, the distance between them narrowing. “Hyunjin, whatever it is, you can trust me. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he replied, the sincerity in her gaze cutting through the defenses he had built around his heart. He took a deep breath, determination flooding through him once more. “Y/N, I—”

But once again, the moment shattered. A notification buzzed on his phone, pulling his attention away from her. He glanced at the screen, and his heart sank at the sight. It was a text from Changbin, a meme that made him chuckle, but it was also a harsh reminder of how easily distractions could slip in, pulling him away from what truly mattered.

“Sorry, it’s just Changbin,” he said, shaking his head as he tried to refocus. “I’ll talk to you about this soon, I promise.”

Y/N’s expression fell slightly, disappointment flickering across her features like a candle’s flame. “Okay, just… don’t keep me in the dark for too long.”

“Yeah, I won’t,” he assured her, though the weight of doubt hung heavy in his mind. As she turned away, a wave of frustration washed over him. How had it come to this? Why was it so difficult to simply say what he felt?

Days turned into weeks, and with each passing moment, Hyunjin felt the gap between them widen, the words still unspoken, festering like an open wound. The burden of his emotions became unbearable, yet the fear of what would happen if he finally broke the silence loomed larger than the love that compelled him to speak. Each day, the internal struggle intensified, a silent battle waging within him as he grappled with the truth he was desperate to share.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

tags: @estella-novella, @beccasmecka

[flusteredmoonn]

haunted; regulus black

summary: "c'mon, c'mon, don't leave me like this," in which he doesn't have the heart to tell her of his imminent departure.

tags: (SFW), angsty, one sided angst, war angst, mentions of war, mentions of murder, post hogwarts years, slight canon divergence, fast paced, implied slytherin!reader, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 600+

speak now tracklist. request.

hurriedly, he ventured down the stairs of the safe house, swallowing thickly when he reached the bottom. he clutched the strap of his worn book bag as he moved throughout the house. making it to the entryway, he threw the bag down on a side table aggressively before reaching for the ends of his sleeves and adjusting his cufflinks.

he knew what was coming, he knew what was expected of him. the dark lord had graced him with a second opportunity to prove his capability and furthermore, his loyalty to him. it was no secret that he had failed his assigned task during his sixth year at hogwarts. a failure which was held over his head at any given moment, particularly from his manic aunt.

hearing his descent, she made her way through the house, meeting him in the entry hall.

"regulus?' her voice was light as she queried her partner, watching as he seemed increasingly frantic, readying himself for something.

"yes, my dear," he did not look in her direction, instead diverting his attention to the contents of his satchel, making sure everything was in order.

"what ever are you doing? you seem in an awful rush, are you going somewhere?" her question was innocent, and still his heart shattered, daring himself to send a look in her direction.

upon seeing her, his face dropped. once pinched expression relaxing, his shoulders dropped their tension. he turned his body to face her,

"oh," he finally hesitated, registering her inquiry, "i've been summoned at work, needed urgently for something confidential that has arisen," he clarified with a tight lipped smile before resuming correcting his appearance.

"when will you be back?" she continued to question, causing regulus to inwardly sigh.

"i'm not sure," he was quick to speak, leaving his back and manoeuvring around the girl, as if in search of something. she took the hint as tension thickly grew around them, that he did not wish to elaborate.

from a distance, she watched regulus pace all throughout the house, nervously checking the grandfather clock at the end of the hall to make sure he wasn't late.

worry still swirled through the girl's mind, brows drawing closer together as she watched her love spiral. she knew something was wrong. she had done for a while. but whenever she toyed with the resistance of the subject, the boy did nothing but deflect.

eventually, the boy concluded that he had acquired everything he needed before readying himself to leave once more. however, this time, his expression was solemn rather than the frantic one it held prior.

regretfully looking at the grandfather clock once more, the hands of the clockface told him that he needed to leave.

he called the girl's name, watching as she emerged from an adjoining room, clearly having hovered.

"i fear it is time i need to go," regulus' voice was above a whisper, moving forward stiffly, as he embraced her. breathing in a shaky breath, he added, "i'm not sure if, when i'll be back," he hid a cough amongst his words.

"that's okay, i'll wait for you," she replicated his actions, wrapping her arms tightly around him, as she normally did when he had to depart.

his heart broke silently at her words. he knew he wouldn't be back, it was a mission he wouldn't return from. he had known the second he saw the faces of the other death eaters. he couldn't tell her, even though he usually did, despite confidentiality. he wouldn't.

he would hate to be the barer of her despair. and he couldn't make her upset. not now.

so he held her tighter, before affirming that he had to leave. and he didn't look back before apparating, he couldn't.

[somorrow]

Can I request a Naruto character (your pick ofc) meeting reader’s parents for the first time!

“It could be worse. She could be dating an Uchiha.” As you opened your own door to exit the vehicle that had just parked in front of the house, Jiraiya’s narrowed optics bored into the dark, piercing eyes of his wife. Tsunade’s arms were crossed over her chest as they stood before the front window. Jiraiya shook his head, a heavy feeling in his gut. "This is worse. I've seen that kid at signings before."

He could never forget that sideways, spiky silver hair. He’d never seen any other man with locks that defied gravity the way his had — not other than himself at least, and maybe his godson.

Tsunade’s brows narrowed, her pink lips scowling. “What?! You know him?!”

“Yeah, Kakashi was his name. Kakashi Hatake. I remember it from the signing.”

“Sakumo’s boy?”

“Yup.”

“Wasn’t he always in trouble for fighting?”

“Yup.”

“Damn it,” Tsunade cursed, clenching her fists. "A pervert and a delinquent. What the hell are you thinking, (Name)?!"

"It's a new relationship. We could ruin it."

Tsunade gave it a genuine thought before clicking her tongue. "We shouldn't. She seems happy." "It's only been two months. It won't kill her to start again." He let out a scoff of disbelief when the two of you began to walk over his freshly cut grass, hand-in-hand. "Oooh, it's so over." "Cut it out! Get away from the window before they see us!" "Let him see me." Tsunade groaned and wrapped her arms around her husbands toned bicep and pulled. "Let's go, big boy. Time to pretend you've never met him."

The doorbell echoed throughout the house, and Jiraya propelled himself forward to reach it before her. He swung the door open in a flash, face already flushing in a swirl of anger and humiliation. As he opened the door, your happy greeting took all thoughts of assault from his mind. You immediately disregarded your boyfriend's hand for a hug from your father, latching onto your mother next. "Hi, dad! Sorry we're late! My cat got out, and Kakashi had to help me chase her." Kakashi had a face of stone, though it was pressed into a smile. He lowered himself into a substantially low bow. Unusually so, for Kakashi, but you knew he had to really lay it on in order to get out of this alive. Especially after you'd just botched it all to hell. What the hell had you been thinking?! Your cat got out?! She was terrified of the outdoors! "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Senju. My name is Kakashi Hatake." You gave your mom a second hug - almost an apologetic one - before pulling back. An awkward pause settled between the four of you. If looks could kill, your boyfriend would be 12 feet deep twice over. Your father especially appeared to be seconds away from lashing out - either in a vicious, verbal way or, you were afraid he'd really punch him. A mix of emotions filled him as he eyed Kakashi. He was composed and respectful thus far - it would be unfair to keep the pressure mounting much further. Trying to keep his tone neutral, Jiraiya invited you in. "Well, let's not just stand in the doorway. Come on in." Kakashi bowed again before smiling. "Thank you. It's an honor to meet you, truly. (Name) is incredible in every way." Kakashi continued to lay on the charm throughout the next hour and a half, through a meal your mother had cooked (one of his least favorites, although he didn't particularly mind it this time), and both of you managed to stumble through conversations without any accidental innuendos. The time came, though, to where the dinner had ended, the conversations had died, and you needed to leave to prepare for work the next morning. It was evident they were still wary, though they had eased with time. You figured this would have to be something they got used to - you had been single for a long time, after all. During your goodbyes, though, it felt far much more lighthearted than before. You turned to your mother for one last hug, with Kakashi bowing to them both and shaking your fathers hand. "Take care of my daughter, Hatake." Your heart fluttered at the sound. Kakashi's eyes widened a bit as Jiraiya pulled him in. "And throw out every copy you own," he whispered threateningly. "Every. Last. One." He'd burn them. "Yes, sir. Of course," Kakashi agreed, fighting through a stutter. With that, Jiraiya's crushing grip eased, and your mother finally let go of her hug. You crossed the grass once more, hand-in-hand. "That went well!" You chimed. Kakashi winced a bit as you squeezed it reassuringly, an energetic lift to your step. "I hope so..." He said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking up at the tail end of the sunset, stars beginning to glitter above. "Next time, we won't be late." Edit: I moved this to ao3! Thanks for the inspiration. Here's the link: xxx.

[givemea-dam-break]

a/n: since quite a few of you wanted a part 2, here it is for this request - heyy could you do anthony lockwood x reader, where they used to be best friends but something bad happens to the reader and they stop talking and after years they reunite because of a case. maybe angst and fluff - i hope you all enjoy! on my masterlist, it's titled Downfall

warnings: mentions of deathh, spoiler (for those of you who haven't read the end of the whispering skull aka end of s1's book), mild language gn reader taglist: @tellmeoflegends @shampoocovers99 @nessa-stark @moonysstarconstellation

part 1

Your coffee went cold about ten minutes ago, and yet still you wait. Begrudgingly. Hopefully. God, who knows why you're waiting?

Lockwood's almost half an hour late. Really, you should've left twenty minutes ago. Really, you should've never agreed to come out to get a coffee with him, but it felt necessary. He and his friends had just rid your house of the ghosts of your mother and aunt, and you'd been feeling particularly emotional at that moment, so you'd agreed. Now, you're beginning to regret it.

The sun gleams through the windows of the café, one you used to frequent with Lockwood the morning after he'd had a case while he was still working as an apprentice. You chose it simply because of how much you loved their coffee.

You've not had a sip.

Even though it's a drink, it carries memories almost as bitter as the taste of it, and you can't bring yourself to have a bit. It feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong. The way you look at the door every time the windchimes sound; the way your heart is pounding in your chest with apprehension. You should be at home, making sure your dad is all right. Not meeting up with the guy who ignored you for years for something outwith your control.

You check your watch, frowning at the time, when once more the windchimes jingle.

This time, it's not an old man or a young couple that walks in, but a tall, slender boy in a far-too-long coat, a rapier by his side.

When Lockwood spots you, he smiles and hurries over, sitting down slightly out of breath. His cheeks and nose are a rosy pink.

"So sorry," he says. "I was running late."

"Clearly." You nudge your mug around on the maple table, watching the sun reflect off the white porcelain. "I was about to leave."

He grins in a way that was once contagious. No longer. "Well, I'm glad you didn't. What did you get? The usual? Back in a moment, I'm going to get a tea and a muffin."

In seconds, he's away and at the counter ordering, and you can feel all of your energy sap out of you and into him. You're not sure how he's so high-spirited, nor so energetic. You're positively shattered. But his temporary absence allows you to try and gather your thoughts and emotions.

It's like the barista knows your predicament because she's taking obscenely long to make Lockwood's tea. Not that you're complaining. Just as well you tipped her beforehand. Maybe you'll tip her more.

"Ah, nothing like tea on a cold day," Lockwood says as he sits down again, placing his mug on the table gently. "So, how are you? Good, I hope, seeing as you're ghost-free."

You shrug, watching the coffee in your mug follow the swirling motion of your spoon. "As good as I can be when my mum and aunt are dead, and my dad is losing his mind. What do you want to talk about?"

"Straight to the point, as usual." He smiles brightly, and it retains even when you don't return the gesture. "I just thought it'd be a good idea if we worked things out."

"Worked things out? Lockwood, there isn't anything to be worked out. I moved away without a choice, you got mad at me and never answered my letters. What more is there to say?"

For a millisecond, his joyful mask slips, revealing something that looks like a mix between guilt and irritation, but it's back in place before you know it. "Can I at least properly explain why?"

For lack of better judgement, you nod and cross your arms, sitting back in your seat. There's a weird feeling in your stomach, almost like squeezing. Like how some snakes wrap around their prey, squeezing the life out of it to consume, Lockwood's words do the same to your very soul.

How long have you waited for this conversation? To finally get clarity as to why he just cut contact with you?

Well, you know some of it. After the deaths of his family, you were the only person he had left, and his biggest fear was losing you, too. He clung to that fear for the five years between Jessica's, his sister, death and your move as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat in a dark, endless sea. It's why you insisted on writing and sending letters every day even when you had nothing of interest to talk about. You didn't want him to feel alone.

What more could there be?

Much more, apparently.

"Well." For the first time in this whole encounter, Lockwood seems nervous. His fingers are tapping against his mug, occasionally making little clicking sounds when his nails make contact. He keeps looking at the bridge of your nose instead of your eyes like he used to do when he was a kid and wanted you to ask your mum to get you both ice cream. "You were my closest friend. Nigel Skyes, you remember him? My first employer? Well, he was great, but I'd never consider him a friend, so you were essentially it for me. I mean, you know as well as I do, that all this charm? The bravado? It's fake, (name). You were the one person who could see through it and still accepted me as I was.

"So, yes, it hurt more than anything when you left, because I needed my shield up all the time. After my parents, after Jessica -" He pauses for a moment to slow himself down. He had started to ramble. "It was hard, but around you, I didn't need to be brave or happy all the time. Then you left, and - and I can't even begin to explain the fear that ran through me. What was I meant to do without my rock? The one person who saw what a mess I am but didn't care, because they were just as bad."

"Thanks," you mutter.

"You know what I mean, though," he continues. "It's like... When you're on a rope swing, really high in the air, and then the rope snaps and you can just see the clouds growing distant and the ground rising up to meet you before you crash into it. It was disorienting not having you around, and it felt like that when you told me you were leaving."

You only speak because of how final that last sentence sounds. "I didn't leave. Leaving implies I chose to go, which I didn't."

"The premise stays the same. You were here, and then you weren't."

"You -" Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself. You'd both chosen to meet out in public so you didn't start shouting at each other. "Okay. I understand how you feel."

His eyebrow quirks up as if to say, Is that so? But he says, "Thank you. Your turn."

For what? you think. You've got nothing to explain, no actions to justify. You did everything in your power as a teenage kid to stay with your best friend, and you got the response most teenagers would receive from their parents for such a request. No. What more could you have done?

"You could've replied to my letters," you say quietly, unable to look at him.

"I did," he says. His voice is soft, and you can feel his eyes on your face. "I just didn't have the guts to send them."

The emotions that overtake you then are overwhelming. Sadness because you never got to read these letters or see the stupid responses he came up with for the even-stupider things you said. Anger because he never sent them, never even sent one to tell you that he couldn't handle it. Regret because you never should've sent any in the first place. Comfort because he spent time actually reading your thoughts and ramblings and sat down to respond, even knowing he wouldn't send them.

But there's that little part in you that doubts what he says. How are you to know that he's not lying?

Swallowing the clog of feelings in your throat, you say, "I just wanted my best friend. Even if I couldn't stay here and see you all the time, I wanted to know how you were doing. If you thought of me as much as I thought of you."

"I never stopped."

You take a sip of your cold coffee then to hide the tears clouding your eyes.

"You could've taken the train to come back and see me, you know," Lockwood says. "A visit every now and then wouldn't have hurt."

"And so could you," you retort. "I gave you my address. I had school to think about, and I couldn't spend however many days a week on a half-hour ride there and another back. There was too much going on,"

His lips purse, and there's a little pang in your heart seeing him without his smile. You had forgotten how fulfilling it had always been to see it, even when you were mad.

"Did you mean it when you said you've not made any friends where you are now?"

As embarrassing as it is, you say, "Yeah. It's not easy when you're the new kid with social issues. Why do you think I always made you do the talking?"

He breathes a laugh then, a faint glimmer shining in his dark eyes. "I suppose you never were very good at talking to people."

"No." You tuck your hair behind your ears, staring down at your mug. "I never realised how hard it was to make friends. With you, it had been easy. You were just some chatty kid who wanted some of my doughnuts. No one could compare to you, so I never bothered."

Lockwood hesitates, breathing in as if to speak but no words pass his parted lips. With the sunlight streaming through the window, he looks like he's been painted onto the scene in front of you with those shadowed eyes that hold a lifetime's worth of mystery and an almost unrealistic air about him. The golden light splits across his face far too perfectly. It's infuriating. It never does that for anyone else.

"I think what hurt the most," he says, and his voice holds a very unrecognisable note of trepidation, "is that I had been planning to ask you out the day you told me."

Your hands, which had been tapping the tops of your thighs, stop short, and you look over at him in shock.

"What?"

His smile this time is small, bashful almost. "I'd liked you since we were twelve, in all honesty. But I never acted on it because we were kids and I was still grieving. Admitting I loved you felt like sentencing you to death, and I didn't want that for either of us. And then I worked up the courage, got my shit together, but look where that's got me."

It hurts a little to breathe. "You're kidding."

"I'd never joke about that." He's the one who won't meet your eyes now. "It hurt twice as bad getting the news because I was losing my best friend and the person I loved most on the same day. But I went on."

You note the wording then, how he didn't say move on, and an old, almost foreign spark of hope flickers in the dark abyss that once held your heart. Like every minute spent with the boy you left it with makes it slowly return.

"I loved you, too, for what it's worth," you murmur. "But, you know me and talking. I couldn't get the words out."

The nature of his smile shifts to something more remorseful. "I wonder how much trouble we would've avoided if we'd told each other."

"Or caused, you mean."

And he laughs softly at that, bringing a little smile onto your lips and a warmth to your chest. Something about the conversation, even though you're still insanely mad at him for the things he's done - or not done, more correctly - has made you feel lighter, liberated, in a way. It's easier to smile and laugh and feel a little okay. To allow yourself to connect with him in a way so minuscule to how you once were years ago but so tremendous compared to your time apart.

You never thought you'd be sitting here with him now, sharing smiles, and the thought makes you tear up again.

"Do you think we could ever be friends again?" he asks hopefully. "I mean, I know you'll still be a half-hour journey away and all, but I'll send my letters this time. I swear it. I want to hear all about your life at university."

No, a little part of you cries. You'll just end up hurt again.

But you don't want to listen to it. You want your happiness back, your best friend. You want to be able to wake up in the morning happy, knowing you're not all alone in your life anymore. You want to suffer through a stuffy train journey on weekends and holidays to come and see him and drink bitter coffee and eat stale doughnuts like you used to when you were fourteen.

Most of all, you want him again. A week ago, you would've scoffed at the notion and told anyone who thought it to go screw themselves, yet this one conversation...

It has given you clarity, along with a lot of anger and frustration and sadness, but sitting across from him? It feels worth it. Everything from the past three years feels worth it because now you're across from him and you're smiling and so is he.

So you say, "Yes."

And while part of you screams that you've made a mistake, another tells you that you made the mistake of falling into his web so, so long ago and never yearning to leave it, instead calling it home.

"Yes," you repeat because at least he's your mistake, your downfall, your home.

[dearstvckyx]

Flufftober | 10.20 |

Falling in love in October - Luke Hughes

It was mid-October, and the crisp autumn air clung to everything at the University of Michigan. The leaves crunched underfoot, a golden and red blanket across the campus. Luke Hughes had never really been one for romanticizing seasons. Sure, fall was fine—he liked the cool weather and the excuse to wear hoodies—but he wasn’t one to swoon over falling leaves and pumpkin spice lattes.

That changed when he met her.

They had met in their shared Sports Management class they both dreaded. Luke, more of a natural on the ice than in a classroom, found himself needing help with the readings and concepts. She, on the other hand, had a sharp mind and an easy way with explanations.

She wasn’t part of the hockey crowd, and that’s what intrigued him. She didn’t treat him like the next big NHL star or held him up to his brothers standards; she treated him like a regular student, one struggling to keep up with marginal utility and demand curves. That’s how they became study partners. He appreciated that she called him out when he wasn’t focused, and she appreciated that he tried his hardest to stay on top of things.

The first few weeks were just study sessions in the library or grabbing coffee to go over notes. But as October rolled in, so did a shift in the air between them.

One late afternoon, they met at a park near campus to go over some notes before an exam. The trees were at peak color, golden light bouncing off the reds and yellows. They sat under a large oak, textbooks open, but they were both distracted. Luke looked up from his notes to find her looking out at the view, the wind tugging at her hair.

“Pretty, huh?” Luke said, his voice a little softer than usual.

She smiled, her eyes lingering on the vibrant leaves. “Yeah, it’s beautiful. October’s always been my favorite. Everything feels… warmer, even though it’s cold.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the wind filling the gaps between their words. She glanced over at him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “You know, Luke, you’re not as distracted as you used to be.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I had a good teacher.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned her attention back to the trees. “Do you ever just… stop and take it all in? Like, really appreciate where you are?”

Luke thought about it. He was always so focused on hockey and getting better that he rarely just was. But with her, these moments felt different. “Not really,” he admitted. “But maybe I should.”

That’s when it started—the shift from study partners to something more. They began meeting outside of their usual library sessions. They’d grab lunch or coffee, and sometimes, they didn’t even talk about school. They’d just walk around campus or sit in that same park, talking about life and their dreams, the warmth of her voice filling him up in ways he didn’t expect.

One evening, after a particularly late study session, they were walking back to her dorm when she stopped suddenly. Luke, a step ahead, turned back to her, confused.

“What’s up?” he asked.

She hesitated, her breath visible in the cool night air. “Do you ever think about… more?”

“More?” he asked, stepping closer.

“More than just study partners,” she clarified, her voice almost a whisper.

Luke’s heart raced, his hands suddenly feeling clammy in his jacket pockets. He had been thinking about it—a lot. But he didn’t know how to say it. Now, standing here in the dim glow of the campus streetlights, he realized he didn’t need the perfect words. He just needed to be honest.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”

Her eyes softened, a small smile playing on her lips. She took a step closer, and without another word, she reached up, her hand resting on his cheek. The world seemed to slow down around them, the cool October breeze swirling, the smell of fallen leaves in the air.

Luke didn’t wait any longer. He closed the space between them, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that felt like everything he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was soft, tentative at first, but quickly grew more sure, more certain.

When they pulled away, their breaths mingled in the night air, both of them smiling like two kids who had just shared their first secret.

“I think we just fell in love in October,” she whispered with a shy laugh, referencing the song that had played in the background at their latest study session.

Luke chuckled, pulling her closer. “Sounds about right.”

From that moment on, everything was different. Study sessions were filled with lingering touches and knowing glances. They still met at the park under the oak tree, but now they sat closer, hands intertwined as they watched the leaves fall.

As October faded and the Michigan winter approached, Luke found that fall wasn’t just about the cool weather or the changing colors anymore. It was about her, and the warmth she brought into his life, even when the world around them started to freeze.

[mosneakers]

The spirit of Agnes and Coraleye enter the elegant Sunset Valley estate. Vintage melodies from a record player swirl, enveloping Coraleye in a sense of nostalgia that she had only known from classic romance films up until this moment.

Agnes: Welcome home, darling. 230 Redwood Parkway, fondly known as "August Moon" by some.

Coraleye: Wow, that's such a magical name. This home is breathtaking, Grandma!

Agnes: It's always been my envisioned haven for raising children. Coraleye: And you owned it? Even while you lived in Moonlight Falls? Who took care of it when you weren't here?

Agnes: My sister, Cornelia, tended to her in my absence. This home held a special place in my heart, and she, understanding its significance, made occasional upgrades, just in case we ever decided to sell. Or, perhaps... return.

Coraleye: Return? As in move back? Agnes: Come, dear. Looks like dinner is finished, and now we're clearing up. I want you to hear this conversation.

As they step into the kitchen, tension hangs thick in the air. Erik diligently washes the dishes while Agnes busies herself preparing ingredients for tomorrow's meals. Neither utter a word, until Agnes finally breaks the silence.

Agnes: Erik, I... I must apologize for snapping at you during dinner. That was quite unwarranted. You were right—I ought to have shared the news with you about the fire. I know the Seymour house was so dear to your heart. It was for me, too. I hope you're not angry with me.

Erik: Ain't mad at ya, Aggy. Gee, I suppose I overreacted too. It's not just about the house; I can live without that. My decent paying job in Moonlight Falls, no chance nobody here'll pay the same. Cost of living's a lot higher, and...well, I've been hoping you'd eventually come 'round to having another baby with me, honey...

Coraleye: [eyes misting] Grandpa really wanted another baby, didn't he? Agnes: [Smiles fondly] Oh yes. But I was quite stubborn. Coraleye: I think Janie mentioned a bit about the fire being the reason for you moving back here. Did you figure out how it happened? Agnes: No, we never did. But the Crumplebottom Sisters informed me that it destroyed everything. Even their great powers couldn't reverse the damage. I had planned to tell Erik, but Belinda beat me to it with a telephone call.

Agnes: [Continuing with Erik] You know I've always said that I'm content with our two. Erik: I know baby, I've just had my fingers crossed one day you'd change your mind. Just a pipe dream, that's all. Agnes: [Sighs] Well, darling... We'll need to sort through our finances. It seems you might just be getting your way, after all...

Erik: What are you telling me, woman? Agnes: It's still early yet to, but... I find myself a tad late.

Erik: Late for tea and crumpets with the ladies at the country club, or are we talking more along the lines of a bun in the oven? Agnes: It could be. Again, it's still very early. Just three days.

Erik joyfully sweeps Agnes into his arms, twirling her as they share a tender kiss. A soft giggle escapes Agnes's lips.

Erik: Aggy baby, you make me the luckiest man to ever live or die!

Coraleye's heart swells with emotion as she witnesses her great-grandfather express his unconditional love for Agnes with such passion and honesty. They follow the Darling pair into the living area to join the girls, particularly Gwendolyn, who are engrossed in the television.

Coraleye: Gosh, look at how you two lovebirds are gazing at each other. TV not holding your attention much, is it? [Grins]

Agnes: Well, I've always preferred books. [Smiles] The television often broadcasted troubling news, especially that year when the government confirmed the existence of aliens. I made the children turn it off promptly if I heard any talk of extraterrestrials.

Coraleye quickly averts eye contact, wondering how much Agnes knows about the current state of the world, particularly Sunglo, his abduction, and how those events resulted in the birth of his beloved daughter.

Knowing her great-grandmother's well-documented phobia centered around extraterrestrials, Coraleye opts to change the subject for the time being.

Coraleye: Hey, Grandma? How did you and Grandpa know to bring the family photos along on your trip to Sunset Valley? Most people don't bring all their family photos on vacations.

Agnes: [Grins] My, I did say you were observant, didn't I? Coraleye: Well, astute. But yes. I hope to land a career in journalism, just like Grandpa! Agnes: [Nods approvingly] A journalist in the making, just like your Grandpa. No, the decision to take the photos along was merely a coincidence. Like you heard your Grandfather say, I make him "the luckiest man to ever live or die!"

[thegreatwicked]

Memories of Chocolate Laced Kisses

It's finally done! And before I overthink it and do another ten edits here it is! The night Obi-Wan and Cressida's son was conceived! This was really hard to get through and it was a struggle to keep a specific tone I set, so I hope you all like it!

Memories of Chocolate Laced Kisses

She had always been particularly gifted in the area of evasion, her years as a sentinel no doubt took what was already a natural talent and sharpened that skill into perfection. With our meeting finished, Cressida, once more, had slipped away, disappearing like a vapor and I found myself standing alone in the practice room. This place had served as a neutral ground for our discussion regarding Solan, it was a location I hadn't frequented in quite some time. Until now, I had little reason to set foot in such a place, I wasn’t a teacher, not like the other masters who possessed the innate ability to connect with small children, it was never something I was particularly good at. However, being back in this room, waves of nostalgia washed over me in my solitude, bringing back a wealth of memories of my own youth. 

This very room had been where I once stood as a youngling, learning to harness the Force and master my emotions, just like we all did, some faster than others. Despite the years and countless Jedi who had passed through these doors, the place remained virtually unchanged, it even smelled the same. How that was possible I wasn’t quite certain but the sense of familiarity was both comforting and bittersweet. 

Some things never change, and some things must. I was falling into the latter category, I must change.

In contrast to my distant past, the room now felt smaller, almost diminutive whereas once it seemed to loom so large it was difficult to comprehend. I couldn't help but imagine how Solan might have looked donned in the traditional Jedi robes that his mother and I once wore. How he might have looked standing in this room surrounded by his clan, other force-sensitive children like himself, all learning, all a bit afraid. The thought brought a warm smile to my lips.

Getting to know Solan wasn’t going to be without its challenges, it was already becoming evident that he inherited traits from both his mother and me, from what little I had seen. The quick wit, sharp remarks he got from me, and an unwavering determination and calculable observation were among the qualities that were imparted to him from his mother, together they defined him. A blend of the two of us, it was amazing when I thought of it. I had never given much thought to children, certainly never of having any of my own, yet here I was, a father to a young Jedi in training. The notion of seeing Solan as we once were, in robes that may have been a little too large, wearing a training helmet, and wielding a training saber was one that warmed me inside. However, this particular memory was but a fiction—a scenario of what could have been but never was, at least not how I imagined it. In truth, Solan had discovered his connection to the Force through clandestine training sessions with his mother, in dangerous territory, hidden from my knowledge, and my protection.

My smile waned, and I found myself weighed down once more by the reality of my new life, my world grew heavy again feeling as though it were forcing me down, I sat myself on the floor, lost in contemplation. My thoughts swirled around the complexities of my life and how it had all commenced. It hadn't started in this room, but rather in the very quarters I inhabited whenever I was in the temple—my late master Qui-Gon's quarters. I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift back through the sands of time. The memories flowed in reverse, like a river running backward. 

Back...

Back...

Back...

Until I arrived at the precise moment I wished to revisit, a memory I had not permitted myself to visit, one that now pained and confused me—the night when Cressida and I had passionately shared together, the night Solan had been conceived.

With my mind's eye now open, I stood in Qui-Gon's old room, gazing upon the specter of my former self. I was a young, newly anointed Jedi Knight, weighed down by the immense responsibilities of the galaxy, struggling to bear that burden alone. 

And I was very alone. 

The room seemed to hold echoes of that fateful night, and I couldn't help but wonder how different our lives might have been had we chosen a different path, but as I watched the dance of the ghosts of the past play out before my eyes, I found myself inexplicably grateful that my path had been set as it was and that it now intertwined with Cressida.

~~~

“What will happen to me?" 

"You will be a Jedi, I promise," 

When the pyre had burned to nothing and only the ashes of a great Jedi master remained, Obi-wan retired to his fallen Master's quarters for one last night. The council had been kind in letting him remain where his master once called home, a small respite before he had to move on. He sat uncertain of how to proceed, only knowing that he had to. In a few days' time, he would begin training Anakin as his own Padawan. The enormity of the task weighed heavily on his shoulders, physically pulling him down, yet somehow he managed to maintain his composure. After everything that had happened, there was a blissful numbness that settled over him.

~~~

Sunset colored the room with warm shades in an attempt to breathe some life into the small space, which felt more like a tomb as the days had gone by. The whole room seemed dead like a spell, cold and lifeless had been cast upon it, trapping its inhabitant in stasis. Beyond the walls, life continued within the Jedi Order. Within the modest quarters that had been Qui-Gon Jinn's, the final rays of sunlight withdrew from the floor, plunging the room into twilight. 

Master Qui-Gon’s pyre had drawn hundreds to the temple grounds and as he watched his master’s final journey into the unknown, he felt lost in a sea of faces. He felt as though he were watching it all happen through someone else’s eyes. A spectator to a day he had never wanted to see. Like no one saw him; no one except for the boy who was as alone as he was. 

Anakin.

He’d spent the last few days in the stillness of Master Qui-Gon’s empty quarters, alone. He just needed a bit of time to deal with his grief. To somehow find himself because as soon as he left this room, he would be Obi-wan Kenobi Jedi Knight and Master to the Chosen One. The thought alone was terrifying. 

"Master..." The word was a whisper, a ghostly echo of conversations past. 

Even though the seat across from him at the table he sat at was empty, it was hard to believe Qui-Gon was truly gone. Harder still to fathom that he was about to step into the role of a Master and train Anakin Skywalker—the Chosen One. How could he teach another when his own heart was adrift in sorrow?

He just needed a little more time. He needed to wake up. But more than that he needed to find the willpower to stop sitting here, at the same table he and Qui-Gon used to share meals with and had countless conversations. Because no one sat across from him anymore.

He just stared at the two meals that had long since gone cold as if the presence of two portions of uneaten food would somehow change things, but despite not eating for days he felt no hunger or thirst. 

Would it be this way forever? 

He knew realistically the answer was ‘no.’ That he would find a way to pull himself up, that he would rise to the occasion and make his master proud and fulfill his dying wish. He would make Anakin a Jedi, it was just hard knowing that this time he would do it alone. Draped in Qui-Gon's robe, its oversized embrace offered a comforting haven, even though the hem sometimes skimmed the floor, causing a stumble now and then. In spite of its impractical size, the robe carried memories of his former master, making it too precious for Obi-Wan to remove.

Time was purposeless and held no sway over him, sat somewhere between a meditative state and consciousness, he lingered. The mechanical hiss of the doors saw no acknowledgement, nor did the soft light that flooded into the room or the hushed footsteps that stopped behind him. It wasn’t until he felt he was being stared at out of his peripheral vision that he turned for the first time in hours to see who it was that interrupted his solace, and it wasn't a face he expected. 

Cressida Vox. 

He hadn’t seen her in two years and the passage of time was apparent as it took his shock a few moments to catch up. Regardless of the flow of those two years and all that had changed, her eyes were still the same. Overcast and gray, like a peaceful day with clouds and gentle rain, bringing a sense of tranquility. She sat on her knees next to him saying nothing but the concern on her face communicating everything, reaching in a way words failed. 

"Cress…" 

As if awakening from a dream, his voice barely rising above a whisper, as if he feared he wasn’t really seeing what he was seeing.

"Hello, Obi-Wan," 

Though he couldn't find the words to respond, a sense of reassurance washed over him at the sight of her well-being. She offered him a muted smile and took his cold hand in hers, gently prying it from his own clasped grip. Taking immediate note of the indentations on his skin left by his own nails, something Obi-Wan hadn't realized until her fingers traced over the angry little lines, she reassured him with a squeeze, her thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles.

It was heart-wrenching to see those pools of blue that had once sparkled with the promise of adventure, camaraderie and compassion, now dulled, lost in the shadows that seemed to cling to the corners of the room.

“I know.” 

That was all she said.

His voice quivered with each attempt to speak, and the sorrow that had been accumulating over the past few days surged forward, causing him to slump forward in sheer exhaustion, unable to hold back any longer. She wrapped him in her arms, cradling his head as he shook with grief, a sorrow she was unfortunately too familiar with. She wished so much that he didn't have to share this pain with her now, she’d have given anything to take it from him, but not even in the expanse of the cosmic Force, did such a power exist. Her fingers ran through the short hair at the back of his neck as his hot tears met her skin, and Obi-Wan wept.

The friendships between Padawans were something special in Jedi life, enduring across decades and the vastness of the galaxy. These connections often felt like the Padawans had spent everyday together, even if that wasn't the case. In the case of Obi-Wan and Cressida, their meetings were infrequent, but each one left a profound impact.

Without the strong friendship between their Masters, Obi-Wan and Cressida might never have crossed paths. This realization weighed heavily on Obi-Wan as he held onto Cressida tightly, almost painfully so. She didn't dare move, struck by the jarring sight of Obi-Wan in such a vulnerable state. Known for his confident and warm smile, always ready with a clever remark, seeing him falling apart felt fragile. Through the worst of things, he had always stayed positive. The despair coming from him was unbearable, but she felt uniquely qualified to offer solace.

Two years ago, the tables had turned, and she was the one drowning in tears after her master's brutal death. Back then, Obi-Wan had been her comforting presence, dispelling the frigid void surrounding her. His hands firmly held hers, extending a lifeline, while his arms embraced her as she unraveled.

Now, seated side by side, they shared a silent moment. The echoes of his subdued lament gradually faded away. The intense sobs that had overtaken him earlier subsided, reduced to a mere tremor with each exhale. His breathing settled into a rhythmic cadence, growing more measured with each inhalation and exhalation.

When he finally looked up, his eyes still held a hint of redness, stained by lingering sadness. Yet, within the weariness of his gaze, a faint glimmer of Obi-Wan Kenobi emerged. A subtle nod followed—an unspoken assurance that he wasn't okay, but he would be alright. He was on the path to recovery. Despite the brokenness of his smile, there was a visible effort to reclaim himself, one piece at a time, starting with that smile. While the corners of his mouth didn't entirely turn upwards, the initial attempt proved somewhat successful. It marked a gradual return of the Obi-Wan she knew, a testament to his resilience and the slow resurgence of his inner strength.

"Your hair is longer," he remarked, his voice carrying a soft, tired undertone, yet a warmth returning to his words.

She tilted her head, looking for the long braid she used to tug on incessantly. "And you're missing a braid," A subdued burst of laughter escaped him. "How will I grab your attention now?"

Their laughter, though tinged with a sense of forced lightness, echoed in the room. Obi-Wan chuckled, a newfound appreciation for their shared history of pranks, and shrugged. "I suppose we'll have to resort to communicating like responsible adults." Her raised eyebrow conveyed skepticism.

"Are we even capable of that?" she questioned, her doubt evident. He responded with a nonchalant shrug.

"I believe we can manage," he asserted. Obi-Wan leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, and whispered, "Welcome home." The dynamic in the room shifted as the sadness retreated to the shadows; with Cressida's presence, it seemed to stand no chance. Laughter, less forced, infused the air, carrying a hint of relief at their reunion.

~~~

"The refectory tells me that you request plates of food daily– two of them, and consistently, they remain untouched," Obi-Wan avoided her gaze, providing no explanation. "You know he wouldn't want this."

"I'd give anything to have one more meal with him, maybe somehow if I could, then I'd be more prepared for what comes next. I suppose that's why I keep calling for two plates. I know he's gone, but—" He trailed off, then like a burst damn, blurted it out. “How can I do this? How can I train a padawan? What if I fail him? What I-”

His gaze fell on the lightsaber and the untouched food. Before he could retreat into his thoughts, Cressida's hand squeezing pulled him back.

“You will be what Anakin needs, see the way clear, Obi-Wan. Trust in the Force, and you can’t fail.”

"Sometimes, it feels like a nightmare I can't wake from, Cress. Other times, it's like I'm seeing it happen to someone else." Observing Cressida's subtle nod, the one she did without meaning to. This prompted a question he had never asked but often wondered about, "How did you do it? How did you recover from this?"

With a deep and introspective breath, she responded in a tone reminiscent of a confession, her gaze fixated on Qui-Gon’s lightsaber. "I don’t suppose I ever did," she admitted. 

His expression mirrored diminished hope, as if he were anticipating some morsel of wisdom.

“Does it ever get any easier?”

She gave a hesitant shrug, her response filled with uncertainty, as if the question had caught her off guard, or maybe she hadn't fully sorted through her thoughts. 

"Yes. And no." Her words carried an ambivalent tone. "Some days, it feels like I can still hear his voice. Other days, I can't even remember what it sounded like. I don’t think there is recovery, only acceptance. It won't ever fade, but with time, it gets a bit easier to bear. Living makes it harder to dwell on the ones we've lost." Her gaze shifted to the empty space where Qui-Gon used to sit. "The memory always lingers; no one truly vanishes."

Obi-Wan remained silent, his eyes fixed on the food in front of him, as if caught between the urge to eat and an inner struggle. She reached for one of the plates, pulling it closer. When he didn't respond, she offered a piece of now-cold bread, extending it toward him. However, he showed no interest in taking it. His focus barely shifted, even when Cressida playfully joked about the bread not being poisoned and lightly poked him in the face with it. She had hoped for a laugh or a smile, but the best he managed was a less melancholic frown and furrowed brow.

"If you want to keep pace with a padawan, you'll need your strength," 

The reference to Anakin appeared to cut through Obi-Wan's preoccupation. Anakin, much like Obi-Wan, grappled with the difficulties of being alone. The burden of his commitment to both Qui-Gon and Anakin pressed heavily on him. "Do it for me." Her smile carried a blend of gentle pleading, and it appeared to touch him at last. With the slightest of smiles, he took the bread.

"Thank you," he whispered, then took a disinterested bite. 

At first, he chewed slowly, almost as if struggling with himself to eat. However, as the act of chewing continued, his body seemed to awaken from its stupor, reacquainting itself with the taste of food. Gradually, his appetite rekindled.

She nudged his plate back toward him, and he resumed eating slowly. Offering some of his meal to Cressida, she accepted more out of a desire to ensure he didn't stop eating than genuine hunger. With deliberate restraint, she savored small bites, recalling the days when a younger Obi-Wan would consume his body weight, much to the horror of Master Deva L’Rue. The thought brought a smile to her face, reminiscing about those lighter moments.

As they shared the meal, it brought back memories of better days when their paths crossed, and both masters and their padawans enjoyed shared meals and stories. This was the first time in two years that they had dined together. The previous occasion had followed the passing of Cressida's master, Deva L'Rue, adding a layer of somber reflection to their gathering. While the absence of their masters meant fewer conversations and embarrassing stories, the simple act of breaking bread brought comfort. Turning to Cressida, Obi-Wan, as though contemplating the question throughout the meal, finally asked:

"Where have you been?" 

The question arose from a mix of curiosity and a lingering yearning that endured two years of silence. Obi-Wan understood the slim odds of receiving a direct answer, given the mystery surrounding Cressida's actions after her master's death. She had simply disappeared, leaving behind uncertainty that haunted him for a while. Despite the slim chances, he couldn't resist asking. 

Her lips formed the kind of smile that carried the weight of untold secrets and extraordinary tales destined to remain unspoken. Instead of words, she raised her lightsaber, and with a vibrant yellow blade, it pierced through the shadows, casting a radiant glow. 

She was a sentinel—a guardian of the Jedi Order, tasked with navigating the enigmatic realms beyond the well-trodden trails of traditional Jedi.

As her lightsaber hummed, the once-darkened room transformed into a space bathed in its brilliant illumination. The two-year silence suddenly made more sense and it saddened him further. Their destinies were set on divergent paths, and he couldn't help but wonder how many years might pass before their paths crossed again.

The secretive and independent role of a sentinel explained where she had been all this time and also brought up more questions, fortunately he knew better than to ask.

“Our masters would have been proud of you."

“They would be proud of us.”

Trying to infuse a bit of levity into the atmosphere, Obi-Wan interjected humor into their conversation, inquiring: 

"Any extraordinary stories you can regale me with?" 

Cressida, as though on the brink of revealing some hidden knowledge or secret anecdotes reserved solely for Obi-Wan, scanned their surroundings and playfully motioned for him to draw nearer. Her unexpected compliance surprised him, prompting him to shift closer, intrigued by the prospect that she might actually unveil something to him.

“Two may keep a secret if one is dead,” she whispered with a wink, leaving Obi-Wan to chuckle in response, he should have known better. "And we can’t deny the galaxy a face as handsome as yours," 

The unexpected compliment caught him by surprise, a delightful twist that brought a genuine smile to his face. Though no stranger to compliments on his good looks, there was a unique charm in the way Cressida delivered her words. It prompted him to cast a bashful glance at the ground, a soft chuckle escaping him as if to downplay the noticeable blush coloring his cheeks. 

"Keep your secrets then; I won't pry them from you," he responded, sidestepping a direct acknowledgment of the complement while allowing a subtle warmth to touch the tips of his ears.

With Obi-Wan's plate finally cleared, life and color returned to him, prompting a relieved sigh from Cressida. The table, however, wasn't entirely empty. A lone dish remained—a small bowl of soup favored by Qui-Gon and Yoda. This root stew, resembling brackish water, held a special place in the hearts of the seasoned Jedi Masters. Despite its unappealing appearance, Qui-Gon and Yoda found delight in it, engaging in many conversations over the bowl during chance encounters on the temple grounds. They insisted it wasn't just tasty but also beneficial for one's well-being. Numerous attempts were made to persuade Obi-Wan and Cressida to try it, but even Master Deva L’Rue, delicately toeing the line between respect and tactlessness, kept his distance, declaring it smelled like swamp water.

Dodging this particular dish created an odd bond between Obi-Wan and Cressida, leading them to playfully call it that whenever it appeared. Qui-Gon, being fair, acknowledged it was an acquired taste, its prevalence tied to circumstances on an assignment. Under different circumstances, he might have never given it a second thought. Yoda's unbridled enthusiasm for the stew, coupled with grumbles about younglings being too picky, and his subsequent dive into the dish with an appetite bordering on ravenous, added a humorous twist to the culinary escapade in retrospect. Despite Obi-Wan and Cressida being far from younglings, in the eyes of a Jedi Master who had lived over 900 years, all Jedi, regardless of age, could be considered as such.

Obi-Wan and Cressida found themselves for the first time in several years face to face with the dreaded Swamp Water. A playful standoff ensued, with exchanged knowing glances and an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. With each daring the other to take the first taste, their expressions shifting between soft chuckles and head-shaking disbelief at the unappetizing bowl before them. Two Jedi knights, grappling with the burdens of the galaxy, found themselves in a lighthearted stalemate of stubbornness, and pride.

The passage of time had softened Cressida's recollection, and perhaps it wasn't as dreadful as she had remembered? After all, years had passed, and they were undeniably adults now. What better way to courageously face the future than with a ceremonial taste of the stew in Qui-Gon's honor? Naturally, she decided to let Obi-Wan take the first bite. Reaching forward, she stirred the contents of the bowl. The scent, even more unpleasant when cold, made her wrinkle her nose in a comically exaggerated display of distaste. Without missing a beat, she extended the spoon to Obi-Wan, who responded with an emphatic head shake and a resolute rejection of the utensil.

"Don't you think we're a little old for these games?" 

Obi-Wan deftly evaded Cressida's attempts to feed him the dreaded swamp water stew, ducking his head from side to side. Her persistent and somewhat childish antics managed to coax a genuine smile from the Jedi Knight, filling the room with the rich resonance of his chuckles. Yet, Cressida wasn't satisfied with mere smiles—she wanted unrestrained, hearty laughter,s he would accept nothing less.

"You’re exactly right, we’re far too old for these games. We’re adults. We're Jedi Knights, right?” She put the spoon back into the bowl and Obi-wan nodded, “Guardians of the Force, Keepers of the Peace." Obi-Wan nodded again in agreement, but a lingering skepticism still colored his expression, as if he anticipated a punchline he might not appreciate. "I think we've grown enough to triumph over a bowl of soup, don't you?"

"I suppose..." Obi-Wan chose to maintain a dubious stance, making no effort to hide it.

"You first." She pushed the bowl towards him

"What? Why me?" He blinked rapidly, sounding somewhat offended, shoving it back to her. "Ladies first."

“You’re the one with a padawan... who hasn’t eaten in a week,” she teased, determined to escalate their playful skirmish, pushing it with greater force. "It'll be good for you!"

"It’ll make me sick… Do you really want to witness me regurgitate what little sustenance I’ve managed?" Obi-Wan countered, injecting a playful tone into his words as they engaged in a lighthearted skirmish over who would summon the courage to taste the infamous stew. He gave it another shove, causing some of its contents to slosh out onto the table "Absolutely not!"

“Come now, Obi-Wan, make Qui-Gon proud, drink the swamp water.”

“You’re the sentry; I thought sentinels were known for their fearlessness,” He teased, playfully prodding at the pride associated with her sentinel status.

Unfazed, she shook her head, playfully accusing him, “Coward,” before boldly bringing the spoon to her lips and sampling the stew. Regret was instantaneous. 

As her face contorted into a look of sheer disgust, she groaned, biting her lips inward to keep from expelling the substance. Her defensive posture resembled a creature recoiling from an unpleasant surprise as she dropped the spoon into the murky swamp water, a culinary nemesis that seemed to take personal offense. Obi-Wan couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled up within him rivaling the roar of a Wookiee. It erupted like a geyser, a release of pent-up tension, and the laughter poured out of him in uncontrollable waves, echoing through the room. The sheer absurdity of the situation fueled his amusement, and he found himself leaning on the table for support, laughing harder than he had in weeks. With wide eyes and an audible groan, she valiantly attempted to wrestle the offensive taste into submission, which only made him laugh harder.

With wide eyes and an exaggerated groan of displeasure, Cressida dropped the offending spoon into the swamp water as if it had bitten her, her eyes desperately searching for salvation. Meanwhile, in the midst of this gastronomic chaos, Obi-Wan, now sprawled on the floor, held his sides as if trying to contain his laughter within the confines of his body. It was as if the sheer force of his amusement had rendered him unable to sit upright. The scene unfolded like a comedic masterpiece, with Cressida's struggles and Obi-Wan's uncontrollable laughter creating a tableau of pure mirth.

Despite the daunting challenge, Cressida summoned her physical training outside the influence of the Force, conquering the spoonful of the culinary concoction in several determined swallows. Her victory was marked by a post-swallow shudder that rippled through her entire being, and she couldn't help but let her tongue hang out in a comical display. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan, still clutching his sides, had tears streamed down his face as he watched Cressida's valiant effort, finding immense amusement in the unexpected respite from the prevailing heaviness that had haunted them for days.

"It's vile!" 

In her desperate attempt to banish the unpleasant taste, she continually opened and closed her mouth, her eyes fixed on Obi-Wan's cup of water, revealing a desperate thirst for relief. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Obi-Wan beat her to it and held the water just out of her reach, goading her until she practically scaled the table in pursuit. Amused by her antics, he continued to laugh at her desperation.

In the past, she would have resorted to tugging on his braid, a playful gesture no longer available since it was now gone. Instead, she opted for his collar, giving it a firm tug that pulled him back and caused the water to splash on the table. Unable to allow her to suffer any longer, Obi-Wan surrendered the coveted drink. As she took generous sips, hoping in vain for respite, she groaned between gulps 

"This is not fit for human consumption!"

"Did the water help?" Obi-Wan asked, still chuckling, his laughter unabated, fully aware of the predictable answer. 

In response, Cressida forcefully exhaled in his direction, unleashing an aroma that hit him like a gust of wind from the darkest corners of the galaxy. Obi-Wan recoiled, a look of sheer horror on his face, as if he had just faced a Sith Lord's malevolent Force attack. Fortunately, the odor passed quicker than the taste, leaving him only with the memory of the unpleasant aroma. Meanwhile, Cressida's suffering continued, and his laughter returned. It had been years since he had seen this side of Cressida—funny, at ease, and thoroughly disgusted.

Her expression turned sharp, and she shot him a glare that could have cut through Durasteel. 

"If you don't stop laughing, I'm going to leave you." 

Her threat was delivered with a playful undertone, a joke. Truth be told, she was happy to see him enjoying a good laugh, even if it came at the cost of her culinary misadventure. His smile had a way of brightening the room, and she wouldn't trade that for anything.

Obi-Wan, toeing the line of good humor, decided to playfully throw in the towel. He raised his hands in mock defeat, after all, the Jedi were known for bringing balance to the galaxy—time to live up to that reputation. He reached for the dreaded spoon in solidarity, giving it a comical salute before bravely taking a bite in an act of penance. Attempting to swallow it in one gulp didn't quite work out, but, credit to Obi-Wan, he only hesitated briefly, a quizzical expression on his face as he pondered whether anything could be worse than what he had already endured.

Obi-Wan's response was immediate—a full-fledged gag reflex that far surpassed Cressida's, leading him to cover his mouth in a desperate attempt to avoid the impending upheaval caused by the foul concoction. As he contorted in exaggerated gestures of what seemed like a mix of disgust and pain, Cressida couldn't help but burst into laughter, and it felt as if the Force itself found amusement, sharing a cosmic chuckle at their expense. Despite their roles as Jedi, in that comical moment, they reveled in the realization that even the mighty Jedi Knight could be reduced to animated hilarity by a simple bowl of swamp stew. She pictured the amused spirits of their late masters having a hearty laugh from their celestial vantage point in the Force.

Here stood the man who had bested a Sith Lord, a Jedi Padawan of fearless courage, charm, and unwavering determination. Yet, the current spectacle before her was a stark departure—a tongue hanging out, portraying a kicked puppy facing an unjust penalty. The contrast between these two versions of Obi-Wan, the valiant Jedi and the humorously defeated one, created a comical scene that had her rolling with laughter.

As Obi-Wan grappled with the lingering aftertaste of the dreadful stew, Cressida couldn't resist teasing him, holding the glass of water just beyond his reach in a karmic twist. Despite momentarily forgetting about the glass, Obi-Wan swiftly focused on it. Intent on not letting her win, he summoned it with the Force, sending it toward him like a streak of lightning. With a triumphant gulp, he downed what little was left, only to be immediately assaulted by the infamous aftertaste. Panting like a dog, he struggled to exhale the foul flavor. 

“How is it possible that it gets worse?” He groaned in exasperation, shuddering as Cressida did.

“Surprise.”

Pleased with the outcome and relishing in his laughter, along with the added amusement of witnessing his struggle with the repulsive dish, she couldn't help but flash a triumphant grin. Her mission to hear his genuine laughter, had succeeded, making the endeavor worthwhile. 

She delved into her pocket, a carefree smile playing on her lips. With a shake of her head, a sense of familiar lightheartedness enveloped her as she pulled out a small bar of chocolate. The wrapper crinkled as she snapped off a piece, savoring the sweet and smooth relief it offered, countering the lingering aftertaste of the dubious stew. A sigh of contentment escaped her.

The sound of the crinkling wrapper drew Obi-Wan's attention, and he extended his hand expectantly. She noticed his puppy-eyed expression, silently pleading for a share. Momentarily indifferent, she watched him with amusement. However, true to their shared history of banter and pranks, she mischievously kept the chocolate just out of his reach, maintaining the playful spirit of their ongoing games.

"Are you truly so heartless, to let me suffer through the torment of this aftertaste?" His face twisted in misery, desperate for relief.

"Maybe," she replied with a sly grin.

"Cressida, please," he implored, injecting a touch of mock desperation into his plea.

Her amusement deepened. "You call that begging?"

“I beg of you, please, have mercy on my poor taste buds.” His words sought respite, even if there was a lightheartedness in his voice. However, it was the unbridled body-rocking laughter that she truly aimed to provoke. She chuckled and extended a piece to him, which he eagerly popped into his mouth, sighing in relief as the sweetness coated his tongue, banishing the lingering memory of the foul stew.

"That’s what you get for laughing at me," she teased, popping another piece of chocolate into her mouth.

"You wanted me to laugh," he countered, a playful glint in his eyes.

As their laughter faded, Cressida relented, and the two indulged in the sweet escape of chocolate, leaving the taste of the earlier dreadful stew as a distant memory. A light smile graced Obi-Wan's face.

"I did," she admitted with a genuine smile, handing him another piece of chocolate. He accepted it with a smile that held more light than dark. In that moment, she caught a glimpse of the Obi-Wan she knew, gradually emerging from the shadows that had veiled him. “So, are you man enough for another bite?” she playfully challenged, holding out the spoon as if it were a weapon and the soup was a battle. “Or are you still a padawan?”

Hands raised in surrender, Obi-Wan, with a twinkle in his eye, conjured an impression of Yoda, proclaiming, “Padawans to the will of the force we all are.” Her chuckle signaled her own surrender, and she set her spoon down. Once more, the two of them had been bested by the swamp water soup.

As their laughter subsided, a warmth settled in the room, replacing the earlier somberness. With a genuine expression, Obi-Wan shared. 

"It's good to see you again." Obi-Wan leaned back, a playful glint in his eyes as he inquired, "How long are you home for?" Cressida's initial radiant smile underwent a subtle transformation, burdened by unspoken secrets and hidden sorrows—layers she couldn't unveil, not even to him.

"I managed to delay my next assignment until after Qui-Gon's pyre," she answered, her tone suggesting a reluctance to delve into the topic. The gesture was kind, and Obi-Wan understood it wasn't solely for him. Qui-Gon had played a pivotal role in Cressida's life, especially after the death of her own master, Deva L’Rue. She had always spoken of Qui-Gon's kind eyes and the warmth that could dispel even the coldest nights. "I wanted to be here for him, to say goodbye, and I wanted to see you."

“I didn’t see you there.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Would you?” She replied in a shadowy tone, a hint of a smirk.

It wasn't the wisest question, and deep down, Obi-Wan was aware of that fact. Still, he couldn't resist the urge to inquire about Cressida's next destination. Her response was met with a quiet, contemplative look, revealing nothing more than the simple truth that she would depart come morning. The weight of her impending departure struck him, but what she revealed next hit even harder.

With an expression bathed with pain, she uttered words that sent a shiver through him:

"I can't tell you where I'm going, but if you see me, you must act as though I'm a stranger. It has to be as if I don't exist." 

The notion of treating her as though she didn't exist felt almost unbearable, a heavy burden on his heart. The harsh reality sank in – the likelihood of their paths crossing again was slim at best and even if they did, it was likely that she would see him but he wouldn’t see her. Beyond the confines of this room, the prospect of seeing her again seemed distant, and the awareness of this truth was a poignant pang of sadness in his chest.

He would miss the warmth of her smile, the shared pranks that brought laughter, and the stories they wove together – moments that were uniquely theirs. As the impending farewell loomed, Obi-Wan grappled with the ache of knowing he would never experience those cherished connections again. The sorrow cut deep, akin to the pain of losing Master Qui-Gon. 

Qui-Gon was gone, one with the Force, while Cressida would remain alive but lost to him, existing in a realm unreachable. And that was somehow much worse.

"Promise me you’ll be safe and you won’t give in to the darkness," Obi-Wan pleaded, his voice a gentle yet earnest melody, woven with a hint of vulnerability that only those close to him could discern. He was aware of the apparent futility of such a request, but the weight of his concern overpowered any logical restraint.

“Only fools make promises they can’t keep,” Cressida replied, her words resonating in the air like a melancholic melody. The truth within her response bore a potent sting, emphasizing the harsh reality they faced. “But I won’t go down without a fight.” 

She wanted to tell him not to forget her, but that would defeat the purpose – she needed to be forgotten. A mere rumor, a hint of deja vu at best and just as easily brushed aside.

Her eyes, brimming with unspoken feelings, quickly blinked against the ambient light. A hasty attempt to shield herself from the approaching sadness as she shifted her gaze toward the door. Leaving now seemed the smart choice, a way to dodge any further pain they might endure.

Following the sensible choice, she slowly rose to her feet, facing Obi-Wan with a mixture of longing and sorrow. Silently, she wished to conjure words that could make their impending farewell more bearable, knowing deep down that no verbal solace existed for such heartache. As she prepared to take her leave, Obi-Wan's hand shot out, enveloping hers in a desperate grip. His eyes, once again shrouded in darkness and fragility, conveyed a plea that transcended mere words.

“Cress!” She froze looking at the death grip he had on her hand.

“I know it’s silly, that it’s selfish, but I’m not ready to go out there, yet.” His voice echoed with a genuine urgency, a plea for a reprieve from the impending separation. "Stay for a while longer, please," 

The vulnerability in his gaze exposing the depth of his need for companionship amidst the storm of emotions. In response, she nodded, acquiescing, and settled back into her seat. It would be fair to say she did it for him, but in truth she sat back down for her sake too. More than content to spend some more time by his side.

As they rested side by side, she laid her head on his shoulder, their hands clasped together naturally, fingers not quite lacing, and a tranquility enveloped them. 

An unspoken change seemed to occur between them, a subtle shift in their connection that lingered in the air for the past two hours. They both sensed it but couldn't quite grasp its nature or how to address it, then there was also the possibility that it didn’t need addressing. Some things could simply be.

He couldn’t envision a world where if he saw her, he could say nothing, do nothing, one where he would have to simply watch her go. The weight of the thought was unbearable. 

“I’m going to miss our conversations,” Obi-Wan murmured, she nodded, responding with a despondent "me too."

Obi-Wan looked down at Cressida, his thoughts meandering in the silence. Her padawan braid too, was absent yet he wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to it, he followed the path it once took intertwined with the rest of her hair. The strands cascaded freely around her shoulders, a departure from the neatly woven braid she usually wore. 

“You–,” 

He wasn't sure why he suddenly intended to express his amazement at her beauty, but he halted mid-sentence, realizing the danger of his words. A subtle smile played on her lips as she reached up  to the spot where his padawan braid used to be, giving the short strands a playful tug; it was far less effective. He was going to leave a trail of broken hearts across the galaxy, starting with hers.

“Are you afraid?” 

She replied softly, almost reluctantly, “Yes,” her voice carrying a vulnerability that echoed in the dimly lit room. She continued, “The thought of being on my own for the first time, truly on my own—it feels like standing on the edge of the galaxy, facing something vast and unknown. And I feel like I’m a Padawan again, and it all feels suffocating.” With those words, she pulled her knees up onto the bed, cradling them close to her chest.

His heart ached, and without hesitation, he lifted his arm, wrapping it around her shoulders. In the solace of that embrace, she curled into him, inhaling deeply.

The fabric of his robes carried the same scent — a gentle blend of soft linen, reminiscent of incense wafting through the temple corridors, intertwined with the faint aroma of propulsion engines humming from passing ships. It was an olfactory symphony that felt like home.

She tried not to think about how much she would miss that smell.

“I’ll miss your smile and your jokes,” She murmured, punctuating her words with a gentle tap on his nose, coaxing forth that familiar, brilliant smile. 

“I’ll miss your wit; delightfully dry but very warm and forgiving at the same time,” 

Goodbye was inevitable, a looming storm on the horizon, and with each passing moment, they only delayed the impending downpour of pain. Obi-Wan felt the weight of the parting settling on his shoulders, sorrow he wished to stave off for just a little longer, he wasn’t ready. Not yet. 

As if the word ‘yet’ could somehow serve as a buffer against the stark reality that awaited them.

Nestled comfortably in the circle of his embrace, she seemed so small, her knees drawn up to her chest, seeking solace within the haven of his arms. Sensing his lingering gaze, she looked up, and like a force beyond their control, a magnetic pull drew them closer. Their foreheads meeting, creating an intimate cocoon, noses brushing against each other in shared breaths that spoke of the intimacy they sought to prolong.

A gentle current passed between them, weaving an unseen thread that pulled them closer still, until a delicate adjustment on both their ends, saw their lips just barely brushing. In that fragile moment, a final delicate tilt led to a soft collision of lips—a kiss so tender it felt like a mere, featherlight caress, leaving behind a tingling sensation.

The fragile nature of the kiss spoke volumes, leaving a stillness in the room. After the span of a heartbeat, as if testing the waters.

Over the span of two years since their last encounter, Obi-Wan underwent a metamorphosis, elevating him beyond mere roguish charm to undeniably handsome. His essence, once a portrayal of youthful exuberance, had undergone a nuanced evolution that she almost missed. It was like revisiting a piece of art after a few years and seeing it in a new light, where new brushstrokes and colors revealed themselves, now discernible to a more mature gaze. 

A strength now emanated from him, his shoulders broad and commanding, bearing the weight of accumulated experience and a more defined muscular frame. His jawline, once soft and smooth, had become chiseled and shadowed by a hint of stubble—a departure from the meticulous grooming of his earlier days. Even the hand clasping hers was marked by the disciplined use of a lightsaber, now carried a seasoned ruggedness, evidence of a weapon wielded not just in defense but in the heat of anger. 

At the same time, beside him, the quiet symphony of the last two years unfolded, reminiscent of a familiar melody with newfound nuances to savor. The auburn cascade of her hair had departed from its habitual braid, flowing freely around her shoulders, appearing longer, darker, and richer. Her eyes, once vivid and expressive, now seemed stormier and grayer than usual, as if they already held the weight of countless secrets. They mirrored the tumult within, adding a layer of complexity to the evolving beauty that captivated his gaze. The subtle coral tint of her lips whispered an understated allure, and as his focus shifted, he traced the delicate curve of her neck. No longer possessing the innocence of a teenage girl, her form embraced the grace of womanhood. Soft curves delicately outlining an hourglass silhouette.

They leaned in again. This time, slightly firmer, the tingling sensation less intense but replaced by a growing warmth that enveloped them. Instead of breaking apart, they remained, savoring the connection.

Something shifted in the air when their lips met a third time, it wasn't a fleeting brush; it was a deliberate connection, a subtle acknowledgment of the emotions swirling around them.

As the older of the two Jedi, it perhaps fell into the scope of Obi-Wan’s responsibility to remind them both of their commitment to the Jedi Code and how what this was quickly becoming was drifting into a very gray territory. But he didn’t. All reason, logic and common sense demanded that he take his hands off Cressida, remind her of their ideals, wish her well and send her on her way, knowing he’d never to see her again.

Yet, he couldn't do it. He didn’t want to. 

He hadn’t felt good in weeks and a stubborn resolve settled in, hadn’t they both been through enough to warrant just this one little indulgence? It would be their secret. He trusted Cressida to keep it.

Similar meetings and rendezvous between other Jedi were commonplace, this was no different, except somehow it was different. Words were unnecessary, but the very essence of their longstanding relationship teetered on the edge of transformation and neither seemed bothered by it.

"Never again," He whispered, his voice a soft caress that barely concealed the lingering uncertainty. They hovered on the precipice, lips nearly touching, both craving more, her face briefly contorted in confusion. "Do you agree? Beyond these walls, who knows if our paths will ever cross again?"

Her response was a hesitant nod, understanding what he was alluding to. "Even if they did, we couldn’t reach out to one another."

"Exactly," he exhaled, a sigh of relief that carried warmth, the atmosphere around them deepening like a smoldering ember.

 "Your journey leads to Anakin." Cressida murmured, attuned to the subtle signals he conveyed. She dared another brush of lips, and he didn't pull away, in fact his arm around her shoulders drew her in more.

"And you'll serve the Council of First Knowledge in the shadows," Their coded responses granting them permission to explore the yearning that lingered between them.

"The Council doesn't explicitly prohibit physical connections," Her lips hovering just shy of his but aching to touch his again. "Only attachments." 

This was dangerous, what they were saying, what they were doing, but it wasn't completely unreasonable. The idea hung in the air and they weren’t the first Jedi to entertain it, a place where physical closeness could happen without deeply connecting the soul—a tacit understanding within the Jedi Order, shared but unacknowledged.

"Only attachments," 

"We wouldn't be the first Jedi to—" Her sentence was lost beneath the weight of his more assertive kiss, his calloused hand cradling the gentle curve of her neck.

"And certainly not the last," he declared with more confidence, inviting a deeper exploration with the soft, lingering brush of his tongue against her lips.

"I have until morning," 

The ticking clock, counting down to their inevitable parting, stirred a quiet desperation in Obi-Wan. Sensing her already leaning into his touch, a gentle nudge on her back prompted a fluid response — she swiftly climbed into his lap, fingers weaving up his chest and twining around his neck.

Left with only a precious few hours, a fleeting pocket of time, really, it wasn't enough to satiate their hunger for each other's presence, but it would suffice. They both craved a deeper connection, a touch that went beyond the ordinary. While neither was inexperienced in the realm of sexuality, this felt new, an intimate bond unlike anything before. And who better for this exploration? Bound by years of friendship and deep trust, they offered a comfort the other could find nowhere else.

He led her into another kiss, skipping all subtleties, coaxing her mouth open to him with the finesse of a skilled lover. It wasn't reserved or ambiguous; it was a bold manifestation of touch-starved desires; a profound need etched in every shared breath. 

Cradled in Obi-Wan's lap as if it were her rightful place, her fingers ran through his hair while their mouths engaged in a dance, relishing every tender touch of lips and the caress of tongues. The lingering taste of chocolate resurfaced in waves, weaving throughout the kiss with every roll of their tongues against one another, adding a layer of sweetness. This shared flavor, this secret bond, forged in chocolate-laced kisses, would resurface in their memories for years to come, whenever the taste or scent danced across their palettes. 

Suddenly captivated by the allure that she possessed, painted in this new light as a lover. An unexpected yearning welled up within him, blending seamlessly with a growing desire that defied his initial expectations. The sight of her in this intimate moment no longer felt unfamiliar; it flowed as a natural progression in the intricate dance of their evolving relationship.

As his hand firmly pressed against the curve of her hip, drawing her into a closer embrace, the ambient temperature in the room seemed to escalate, creating an almost stifling warmth. The weight of his Jedi robes, once a symbol of order and duty, now felt burdensome and confining in the charged atmosphere.

A subtle exhale escaped him, a sigh of relief, as her skilled hands navigated the labyrinth of intricate knots, ties, and fastenings that held the layers of his attire together. Guided by a well-practiced muscle memory, her fingers moved with a nimble precision, each deliberate motion filled with a growing sense of urgency. The anticipation hummed in the air, creating an electrifying tension that resonated through every touch. The soft sounds of loosened fabric rustling in the room, adding a tactile rhythm to the charged atmosphere. It was as if the very act of undressing became a dance, a prelude to an intimate connection that transcended the boundaries of their usual roles.

But the soft click of his lightsaber clasp being freed of his belt resonated like a branch snapping. It found its place on a nearby table, guided gracefully by the unseen hand of the Force. As their lips briefly parted, their eyes met, silently probing for any flicker of hesitation or doubt. It was like a suspended dance, each metallic sound echoing the unspoken question lingering in the air. With nothing but the soft click of Obi-Wan's saber belt filling the space, it felt like an unspoken conversation happening amidst the sounds of undressing, each click asking, ‘Are we sure about this?’

The realization hit her that this wasn’t some fleeting or faceless lover; it was Obi-Wan. Somehow that knowledge made her more certain than ever, any lingering traces of guilt over the forbidden nature of this physical entanglement and its closeness to the rule regarding attachment faded.

He ceased to be just a trusted friend in that moment; he became a source of warmth, strength, and desire. A physical presence she craved, one who could offer not just comfort but also pleasure.

The ever-present storms swirling within Cressida's gaze were now tranquil and gentle, while the crystalline blue of Obi-Wan's eyes remained unwavering, shimmering with contentment and serenity. They both knew there was no turning back, and strangely, it brought them peace.

With the belt absent, his tunic hung looser, now unrestrained, her delicate hands made their way up the expanse of his chest. With a final tug, the linen fabric slipped off his shoulders, fluttering lifelessly to join the discarded belt.

Her eyes first traversed the canvas of Obi-Wan's body, starting from their shared eye contact before drifting down the length of his neck to his collar and the smooth expanse of his chest, and down his stomach. Appreciating the unblemished contours that spoke of youth and untarnished strength. Unmarred by the scars time would imbue on him. It was a captivating display of vitality, the hard, well-defined lines held her attention, ultimately leading her gaze down to the laces of his trousers.

Her fingers, possessed by a tactile curiosity of their own, followed the path her eyes had taken, eliciting a subtle reaction from Obi-Wan's muscles flexing under her touch. She followed the soft trail of light-colored hair that descended into his trousers, this Obi-Wan was different from the one she had known in her youth. He had transcended the realm of being just a boy, a mere padawan; now before her as a man, a Jedi Knight. These titles, only mere words, were devoid of meaning in the grand scheme of the cosmos, somehow only made her want him more.

Despite the years of their enduring friendship, she had never seen him out of his robes, never witnessed him in any state of undress. The revelation of his robust physical form unfolded before her like a long-awaited revelation, and it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that she found herself momentarily captivated by the sight before her.

The self-assured essence of Obi-Wan's renowned smirk subtly resurfaced with the slightest upturn of his lips. In that brief pause, he basked in the way she gazed at him. He knew he shouldn’t be vain, but he couldn't deny the satisfaction derived from witnessing her captivated stare.

With a tender encouragement, he drew her into another kiss, skillfully navigating past her lips with a practiced ease. His mouth moving against hers, slanting in a hungry kiss that savored every trace of sweetness he could find. Cressida's soft breathing played like a sweet melody, her constant featherlight touches and caresses along his neck and sternum, sent goosebumps racing across his skin, prompting a delightful murmur of contentment through his lips to hers. Studying his reactions and adjusting her approach accordingly, growing bolder and uninhibited, from soft, and ticklish that made him shudder, to the light sting of her nails leaving red lines down his stomach, each touch elicited a distinct response.

In lives dedicated to serving the galaxy, such indulgences were rare and often frowned upon, sacrifices made in the pursuit of duty. Yet, in this intimate moment, a different kind of service unfolded—one that went beyond expectations and quieted lingering doubts. A service to each other.

The weight of a single kiss was minuscule but as they grew more passionate and more frequent, they began to build up and Obi-Wan’s body responded. He gave a groan when a smooth rock of Cressida’s hips against this growing erection made him painfully aware of just how much of an effect they were having on one another. 

His breath hitched at her touch, and his lips trembled, as if holding back unspoken words. Disengaging from the kiss, he circled his arm around her thigh while the other secured her lower back. With a seamless motion, he executed a flip, reversing their positions. As Cressida descended into the bed, Obi-Wan now loomed over her. His arms formed a cage on either side of her head, locked in place as he sank down for another kiss.

A deep, guttural sound escaped him as she skillfully wrapped her leg around his hips, drawing him in with a subtle and inviting roll. The ease with which she moved, exuding an innate intimacy, took him by surprise, as if they shared the familiarity of long-term lovers rather than the reality of their connection. An urgent energy coursed through both of them, and he sensed her fingers eagerly seeking the laces of his trousers.

Smirking against her lips, he left a lingering kiss before straightening up at the foot of the bed. He found amusement and intrigue in her slightly tousled appearance, paying particular attention to the way her gaze remained fixated not on his face but on the skilled movements of his hands as he worked on the laces of his trousers.

His fingers moved with a practiced grace, effortlessly unraveling the familiar knots while keeping his gaze locked onto hers. The air around them crackled with an electric charge, a mix of desire and a playful spark that danced between them. With the laces loose, he worked off his boots, each soft thud adding to the rhythm of their shared moment.

Obi-Wan's eyes held a fiery intensity, a playful smile playing on his lips. The way he looked at her, coupled with the easy progression of their actions, made everything feel just right. 

She moved to the end of the bed, on her knees, bringing her only to align herself with the level of his chest, her fingers blazing a tantalizing path that stirred a visceral response, each touch sending shivers through him. When she cupped his erection through the fabric of his trousers, the room hummed with intense energy as his hips instinctively responded, rocking into her hand, finding pleasure in the firm petting, moving in tandem with the deliberate, unhurried rhythm of her caresses.

His eyes drifted shut in contentment as he felt a soft guiding pull on his trousers, coaxing him forward. He complied without hesitation, moving until one knee brushed against the mattress edge taking some of his weight, lowering himself slightly.

He surrendered to the sensations her caresses evoked, a ripple of pleasure surged through his body. His hips moved instinctually, pressing into the warmth of her palm, seeking out the pressure that sparked such intense delight. 

With a gentle but insistent tug, his trousers gave way, the cool kiss of air against his heated skin contrasted with the warmth of her touch. Her fingers wrapped around him firmly, their steeliness belying the tenderness within her grasp, and from his parted lips escaped an involuntary exhale, sharp and laden with relief and want.

He watched her through half-lidded eyes as she began to slowly stroke him. Exploring him with purpose, each touch an experiment, an objective to learn what he liked, studying the language of his body. With a steadying breath, Obi-Wan reached down to overlay her hand with his own. His touch, suggesting rather than demanding, teaching her a rhythm that he liked—slow, but firm purposeful strokes that coaxed forth waves of pleasure.

His world narrowed to the slide of her skin against his, the pressure of her fingers, a tide of bliss rose within him, cresting with each deliberate caress, and his head fell back. His grip on her hand relaxed, arm descending heavily to his side.

“Yes, like that,” He breathed out, his voice barely a whisper thick with desire, accompanied by gentle breaths escaping in relaxed huffs. 

She paused, just for a moment, to take in the sight before her. His chest rose and fell with a languid ease, the tension that had once claimed his shoulders now dissipated into the ether. Her gaze traveled across his handsome features softened in bliss, the arch of relaxation that bowed his brow, the serene slope of his cheeks, and the gentle parting of lips.

Bringing him pleasure filled her with profound satisfaction, to see him so undone. Completely relaxed and unburdened, knowing she was the reason for it, felt more rewarding than any thought of climax. She craved more of this power over his state of being, desiring to keep him in serenity and pleasure, wanting to make the most of it before their time ran out.

A sharper inhalation escaped him, replaced by a low groan as Cressida embarked on a heated journey down his stomach, mapping every contour and ridge of muscle, each press of her lips a deeper etch into the canvas of his body. A crescendo of sensation built as she explored him, teeth grazing his flesh in love bites that spoke of primal urges and the craving to claim and be claimed.

“Cress…”

Her lips left a trail pulsating with cosmic energy, fingers, attuned to the unspoken cues he'd shown her, continued to stroke him, causing his cock to throb under her skilled touch. Pearlescent precum beaded at the tip, a temptation she couldn't resist. With the pad of her thumb, she smeared the slick essence in lazy circles around the crown, her movements deliberate and languid. The sound that escaped Obi-Wan was pure pleasure—raw and unrestrained—as her thumb moved in a hypnotic dance, spreading the liquid fire that seeped from him. 

As the circle of her thumb continued its leisurely glide over his sensitive flesh, he leaned into it, his chest heaved in deep and shaky breaths, the rhythm of his breaths growing erratic. He let loose a deep groan and gasp when she sank onto the bed and her lips closed over his weeping tip. The depth of the warmth of her mouth was a velvet glove around his length. Her tongue painted strokes of sheer pleasure with every swirl, causing many a deep stumbling moan and a visible shudder rippled across his entire being. 

Her movements were unhurried, each lap of her tongue against him, coaxing forth more of his essence which she greeted with eager acceptance. With each inch she took in, she paused, allowing him to feel the heat, the moisture, the snug embrace of her mouth before retreating and returning with equal fervor. Obi-Wan's fingers twitched at his sides, slowly finding their way to thread through Cressida's auburn hair, gently tugging with each pulse of desire that shot through him.

The rhythmic movement of her head drew him deeper into a haze, his hips canting forward in an involuntary plea for more of her enveloping warmth. Taking what she could, but unable to swallow him completely, but what she couldn’t, her hands continued to stroke, caress and squeeze. He felt like he was falling into a thick fog, as he met the back of her throat and he moaned as she pressed a bit further. 

She indulged him offering soft, sweet, indulgent suckles, lapping up more of the substance as it dripped from his cock. Lavishing attention on him, taking more of him into her mouth, basking in his ungentlemanly moans, making sure to leave no part of him unpleasured.

The vibrations from a moan—it was unclear whose—sent electrifying shockwaves through him. The blissful wet warmth of her mouth enveloping the length of his shaft, the soft flick of her tongue over his slit swirling, tasting. The instinctive thrusts of his hips, coupled with the crescendo of his thundering heart rate and hurried breathing signaled the rapid approach of an uncontrolled descent into pleasure. The precipice loomed, a sweet descent into abandon, and he edged ever closer, a hair's breadth from falling into oblivion.

He released her hair, his palm cradled her jaw, a silent signal that stalled the rhythm of their intimate dance. With a gentle insistence, he coaxed his hips away from the seductive embers of her mouth, refusing to be a selfish lover.

Gasping softly, Cressida lifted her gaze, her breath a warm caress against his sensitized skin. Her lips, glistening with saliva, parted slightly as Obi-Wan's thumb traced the soft curve with a painter’s precision. A faint shake of his head, subtle but meaningful, conveyed his message clearer than any word could: this was about them, not just him. She kissed his thumb, her teeth captured the pad gently, while her tongue played a teasing game, flicking over it with a playful intimacy that tested his resolve.

"Enough," he whispered, the word barely a breath yet heavy with intent. Obi-Wan's hands were tender as they guided Cressida in one fluid motion, she was on her feet, caught within the circle of his arms.

The kiss came without hesitation, fiery and demanding leaving no room for restraint. As the kiss deepened, Obi-Wan began a descent of passion along her neck, the warmth of his breath acting like a narcotic, bringing about a pleasant haze.

Each kiss was like a starburst, its heat searing her sensitized skin, leaving behind a trail of stardust. Her head tilted back, offering him more space to explore, to claim. 

“You’ll bring a man to his knees with that mouth,” he murmured into the crook of her neck. The vibrations of his voice tickled her flesh, sending waves of anticipation through her core. 

His lips found her pulse, latching onto the rhythm that hammered beneath her skin—a testament to the arousal coursing through her veins. It was a moment of surrender, of giving in to the torrential pull between them, and she could only clutch at his shoulders, grounded only by his strong embrace and the relentless pursuit of his mouth against her neck.

"Need these off," he murmured, his voice low and husky, eyes glinting with desire as they took in the unfamiliar sight of her clothing - an unusual departure from the usual Jedi robes. 

The utilitarian style of her outfit, he thought, would have blended perfectly with the crowd outside of the temple, a far cry from the typical aesthetic within these hallowed halls. It hugged her figure elegantly; it molded against her curves, accentuating her feminine form. He couldn't help but admire how well it highlighted every enticing aspect of her physique. 

His heart raced in anticipation of what lay beneath. As their lips met in a heated kiss, his fingers trailed down her back, feeling the soft fabric of her camisole, pulling the garment off over her head before his own hands roamed freely over her bare skin. He reveled in the contrast between her delicate form and his rough hands, savoring every moment of skin-on-skin contact. The discarded camisole joined the pile of clothes scattered on the floor, forgotten in their passion.

As his fingers traced along her body, he marveled at the softness of her curves, a stark contrast to the sharp edges and defined muscles he was used to. He explored every inch of her, from the gentle rise of her breasts to the smooth expanse of her stomach and the small dip of her navel. Every curve and contour entranced him as he moved lower, relishing in the feel of her under his touch.

While the visual allure had been captivating, Obi-Wan desired more than mere sight; he craved an exploration that engaged all five senses. He ushered her onto her back, embracing the softness of the bed, and for a minute she lay there under his gaze. Until now the sensual exchange of teasing and pleasure had reached its zenith, remaining largely one sided, and now the time for reciprocity had arrived.

His desire burned to taste and savor every inch of her body, an urgent need to dive deeper into their shared passion. Without hesitation, he joined her on the bed, crawling over her and covering her body with his own. Dropping to capture her lips in a searing kiss, opening his mouth to enjoy the lazy, sensual strokes of her tongue. 

He blazed a path marked by faint red marks down the hollow of her throat, creating a deliberate descent to accommodate his exploration. Her skin was now completely exposed to him, inviting touch and tasting. Each movement of his lips and tongue was deliberate, making for an enticing descent that only intensified her anticipation. With every kiss and lick, she felt a rush of warmth and desire spread throughout her body. His gentle caresses were like sparks of electricity, igniting passion within her. The taste of her skin lingered on his lips, drawing him in with its sweetness and addictiveness. She trembled with pleasure at his touch, yearning for more of his skillful exploration.

With a sense of familiarity born from past experiences, he moved lower, his mouth finding the swell of her breast in a delicate dance. The sound of her breath quickened and her body arched in response to his attentions. Emboldened by her reactions, he proceeded with purpose and skill, exploring every inch of her skin with his lips and tongue. Each gentle suction on her nipple sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body, causing her mind to short-circuit in pure bliss. 

She couldn't even finish saying his name before he was kissing and teasing his way down the plane of her stomach. A roguish glint danced in his eyes as he surveyed the damp trail his mouth had left on her skin, before trailing his tongue just above the waistband of her trousers. Locking gazes for a lingering moment, he blew a soft breath against the damp skin, reveling in the sight of goosebumps rising on her flushed skin. The intensity between them continued to grow as they explored each other's bodies with reckless abandon

“Obi-”

A smirk played on his lips. His fingers curled around the leather of her boot, tugging it off and flinging it carelessly over his shoulder. The sound of impact echoed in the room as the second boot joined its mate against the wall. With a graceful ease, he moved back up the bed towards her. His movements were slow and calculated, like a predator stalking its prey. He reached for her waistband, deftly undoing the clasp and pulling her trousers down her legs. Each inch of skin that was revealed was met with fiery kisses, leaving trails of heat in their wake. 

Her skin was warm silk under his palms, “Close your eyes.” His voice sounded different, lower, darker, heavier with lust. Impossible to ignore, so she complied.

The silence between them stretched on, the air thick with tension and anticipation. She could feel his warm breath placing a soft kiss that sent little electric shocks through her skin. Slowly, he made his way up her legs, leaving a trail of kisses along the way - her ankle, knee, thigh, and finally her hip. A shiver ran down her spine as he dipped his tongue into her navel, teasing and tantalizing. She wanted to open her eyes and take in the sight of him, but she resisted, focusing instead on short controlled breaths to maintain some semblance of calmness. 

Just when she thought she had found her center again, Obi-Wan shattered it with a fluttering of his eyelids and a tender kiss between her legs. As his tongue traced the seam of her lips, a rush of desire washed over her, melting away any remaining resistance. In that moment, she was completely lost in the sensations he created with each gentle flick and stroke of his tongue.

Her calm broke instantly, her lips parted but not real sound came out right away, only a desperate, mewling cry. His fingers traced delicate patterns along her inner thighs, adding to the sensations created by his skilled tongue. She couldn't control herself, her hips moving against him in search of more pleasure. 

Searching for purpose, her hands tangled with the linens, gripping them between her fingers, desperate for something to occupy themselves with. The lines of the sheets granted her mind a momentary easement, their softness offering a tactile anchor. But they were a poor substitute for the warmth of Obi-Wan's skin; she wanted to touch him, her fingers began to cramp from her grip on the linens and she reached for him.

Reveling in the soft texture of Obi-Wan's hair. With a sense of relief, she combed her fingers through the short strands, savoring the sensation of them brushing against her palms. Occasionally, stroking the tips of his ears, eliciting a pleasurable shiver from Obi-Wan. He visibly melted into her touch, silently pleading for more of her soothing caress.

The warmth of his breath, the soft wetness of his tongue and the occasional featherlight strokes of his fingers offering exploratory touches over her skin continued to stir up a crucible of competent sensations working towards a boiling point of inevitable pleasure. His pace was lazy and relaxed, offering the same intimate attention she’d given him finding a profound satisfaction in the way she writhed against his mouth and into his touch. Seeking out and easily honing in on that little delicate pearl of nerves he offered gentle licks and wet open mouthed kisses that had her seeing the stars behind closed eyes. She could scarcely breathe, much less barely able to utter a single syllable that didn’t turn into a moan or a whimper, speech was simply impossible under Obi-Wan’s ministrations. 

Her gentle caresses of his ears being the only power she had over him, and it was an odd thing that such a simple touch yielded such a reaction. When he stumbled, it was just enough of a lull for her to regain her ability to think and speak, the need in her voice when she called his name, drew his gaze from her weeping pussy. 

“Obi-Wan, please.” 

He took in deep breaths, his expression focused as if he was deep in thought. It was a side of Obi-Wan she had never seen before, one that seemed to revel in giving pleasure instead of receiving it. She placed her hand around the back of his neck and used just enough pressure to make him abandon what he was doing and sink into her mouth. She couldn't resist the urge to taste his lips, now flavored with her own essence.

His aching desire was evident as his erection brushed against her stomach, causing both of them to shudder with pleasure. He wanted to take her right then and there, but he wasn't sure if she was ready. 

"Open your mouth," he whispered, tracing her lips with his fingers and sending shivers down her spine. 

She hesitated at his request, but quickly gave in when she saw the concern in his eyes. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for a deep, passionate kiss, savoring the taste of his moan. Her hips rolled against his hard cock, showing him just how much she wanted him. 

"It’s alright, I don't need it," she said, taking his finger into her mouth and sucking on it like she had done to his cock not long ago. "I need you."

She sucked gently, feeling him stiffen further against her, an embodiment of their shared longing.

His reaction was immediate; his eyes flared wide, a visceral response to the intimate caress. She felt his chest rise and fall with a heavy breath, his heart racing beneath the warm skin. 

With a reluctant shake of his head, as if to dispel the haze of overwhelming arousal, he withdrew his finger from the wet warmth of her mouth. The slick path it traced over her skin was a silent tease, a fleeting promise before dipping lower. His touch was feather-light, barely there, yet enough to elicit shivers of anticipation. Then, with precision and an almost unbearable gentleness, he slipped between her legs, venturing into the heat that beckoned him with unspoken pleas for fulfillment.

"I know," he whispered against the velvet of her lips. 

His words were a silken thread weaving through the heightened tension between them, binding her to the moment. She offered no resistance as his index finger slipped inside her, a gasp escaping her lips that was quickly swallowed by his mouth descending upon hers once more. Her back arched instinctively, pressing her closer into the heat of his body as she moaned with burgeoning desire.

The sensation of his thumb drawing lazy circles over her sensitive flesh sent ripples of pleasure coursing through her. Each circle was a promise, each gentle stroke a tease coaxing her toward an edge she was all too eager to tumble over. 

His finger was soon joined by another, both moving within her with an intimacy that had her inner muscles clenching around him. It was a gripping sensation, holding him captive just as much as it promised sweet release. He swelled with anticipation, the thought of being enveloped entirely by her warmth stoking the hunger that simmered within him.

"Want you to come undone for me first," he murmured, his voice a husky timbre that vibrated through her. The rhythm he set with his thumb and fingers was unyielding, a steady pace that was relentless in its pursuit of her climax. Each motion pushed her further, her body responding with mounting urgency to the dance they performed together.

"Come for me, Cress," he coaxed, his breath hot against her skin as kisses peppered her neck, her jaw, returning again and again to claim her mouth. The sound of her name on his lips was a catalyst, fueling the fire within her, propelling her toward the precipice she stood upon. His desire was her command, and she could no more stop the oncoming storm than she could cease the beating of her own heart. 

Obi-Wan's breath hitched in his throat, a shudder rippling through him as Cressida arched beneath the attentive ministrations of his hand. With each tender caress, she writhed, her body singing a symphony of pleasure that resonated in the stillness of the room. Her whimpers and moans filled the air, the sweet sounds of surrender mingling with the rhythmic creak of the bed. Shocks of delight traced the pathways of her nerves, her every muscle tensing and releasing in euphoric waves.

As the crescendo of her ecstasy ebbed, she lay quivering beneath his touch—a testament to the depths of pleasure he had coaxed from the core of her being. Her chest rose and fell with the heavy breaths of satisfaction, eyes glazed with an afterglow that spoke more than words ever could.

With only a hint of encouragement, she reached for the fastening of his trousers—an eager accomplice in their mutual undressing. The fabric whispered against his skin as she peeled it away, casting it aside without care. They lay forgotten on the floor, a casualty of their fervent desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” 

He’d refrained from the comment earlier, feeling it would only make things harder but at this point it was irrelevant, the pain would come later, for now they would relish in the pleasure as long as it was theirs to claim. For a moment they hesitated but not from fear, not from nervousness, there was just a gentle lull that passed between them. There was peace, warmth and closeness. A subtle shift, a tender adjustment, and Cressida's leg draped over his waist, the gesture as inviting as the crescent moon's arch. It was all the encouragement he needed. Obi-Wan's resolve crumbled like ancient ruins under the caress of time, his hips descending to meet hers with deliberate care.

Cressida's breath caught as Obi-Wan stilled within her, his body taut with restraint. It hadn’t been so long that the sensation was marred by discomfort; rather, it was the realization that Obi-Wan — this man who had been her friend, at times her protector, her unexpected source of solace — was now her lover. 

A shared silence hung heavy as he allowed the tremors that wracked her form to ebb away, leaving in their wake a raw openness she had never before experienced. His gaze locked with hers, a silent question lingering within the depths of his eyes, seeking permission to continue this dance of passion.

With a subtle shift of her hips, Cressida answered him more eloquently than words ever could; a silent plea for more, urging him on. He pulled back, only to rock into her again with a slow, deliberate motion that spoke volumes of his control 

“Kriff!” He’d never heard her swear before the harsh sound made his cock twitch in response.

Seeking her mouth again, he set a slow rhythm, a little too slow for Cressida’s liking and she tried to nudge him into a faster pace but he resisted, instead compromising by punctuating his thrusts with a bit more force. This seemed to satisfy Cressida and she purred his name, laying siege to his exposed neck, taking care not to leave any marks that would send tongues wagging but also strong enough to leave a lasting impression. 

“Cress, let me kiss you.” The neediness in his voice accompanied by his deeper thrusts, prompted her to abandon her pursuits on his skin and she embraced his mouth instead, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

The bed gave a subtle creak but neither noticed it, the room filled with murmurs and desperate breaths in between kisses. There were no barriers between them, physical or otherwise and as the warmth of his skin radiated onto hers, she saw something no one else did. 

And there he was—Obi-Wan the man—stripped of the Jedi mantle that cloaked his humanity. 

Warm, soft, tender, sensual, a bit on the aggressive side but that suited her just fine, every rock of his hips forward saw a wealth of pleasure surging forward as powerful as the force itself and she felt like in that moment with their bodies joined, she could move the very alignment of the planets themselves. 

It had always been of the hard and fast nature with her other lovers but with Obi-Wan, it felt like the force was speaking to her, telling her to slow down and what kind of fool argues with the Force itself?

She wrapped her legs around him and held him back with a little bit of pressure on his hips, stalling his rhythm. 

A softer kiss much like their first seemed to hold his attention and allay his confusion, and when she gave a gentle shove on his chest, he didn’t fight it, falling over onto his side then rolling to his back. Cushioned against the pillow he lay there looking up, letting his breathing even out, she resumed the position he’d held over her, straddling his hips, fingers gliding up his chest, to his lips. Greater than any piece of art that any museum could ever hold, she wanted to enjoy him from this superior angle. 

His lips parted maybe to speak, maybe not but the featherlight touch of her fingers over them stopped any potential words, his tongue darted out to wet his lips and to put a stop to the maddening tingling sensation she was creating as it was growing to be too much. She shushed him gently and kissed her way up his chest taking all the time she wanted. 

The Jedi were not just mere followers of the Force; they were its devout servants. Their strict code governed every aspect of their lives, from their daily habits to their relationships and even their capacity for joy. However, there was one area that the Jedi Council had overlooked: intimacy. Despite the Council's decrees on denying oneself such physical connections, the Force still spoke through this sacred act of creation. She felt no remorse for giving in, as she knew the will of the Force was greater than any man-made rules.

She closed her eyes and reached for his temple creating a physical bond to strengthen what they were sharing, he at first seemed confused by her actions but with a quick adjustment of their positions, she sank down on him. And a surge of something washed over him, more than sex, more than pleasure, more than a bond or a mental connection. Wanting him to experience what she was and the way his eyes went wide saw her intention met. She began a soft rock of her hips and his eyes fluttered closed, letting this new experience take over him. Letting it permeate every inch of his body, all the way down to his bones, he lay content and at peace in tune with the cosmic thrumming of the universe until she broke contact.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her as though he’d seen the soul of force itself, like for the briefest moment he’d held all the answers and all the questions ever possible to behold. He smiled and rested his hands on her hips urging her to move a little more, and she did. Raising herself up slowly before easing back down, his chest rumbled with a groan. This slow sensual pace was perfect, hitting places deep within her, she swayed slightly each time she sank back down on him, and he began thrusting upwards, refusing to close his eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of what he was seeing.

The softness of the rising moonlight cast shadows through the room that cloaked Cressida in shadows, perhaps all too fitting of a metaphor for this night and the future. But he pushed past and chose to ignore that, instead focusing on what he was seeing, she was beautiful, and even if it was just for the night, those few hours that no one would ever know about; she was his.

The slow pace brought about an appreciation he had overlooked when it came to sex, until now it had been a physical release, a fun one but nothing more. Was this what they called love making? It didn’t make sense, how could that be if there was no love between them? Affection? Yes, certainly. Trust? Implicitly. But love? 

No.

He decided not to dwell too deeply on such thoughts and to simply enjoy this, pulling her hips forward with a bit of a jerk and a sharper thrust up, the pace remaining unchanged but punctuated by a bit more force.

He pushed himself into a seated position, spreading his legs to give himself a bit more leverage and wrapping his arms around her, not deterring her rocking hips but to have another kiss and to keep her close. Close enough that he could feel her breath, see the quiver of her lips, pick apart all the shades of gray and ‘almost blue’ in her eyes, close enough to kiss her wherever he wanted. A wayward hand tangled in her hair pulling her mouth against his, swallowing the sound she made when he thrust his hips up sharply. He liked this position, they both held power, he could feel every little jolt of her body, keep her squeezed to him tightly, feel the beat of her heart. It was good but not without its flaws, he could already feel the strain on his back and the ache in his legs but he could hold out for just a little bit longer. 

“Obi-Wan…” 

She wasn’t aware she'd said his name, not until his movements stilled and he gripped her chin to bring her to look at him. His eyes filled with concern but it was fleeting until he realized his name had been uttered in rapture and it satisfied him to no end. 

“Trust me?” She nodded, of course she did.

He held her tightly in his arms as he thrust up, feeling her tightening around him. He could feel himself throbbing with pleasure. A gentle kiss and the caress of their tongues led Obi-Wan to roll them again so they were lying on their sides, with him behind her. Planting kisses on the back of her neck, he brought her leg up over his hip. "Just like this," he guided before slowly sliding back into her warmth, eliciting a groan from both of them. His arms wrapped around her hips, keeping her close as he continued to thrust at this new angle that seemed to bring them both immense pleasure.

“Stars!” She exclaimed. 

“I’ll show you the stars, I promise.” His breathy response as he increased his pace, thrusting faster. 

“You already have.” She replied, slightly out of breath. 

“Close your eyes and see even more.” 

Without questioning him or his intentions, she closed her eyes and let Obi-Wan lead them to a perfect climax. Behind her closed eyelids, there were tiny twinkling lights dancing, soft and gentle. When his hand found its way between her legs, those little orbs exploded like bright shooting stars. He grunted as she tightened around him, causing his steady rhythm to falter slightly. 

“See them?” He gritted through clenched teeth. 

“Show me more!” She demanded. 

He nodded against the back of her neck and began thrusting harder and faster, putting all his weight behind each movement and stealing small gasps of air with each one. His hand never stopped its steady stroking, turning those soft orbs of light into blazing supernovas that lit up the darkness they had both been consumed by, driving it away.

His breathing became erratic, and the crushing weight that had been on his shoulders for days seemed to dissipate. He desperately needed one last thing: a final burst of stimulus.

His left hand remained between her legs, determined not to move until she cried out in ecstasy. As his right hand found her temple and he gently bit down on her earlobe, their years of friendship and intense bond bridged the gap between them. With each rhythmic thrust, they faltered again, until the touch of his hand pushed them over the edge and they were enveloped in a cosmic wave of pure bliss. She cried his name, begged him for more, pleaded for him to take her harder, moving in perfect harmony with him as his body spasmed and he too reached the pinnacle of pleasure, calling out her name in guttural cries. His hold on her temple was too much to maintain, and he lost all sense of rhythm. 

In one last feat of agility, he shifted their positions while still inside her, looming over her as he drove into her with all his remaining strength. Thrusting wildly, each movement accompanied by her cries echoing through the room. Then, she pulled him into a passionate kiss, their lips and tongues meeting in a messy tangle of desire and need. Finally, as the electric shocks running through his body began to subside, they both collapsed in complete exhaustion.

Her chest heaved, eyes finally opening, the storms calmed into a soft overcast, Obi-Wan’s eyes were devoid of any turmoil, swimming with serenity. 

“You’re shaking,” She whispered, he smiled at the observation, as if he could bring himself to stop trembling after that.

“I’ll be fine. Are you alright?” She kissed him deeply, drawing a contented murmur from Obi-wan, he waited for her answer but as the seconds ticked by her lips showed little sign of stopping, moving down his neck. “Cress…” 

“I'm fine, Obi-Wan,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice strained with determination. 

She met his gaze, her legs wrapping tightly around his as their bodies rolled over in a tangled mess of limbs. Obi-Wan's muscles screamed for relief but he couldn't resist her, his body too weak and exhausted in the aftermath of his climax. He looked at her with burning curiosity, knowing that whatever was to come would push him to his limits. 

"Tell me if it's too much," she whispered breathlessly, her fingers digging into his skin. 

"If what's too much?" he gasped, already feeling the strain and pain building within him. But he welcomed it, craving the intensity and challenge.

His words were cut off as she slid him out of her heat and moved down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses in her wake. Realization dawned on him when she reached his hips and before he could utter another word, her lips were once again wrapped around his cock. A deep groan rumbled from his chest, a combination of the visual pleasure, the knowledge that she was tasting their combined release, and the tingling sensitivity that clawed at him, rendering him truly speechless. 

As she devoured him with her mouth, his eyes rolled back into his head and he couldn't help but moan in ecstasy. The sensation of her velvet lips and insatiable hunger reignited his desire, causing his body to respond once again. His quickly grew hard and thick again, aching for more of her touch. 

"We have all night," Cress purred in between licks, her hand expertly stroking his length just as he had shown her earlier. "And I can sleep on the ship." 

Her words only fueled his fire, knowing that they could continue this pleasurable torment until the sun rose.

The night blurred into a haze of sex, pleasure, and indulgence that few Jedi spoke of or experienced. Wave after wave of carnal release washed over them, pushing them to the brink of pleasure and beyond. As they embraced each other in the throes of passion, the night disappeared into oblivion.

~~~

Morning's rays crept across the bed, a golden snare that caught Obi-Wan's tired lids and pried them open against their will. A groan escaped his lips as he shifted beneath the sheets, the world outside pressing into the fog of his groggy mind. Muscles that had known countless battles now throbbed with an unfamiliar pain—an intimate ache—each movement igniting a cascade of hyperawareness that rippled across his skin.

For a moment, he lingered in the half-light of dawn, floating on the edge of consciousness. He grappled with the tendrils of sleep, trying to recall the events that led to such soreness, such profound fatigue. But memory was elusive, slipping through his mental grasp like sand through fingers. 

His breath hitched as clarity struck, ice water in the veins, and Obi-Wan bolted upright. The room spun briefly before settling into its mundane familiarity: the stoic walls, the simple furnishings—a refuge from a galaxy in turmoil. Yet something was amiss, a disturbance that sent his heart skittering.

He scanned the space, eyes landing with a dull ache on the untouched expanse beside him. The sheets there were cool, meticulously straightened, void of the warmth of another's presence. A pang of loss clutched at Obi-Wan, an echo of the coldness of that vacant place.

His gaze drifted, taking in the tidiness of the room—the orderliness that spoke of solitude. His boots, once haphazardly discarded in the throes of passion, now stood sentinel by the wall. His robes, their folds speaking of careful hands, rested on the chair alongside his lightsaber, a silent guardian within arm's reach.

Silence hung heavy where laughter and whispered confidences should have filled the air. The table, now barren, gave no sign of the shared meal it had hosted—no crumbs, no lingering scent of spice or sweetness. It was as though the night prior had been carefully erased, leaving behind only the tangible tokens of his own existence.

Obi-Wan's throat tightened, the emptiness in the room mirroring the hollow sensation within his chest. Where warmth had been, there was now only the stark reminder of isolation—a contrast as sharp as the blade he wielded. His hands clenched into fists, the ghost of another's touch still haunting his skin, as he faced the day alone.

She was gone.

He lay there for a moment, the weight of her absence settling over him like a shroud. The room seemed to echo with the remnants of their passion, a tangible thing that he could almost reach out and touch. It hadn't been romantic – no, such things were not for Jedi – but it had been real.

Obi-Wan rose and dressed silently, his movements mechanical. His fingers brushed over the spot where her lightsaber had rested, and he wondered if the yellow blade felt as cold and alone as he did now.

Despite everything, he couldn't regret what had transpired. Last night, they had shed their roles and simply existed as two beings seeking solace in one another. There was beauty in that, he thought, and a connection that went beyond the physical.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Time to reforge his resolve, to take up the mantle of mentor to Anakin.

But first, he allowed himself one final indulgence – a lingering touch on the pillow where her head had lain, a silent promise to remember the feel of her lips, the sound of her laughter mingling with his own.

Then, just as the first rays of dawn splashed gold across the floor, Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped out into the day. Alone, yet forever altered. He looked out to the rising sun that shed its light over Coruscant and murmured to the stillness knowing she would never hear it.

"May the Force be with you, Cressida."

~~~

Phew! Well, hope that gives you guys a little of what you were looking for and some more insight into Obi-Wan and Cressida's past! If you like this then please feel free to reblog, like, comment, and let me know your thoughts! Alright! Now we can get back to getting these two crazy kids back together! @heyhawtdawgs. @split-spectrum(because you're a fan of the man! I thought you'd like this too!) @pickleprickle @burnthecheshirewitch @decembermidnight

You guys are the best cheer readers I could ask for! See you in the next chapter!

[descendinginto-madness]

panicked.

word count: 415

content warnings: panic/anxiety attack

summary: N/A

author's notes: can you tell i suck at summaries LOL this isn't even a story either just like.a scene idk man idk what i'm doing!

Dan Heng… Isn't entirely sure how and why it happens.

Of course - he has been more stressed out lately than he usually was, and he wasn’t sleeping too well, but… Nothing serious was happening. That’s partially why he also wasn’t talking to anyone about it - he didn’t see the reason to bother the other members of the crew if there was no actual issue at hand. 

Today is just particularly bad.

He’s more on edge than the days before, and it’s more difficult to ignore certain thoughts, but - it’s nothing he can’t deal with, right? Even though his anxiety seems to be rising for no apparent reason, and he can’t seem to be able to distract himself well enough.

But it’s fine.

He will be fine.

He’s in the kitchen, making coffee, when it suddenly comes crashing down.

Panic fills his heart, his mind, it’s like a cold lump in his chest; his heartbeat quickens, his breathing becomes more shallow, irregular, even though he’s trying to force himself to take in deeper breaths. His thoughts are a mess, swirling, the one that sparked it all and made his anxiety explode and others, and they’re already out of control, and his hands are shaking, and he doesn’t know what to do, and—

“Dan Heng?”

He flinches when he hears his name, turning his head to see Mr. Yang in the doorway; the worry is clear in the man’s eyes as he approaches the Vidyadhara, and for a moment Dan Heng thinks that he must look concerning, pale and wide-eyed like he had just saw a ghost, but he can’t do anything about it - he’s clinging desperately to Mr. Yang’s presence, trying to force his mind to focus on the man’s presence and his presence only.

“I’m— I’m fine,” he manages to choke out, but his voice is quiet and shaky, and his eyes are starting to fill with tears. He feels lost— a mix of that and embarrassment, because it feels like such a stupid situation, and it’s painfully obvious that he is not fine— but he doesn’t step back when Mr. Yang approaches him, and he doesn’t protest when the man pulls him into a gentle hug.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. Just try to focus on my voice and breathe, okay?” He hears and nods slightly. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” 

It is easier to calm down now that Mr. Yang is here, and Dan Heng actually has something grounding him in reality.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[starlightiing]

For your prompt game: “deep breath. Let’s get your heart calmed down.” With galex pls !!

HELLO Anon, I was particularly inspired this morning. I'm going to toss this onto AO3 Later but I didn't want to make you wait. Thank you so much for sending me in a prompt!

Title: One Moment

Rating/Triggers: G - but TW for panic attacks.

Pairing: George Russell/Alex Albon

The frantic knock on his hotel room door is what wakes Alex at one in the morning. His mind is swirled up in a fog of confusion and it takes him a moment to realize just what that incessant banging from the other side of the room actually is. He rubs at his eyes to clear away the waking blur, and then tosses his sheets aside to stumble onto his feet. 

The walk from his bed to the door is anything but steady. His feet refuse to cooperate and knock him off balance a time or two, but he finally makes it over to the door with no major tragedy and hastily flips the lock so he can open it.

As soon as his eyes rest on one very distraught George Russell, clarity comes rushing to him and suddenly he’s not just been woken up at one in the morning with a distinct lack of consciousness. No - suddenly he is very awake, very aware, and very concerned.

“George? Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, pulling the door fully open to invite George inside. It takes a moment, but George does finally get the hint and shuffles into the room. The door hits the strike with a soft ‘click’ that startles George slightly, and Alex thinks he’s never seen him look so small before. “George?”

“Sorry, I know it’s late.”

“No, no, no, it’s fine. Why don’t you come sit down?” Alex gestures to the bed with one hand, while the other finds George’s shoulder and rubs soothing circles into the fabric of his shirt. He can feel George trembling slightly beneath his touch, and something inside of his chest just seizes up. This is so unlike George - the mere thought of what could be causing him such distress makes a burst of hot anxiety release in Alex’s stomach. George, much to Alex’s surprise, follows the suggestion and makes his way slowly over to Alex’s bed. He sits down in such a delicate manner, barely disturbing the mattress at all, and immediately curls in on himself like he’s either cold or scared. Alex hurts to think it’s likely the latter.

Slowly, Alex takes a seat down next to George on the bed. His approach is less gentle, and the mattress has a few things to say about it in response. This doesn’t seem to bother George at all, who won’t even look in Alex’s general direction for longer than a second. Alex sighs and reaches over to lay his hand on George’s knee.

“You want to tell me what’s bothering you? Or do you just want me to distract you?”

“Uh,” George hums, and Alex watches his eyebrows twitch as he ponders, “maybe just a distraction for now.”

Not exactly the answer Alex is hoping for, but this isn’t about him. This is about George, and what George needs. So that is exactly what Alex will give him. “Okay. But before I turn into your personal entertainer, I want to get you to relax a little bit. Think we can do that?”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s fine.”

“Good. Start with a deep breath, let’s get your heart calmed down before anything else.” Alex is acutely aware that George is showing symptoms of panic. The only reason he knows is because he’s lived it personally, numerous times before in the past. The most important part of tackling panic is managing breathing and heart rate - the rest always seems to fall back into place once vitals are steady. Gently, he takes one of George’s hands and uncurls his fingers from the clenched fist they’ve settled into. He presses his index and middle fingers to the radial artery in George’s wrist, and he’s not at all surprised to feel just how rapid-fire his pulse is. “Maybe two or three deep breaths. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Okay, breathe in nice and deep for four seconds, follow my lead,” Alex closes his eyes and inhales deeply, listening in for George to do the same. It’s a bit choppy and he can’t last the full four seconds, but it’s a hell of a start. “Now out for four, keep following me.” George exhales a bit too harshly, getting all of his air out two seconds too early, but the first few breaths are never perfect. He’s trying, and that’s the most important thing. “Good. We’ll do it again, but try to slow down a little.”

Alex leads the deep breath again, listening in on George. He still doesn’t quite make it to four, but it’s a smoother breath and it lasts longer than the first. It’s working. He exhales, and much to his surprise, George is able to sustain the full four seconds on that one.

“Excellent, last one.” Inhale, and George breathes with him down to the second, matched perfectly. “And out. Brilliant.”

George’s heart rate has considerably calmed, much to Alex’s relief. It isn’t near a normal resting rate yet, but it isn’t skyrocketing up into numbers they should only see behind the wheel of a formula one car, at least. And, to top it off, George isn’t even trembling anymore. Overall, a shocking success.

“There we go, mate. Feeling better?” Alex asks, sliding his fingers back from George’s wrist now that he’s satisfied with the results of their breathing session. 

“Yeah, actually. Still a bit frazzled, but I can think clearly now.” George’s voice sounds more confident as he replies, too. Confident and strong, like it hadn’t been meek and trembling mere minutes ago. There’s color back on his face and his eyes are clear and focused. Alex can sigh in relief now, George is safe.

“Good. Still up for a distraction, then?”

“Only if you have one up your sleeve.”

Alex smirks then, exuding all of the mischievous energy he’s certain George is used to from him. It ignites a smile on George’s face as well, amused and highly accusatory. “I have an idea, yeah.”

“Yeah, your smirk says it all. Dare I ask?”

Alex takes this moment to catch George off guard, leaning forward and bumping their noses together with an affectionate nuzzle. His hands come up to cradle George’s cheeks with the utmost delicacy, and then he bites the bullet and he kisses him. 

It’s soft, it’s gentle, and it lingers for only a few seconds at the most. It’s enough to cause George’s eyelids to flutter shut and provoke the tiniest of whimpers from the back of his throat, which in turn sends shivers up Alex’s arms and down his back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It’s funny, really, how kissing George for the hundredth time elicits the same response from Alex’s body that it gave the very first time. He pulls back slowly from the kiss, already smiling as George opens his eyes back up, and oh, he’s absolutely smug.

“Thought the goal was to keep my heart rate down, Alex?” comes the very predictable accusation from George, which makes Alex chuckle heartily.

“Hey, a distraction is a distraction. If this isn’t to your standard, I’m sure I can find other more boring ways to distract your mind.”

“No, no,” George insists, hooking his index finger into the hem of Alex’s collar and tugging them closer together. “This’ll do just fine.”

They’ll talk in the morning, Alex thinks, because he can’t simply let George’s panic go like it never existed in the first place.

But now? Now is for them, and for them only, and Alex is more than happy to take care of George in the best ways he knows how.

[bradshawsbaby]

Okay, AU for the Bradshaws : she's the mob boss, he is her second in command. She's that femme fatale, but who doesn't give shit to anyone and who owns her city

Oh, this is fun! I feel like this definitely isn’t my area of expertise, but I love the thought of them having a steamy sort of “What are we exactly?” FWB relationship.

Here’s just a little something for fun! 18+ below the cut!

After a long, stressful day in the office, there was only one thing that was guaranteed to relieve the tension knotting your shoulders, one thing that could wash away all the anxiety and pressure caused by arrogant assholes who refused to take you seriously despite your years of experience, assholes who tried to insinuate at every turn that you’d only gotten where you were because of Daddy’s money and connections.

And that one thing was Bradley Bradshaw on his knees for you.

“Bradley,” you moaned loudly, knowing that at this ungodly hour, you and your second-in-command were the only ones left in the building and that you didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing. Not that you would care if they did. “Fuck, just like that,” you ordered, a sharp edge in your voice after a particularly tough day.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley smirked wickedly, his dark eyes glinting as he gazed up at you from between your thighs.

“Did I tell you to stop?” you smirked in return, burying your fingers in his golden brown curls and pressing his face to your aching core once more.

You bit down harshly on your lower lip, your head tipping backwards in your chair as his expert tongue swirled methodically around your tight bundle of nerves, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of a mind-blowing orgasm.

It always ended up like this whenever the two of you stayed late in the office, which was more often than not. You’d share a couple shots of whiskey, he’d note how tense you looked, you’d make a comment about how his ties never sat straight, and the next thing either of you knew, you were fucking like feral animals—on your couch, on your desk, on the floor.

Tonight, seeing how stressed you’d been after a string of endless meetings, Bradley had skipped the usual sarcastic pleasantries and dropped straight to his knees, bunching your dress up around your waist and tearing your stockings and panties off. He’d made sure to put your red-soled Louboutin pumps back on, however. He loved when you kept them on.

“Bradley! Holy shit!” you gasped out as your legs began quivering on either side of his head, your manicured nails digging into his scalp as you felt yourself about to reach the height of your pleasure.

One more flick of that tongue and he had you falling apart above him, the tension of the day oozing out of you as you babbled his name desperately.

Grinning up at you, Bradley sat back on his heels and admired his handiwork for a moment before he rose and reached for his jacket. He dropped a kiss on your forehead before heading towards your office door.

“Night, Boss.”