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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

Dove

Part 2 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.7K i apologize for NOTHING

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

No, his robes are blue.

A strong, eye-catching royal blue, covering his body in waves of fabric—softer than anything he’s ever worn before and leaving him feeling incredibly exposed. The far more practical robes he traded for these atrocious garments are made of a thick, scratchy wool, a testament to the Jedi’s philosophical rejection of fine or expensive materials. And, against all logic—to somehow make matters even worse, the sash tying this uncomfortable piece of attire closed has no place to clip his saber, unlike the leather belt he usually wears. As a consequence, he’s left simply carrying it around by his side.

Granted, for some unknown reason, his robes are still far thicker and longer and more protective than the… stars, the ultra-thin black silk wrapped around your body, but Obi-Wan is so self-conscious about his appearance that he’s not even allowing himself to look at you. Obviously that doesn’t stop him from refusing to leave your side the entire night, and he finds himself rather grateful that only a very few number of s’Ziscari are fluent in Basic, if only to provide him with a valid excuse to socially detach.

Of the very few people he’s noticed wearing robes resembling his, they’re all far younger than him—much closer to your age than Obi-Wan’s, and stars, everything about this celebration is unbelievably unnerving to him—including, if not most of all, your response to it. One of the reasons he knows the food was grand, apart from the immaculate plating and lavish dinnerware of course, is because you momentarily excused yourself from the seat next to him to dish yourself out a second helping.

Even now, even in the skybox seats of this distressingly packed arena, Obi-Wan struggles to keep down what little food he could eat while you stand tall next to him and seem completely unbothered by the situation—and by the Maker, it bothers him. He isn’t used to this. He’s used to you being the emotionally turbulent one, the one whom he has to pacify, and it twists his stomach with the way the roles have suddenly found themselves reversed.

“I think the blue looks nice, by the way,” you lean sideways to mention casually to him, and he knows. He knows you’re just jesting, just trying to lighten the mood, but he feels the bile rising up his throat at the fact that you even commented on it aloud. “Fitting. Matches your saber. Your face, though.” The smallest hint of a smile tugs at your cheeks. “It’s beginning to match the color of mine.”

“Thank you for that, young one; your sense of humor is positively delightful,” Obi-Wan gripes, clutching the metal hilt tightly in front of him with both hands while he gazes out at the stadium before him, bustling with black hooded figures and a rare flash of blue. It does not escape his notice that in complete contrast, your arms are loosely meeting behind your back, your saber dangling in one hand while the other lazily holds your wrist. Your body is… open. Draped in garments somehow equally as opaque as they are revealing, presented to the wide panoramic view of the audience and stage with no qualms whatsoever.

“Wonder who I got it from,” you ponder with a tilt of your head, and… fair point. “How long is this thing supposed to last anyways?”

“Stars—‘this thing’ can’t get over with soon enough,” Obi-Wan grumbles, his eyes anxiously flicking down at the empty stage in the center of the audience. He’s struggling with butterflies and nausea like he himself is meant to have a starring role in this debauchery. “They’ll have… acts. Plural.”

“Heavens,” you sigh under your breath, and oh yes. He agrees.

He’s also painfully aware that he should be using this free time to continue contemplating his decision about… matters concerning later this evening with you, but he’s already feeling massively overwhelmed as it is. Right now, it’s all he can do to just breathe and attempt to face one trial at a time.

But then, as if the Maker is feeling just particularly malicious this evening, Obi-Wan’s stomach drops when something quiet flashes in the Force and the roar of the enormous crowd instantly falls to dead silence. The ominous sign rockets through him and while a Jedi should not know fear, this might be the closest he’s ever felt to truly terrified.

“Ooh, dramatic,” you whisper, but regardless of your laissez-faire attitude, his heart is positively pounding as he watches the figures of robed Force sensitives slowly file out onto the stage, and everything inside him lurches at the realization that—

They’re all wearing blue. Every single one of them is clothed in fabric that matches his current attire, the one that made him feel like a blot on the landscape the entire dinner and subsequent mass pilgrimage to the arena. A bright splash of color in the midst of an almost inescapably giant ring of black.

You’ve stopped talking. Truly, he has no idea if that’s a good or bad thing, not right now. The Force sensitives join hands and create a ring in the center of the stage while every single person in the arena sits in perfect silence, and Obi-Wan feels dizzy. He’s not getting enough air right now, but he doesn’t even want to breathe too loudly and somehow draw even more attention to himself.

Two of the blue robes break off from their fellow acolytes and meet in the middle of the circle, and to simply avoid having a heart attack, Obi-Wan very purposefully chooses to ignore—like he’s done multiple times this evening—the subtle flicker of curiosity he experiences at the significance of the color blue and what it symbolizes to the s’Ziscari. He can’t even bear to watch the way the two of them slowly lean in and allow their lips to touch from under their hoods.

Maker, if he turned his saber on and stabbed himself with it, could he convince you it was an accident? Probably not—no, definitely not, what a stupid thought to have—

“How does she wipe?” He hears your voice whisper, and Obi-Wan’s facial expression immediately screws up in confusion.

He turns to you, his tone equally hushed but the bewilderment sharpening his consonants. “How does who what—?”

Only—you’re not even looking at the scene unfolding in front of you. Your expression is just as confused as his is, but instead of looking down, your chin is lifted and you’re staring directly across the arena at the viewing booth opposite to yours. He still has no idea what you’re talking about though, not until he follows your line of sight and sees the way s’Zerthia has her jaw propped up in her hands on her throne, looking bored as usual, and how the length of her newly manicured fingernails curves halfway up her scalp from this angle.

“That’s dangerous,” you remark quietly. “They’re like talons. Gaudy little weapons she always has attached to her that she decorates, makes them seem less vicious than they actually are. I see them. I certainly don’t envy whoever she picks tonight to—”

You cut yourself off with a bit lip smile and turn your face away from him, and Obi-Wan is almost mystified by how casual you’re able to be about this.

“Whomever she picks to…?” He trails off with a sigh. “Do I… Do I want to know?”

“Never mind,” you tell him quickly, lifting your chin once more while still clearly trying not to laugh. You’re trying not to laugh, while… while that is happening in the center of the audience. “It was, uh… tasteless.”

He blinks, wondering what that could possibly mean. Everything about this is tasteless, the entire thing is just an absolute nightmare coming to life.

Though, after a moment of silence, Obi-Wan soon realizes he much prefers it when you fill the void.

“Members of the Royal Court take turns doing it for her,” he eventually replies, decidedly looking anywhere but where the man is slipping the blue robe from the woman’s body. It takes you a second to register to what exactly he’s referring, but when you finally do, you snort. It’s too loud. A few heads closest to your isolated seats turn as Obi-Wan very quickly thrusts his elbow into your ribs. “Quit being disrespectful,” he hisses under his breath.

“You just—!” You quickly clamp your mouth shut and face forward again, trying not to smile in an appalled sort of way. But then—“Oh,” you blurt, not loud enough for anyone else to hear in this open setting but still loud enough for him to glance around and be slightly anxious about it. “Oh. Wow. I wasn’t… expecting…”

Obi-Wan’s eyes automatically flick down to the couple, only just long enough to catch a quick glimpse of stark nudity in the center of the arena before his gaze immediately bounces back up again and focuses on the incredibly interesting steel beam currently propping up the Queen’s viewing box, clearing his throat. “I… did warn you.”

“Well, yeah, I expected them to…” Your hushed voice trails off and you stay quiet for too long, too long to imply you’re still formulating an end to your thought. You’re distracted by something, but then you appear to snap back to your senses and immediately clear your throat. “I just wasn’t expecting… the, uh. The… positioning.”

He says nothing in response. It… it doesn’t give him great comfort, wondering how you could possibly know enough about this type of profanity to have expected a different sort of positioning. The stark contrast between the color of his ceremonial robes and yours still remains completely unspoken, but it quietly pulls at the back of his mind nonetheless.

“What about it?” Obi-Wan immediately hears himself prompt and oh, no, this is completely inappropriate. Not only should he not be encouraging this kind of talk with you, but he also shouldn’t feel so… so negative, not about something so personal to you and something that’s certainly none of his business. Regardless, he… still has this buried, unexplainable desire to know the truth about it. Regardless of the indirect way he’s attempting to go about it, he wants to know the truth about whether or not you broke your oath, and while he recognizes it’s completely improper of him, the urge is still strong enough to manifest itself using his vocal cords.

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s just… It’s…” He doesn’t even have a visual reference for what you’re attempting to find the words to describe. He doesn’t want to. He just wants to know what you think about it. “…Bold,” you finally settle on.

Bold. It’s bold. Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t be analyzing your verbal responses so closely if he had something more interesting to look at besides the general coliseum-like structure of the large outdoor stadium, but there’s a certain horizon he just won’t let his eyes dip below right now and unfortunately for him, being so high up above the crowd, the upper hemisphere of his visual field remains relatively dull.

“Who would've thought,” he eventually sighs, blinking up at the star-splattered sky now and attempting to see if he can use the Force to break off a piece of a satellite and have it impale him in a tragic accident. “Considering the s’Ziscari are such a conservative bunch.”

His eyes soon wander back to s’Zerthia, and—Obi-Wan startles to find her staring directly at him with a thin eyebrow dangerously quirked. She motions two long fingers in a V shape at her eyes and then points down towards the stage, her expression expectant and waiting.

Obi-Wan’s teeth hurt at how hard he clenches them together, his jaw flexing but the thick blanket of his beard doing well to conceal it. She’s playing with him, he realizes; he can see the hidden smile on her lips all the way from here.

Maker, maybe she’s right. Maybe he’s—maybe he’s being ridiculous about this. This is fine. This is fine. His stomach feels like it’s all his food might come up at any second, but he’ll do it, he’ll look. He can at least just look, right?

His gaze slowly begins lowering, trying to take in just a few things at a time so as not to overstimulate himself. Thousands of s’Ziscari lining the seats of the arena, almost every single one of them dressed in black. Lower still—the platform leading up to the stage. A perimeter of blue figures now sitting down in a circle and then, at its center, a… a naked man and woman.

Obi-Wan’s heart pounds as he struggles to comprehend the sight, never having laid eyes on a nude woman before. She’s on her elbows and knees, forehead lowered and resting against the floor, and the man kneels behind her, one hand holding her hips and the other wrapping around his—

Stars, Obi-Wan wants to end it all. Right here. His aim will be true.

But then… oh, no, he’s an idiot. He’s a complete dullard, because he forgot. Consumed by his own sheer anxiety and unease, Obi-Wan stupidly forgot an extremely crucial detail of the incredibly little he’s been told about the Sh’inzith.

—the projecting.

All at once, he’s nearly knocked over by the strength of the two Force sensitives at the center of the arena as they deliberately cast their minds out across the entire audience, presenting every sensation and fleeting thought they’re experiencing in all its intensity. Obi-Wan immediately works to reinforce his mental shields as soon as he feels the shockwave about to hit, but there’s thousands of Force sensitives present—all of them congregated into one relatively small area, all of them tuning into the same two signatures and then suddenly… amplifying them back until it’s impossible for him to shut out.

“Oh, uh—” he just manages to hear you mutter through the whirlwind, just the slightest hint of panic in your voice peaking through the symphony of whispered thoughts and pulsing sensations coming from the stage, “—that isn’t good—”

Obi-Wan abruptly stumbles backwards and gasps at the awful, wretched feeling of something brunt pressing up hard against somewhere elusive, somewhere he’s never felt before towards the lower part of his body, and his mind fights viciously against it as he feels you spin around and reach out for his rapidly retreating figure.

“Wait, no—it’s okay, M-Master, it’s okay, it’s—” your voice cuts off and your hands suddenly fist into the robes at his chest, your forehead dropping to his shoulder against the sharp sting just continuing to push and push and push, “—i-it’s okay, it’s oka—”

He trips over his feet in the chaos and falls back on complete instinct and you’re so tightly attached to him that you’re yanked forwards with the momentum, the two of you plunging to the ground in a clumsy heap of grunts and tangled limbs. Obi-Wan immediately starts crawling backwards across the floor underneath you, still trying to escape the horrible, inescapable sensation digging into a part of his body that doesn’t seem to exist, but it’s like you’re of the same mind—you’re scrambling forwards in the same direction trying to get away from the same thing, frantically attempting to calm him and simultaneously deal with the agony yourself, and then suddenly—

Oh—oh, Maker—

Suddenly something gives and surges in, and then Obi-Wan gasps—his elbows buckling under him and as the both of you drop down onto the floor because stars, it’s nearly blinding with impression. Not only the aching, hard fullness stretching sharp and deep somewhere in his lower abdomen—but now a new sensation. A tight, wet silk he feels swallowing him between his legs, concentrated on a part of his body that… does exist, a body part that’s currently pressed up right between your spread thighs.

“Fuck,” you moan hot against his throat, trying to find somewhere to brace yourself next to his shoulders and push yourself up off him, and he tries—Maker, he tries so hard not to, but his hands shoot out to grab your hips before he even knows what he’s doing and then he’s dragging his lower body up into yours on instinct alone, clamping his eyes shut and groaning out a desperate sound he’s never heard himself make before as his head drops against the floor.

It’s staggering. It hurts. He can't even hear your muffled noises anymore, not over the roaring encompassing his mind and body. All he knows is that your hips quickly jerk back and grind down into his in response, sending Obi-Wan reeling while you bury your twisted cry of pleasure and pain into his neck.

The sound of it breaks through everything else.

Obi-Wan’s hands shake violently as they suddenly release you and then frantically shove at your shoulders, trying to push you off without hurting you. He can’t think, he can’t see, he needs to leave—

“Get away,” he rasps desperately up at the sky, blinking his eyes wide but somehow not seeing anything in front of him but blackness. “St-stars, get away from me—”

Suddenly you’re flipping off his body and onto your back next to him, too quick for it to be a mechanical movement alone, and he doesn’t even have the space in his mind nor the processing capacity to figure out if he Force pushed you off him or if it was you who did it to yourself. He just clambers to his feet and stumbles away in a terrified, graceless retreat, bent in half, limping and gasping and fighting for every step he takes.

***

Your Master was right to leave as soon as possible, you think. You were wrong to linger here for just a second to try and gain your bearings, because the more you work to grasp and attempt to organize them, the more mindless and disorienting they become.

You eventually have to heave over and drag yourself after him.

The further away you get from the arena, the easier it becomes to block the projection, but Maker, it’s exhausting. You’re resigned to start out with a crawl—one of those Jedi Core crawls you haven’t had to do since the Academy but this one exponentially slower, forehead dropped down and eyes closed, just focusing on alternating shifting your elbows and your knees forwards and dedicating the rest of your mental energy to just isolating your mind from the debilitating assault.

Consulars don’t usually see much of war—you tend to do absolutely everything in your power to avoid it. It’s the Guardians who experience the horrors of combat most often, who deal with ambushes and onslaughts from enemies of the Republic. But Maker above, every merciless thrust into that poor little virgin at the center of the arena is like a blaster shooting directly at you, but then couple it with the thousands of reflections and ricochets in robes lining the bleachers? You’re in the trenches of a deadly battle you had no idea was even about to break out and you have no weapon of defense besides retreat.

When you finally get far enough away to be able to push yourself upright as much as possible and continue staggering back to the palace on two feet, you have no concept for how long it’s been. You can still feel the projection vibrating and clawing sharply at the edges of your consciousness, but at least the majority of your thoughts are your own now, and it gradually becomes easier and easier to focus and speed up to a clumsy run.

Though, no matter how successful you eventually are at muffling the vibrant sensations and thoughts of the two Force sensitives behind you—when they cum, you stumble down to your knees again and have to bite the back of your fist to keep from screaming.

Maker, it takes you a minute to recover. You don’t even cum, you just feel it—the burst of energy from the Force in every direction, the violent explosion from the stadium that feels like it should fracture the ground beneath you.

You’re able to get up after a moment, if only because they decide to take mercy and finally cut off the projection. You know that it’s a temporary relief, that they’ll likely be at this all night, but you hope the palace will be far enough away from the arena to block out the sensations completely. You wonder if Master Kenobi felt that through the Force or whether he was too determined to block it out that he was able to simply ignore the nuclear missile that just detonated less than a few miles away from him.

You force yourself forwards and you want to hurry, you do—but strangely, in your wild state of exhaustion, stark reality is almost as debilitating as swimming through that endless madness was. It’s quiet around you but the noise of still air pulses deafeningly in your eardrums after breaking free from such a thick mental filter separating you from your surroundings. You still have your lightsaber clutched in your hand, Maker rejoice, and your thin robes are skewed awkwardly across your body, but you eventually find your way to the doors of the palace.

Though, trying to navigate the empty halls back to your Master’s chambers takes you longer than it should. His signature is cloaked spectacularly, concealed to a mere speck you wouldn’t even know was there if you weren’t so closely acquainted with it for more than a decade. You follow the flickering pixel of blue light through the obstacle ridden darkness, adjusting the front of your robes with one trembling hand while you wipe your brow with the other, closing your eyes and doing your best to take deep breaths. He’ll be spiraling right now. He’ll need a boulder to cling to in this tsunami, solid ground to stand on while the stars are falling out of the sky.

You… find him in your quarters instead.

The door is open and his handsome profile is to you, the thick fabric stretching over his broad shoulders now an agreeable light cream, familiar and telling of his intentions. His hands are moving. Setting something down on your bed—your robes, you soon realize. He’s laying out your Jedi robes neatly for you across the fur blanketing the large mattress.

Master Kenobi begins speaking as soon as you step foot into the room, the tone of his voice very clearly impatient after having waited for you for so long.

“Change out of those ridiculous garments,” he tells you hastily, neatly laying out your leather belt across your dark tunic without even turning his head to look at you properly. “We must leave. Quickly. Also—tell me you didn’t forget your saber at the arena, because if so, I’m afraid it’s lost to us forever now. Ilum is only three days from here, perhaps we can stop there on the way back to Coruscant to find you another kyber cryst—”

You drop the hilt of your lightsaber on the floor and step forward, cautiously reaching out for his figure as he continues to ramble. “Master, I—”

Your hand is thrown to the side with a subtle flick of his wrist and you instantly jerk to an abrupt halt, holding your palms out in front of you and keeping completely still while he spins around, his jaw slack and staring at you wide-eyed. He takes a few steps away from you in shock.

“I’m sorry—” he immediately gasps, reaching out towards you even though the rest of his body is still desperately evading yours. “Stars, I’m so sorry—that was just… That was excruciating, young one. Why would anyone ever willingly—?”

“It—it doesn’t always—” you cut yourself off just in time, clamping your jaw shut before you can finish your sentence.

“We must leave,” he says once more as he turns back to your mattress, not appearing to hear you at all and shaking his head, far too frantic to sound like he’s just reminding you alone. “We can’t do that. I can’t do that—”

“It doesn’t always have to be—” Maker, what is wrong with you? Your heart kicks up in your chest and somehow stutters to a halt at the same time. It’s the lingering effects of the assault your mind just experienced coupled with your desperate urge to console him that’s making you so utterly careless, you realize, it’s making your tongue loose.

“Stars, what do you mean?” Master Kenobi finally snaps, and your blood runs ice cold. “How do you know that?”

It takes the sum of all your years of training to keep the raging hurricane of emotion from showing in any capacity. You feel like he’s holding his saber to your neck with how dangerously little you’re even allowing yourself to breathe right now, how utterly and completely still you’re holding yourself in front of him.

Lie, a little voice in your mind supplies quietly, the little voice you keep locked inside an impenetrable box of everything you are but have never been allowed to confront, haven’t been allowed to openly think just in case someone is listening too closely. Lie. Lie, right now. Your silence is giving you away.

Only—you can’t. You shouldn’t. It’s not fair to keep this from him, not when you’re asking him to do something so structurally compromising to his belief system. If… if you tell him the truth, perhaps he won’t judge you too harshly. Perhaps he’ll feel… reassured, knowing he’s certainly not the first Jedi to break a sacred vow when he felt times were desperate enough.

Besides. This might be the only secret that could potentially get you kicked out of the Order, but… it still isn’t your worst one.

“Because.” The word is out of your mouth before you can rethink it, barely above a whisper. “I… know.”

He doesn’t respond, and no.

No, you were wrong. You were wrong to tell him the truth, and the look on his face immediately shoots panic through your whole body.

He doesn’t look reassured.

He looks… alienated.

“‘It doesn’t always?’” Your Master eventually repeats back to you, and fuck—the implication is instantly clear. The implication is made so clear from the sharpness in his tone, the hard edge to it as he rounds out the vowels in the last word that makes your heart twist and throb in your ribcage. He might as well have just asked you how many times you must’ve violated your code of honor to know the difference.

“It’s not.” You clear your throat and flick your gaze up to the ceiling, feeling like he’s using the Force to squeeze your chest in on itself. “That was the absolute worst possible sensation that can be felt during… It’s—it’s not like that. It won’t… be like that. Not.” Are there tears coming to your eyes? “Not… with me.”

Utter quiet. So quiet that if you really concentrate, you can hear the distant sounds of the arena continuing on with the Ritual without you. You bite hard at your lip and wait for him to say something, anything. Yell at you, tell you how disgusted he is, banish you from the Order.

Instead, Master Kenobi quite suddenly… deflates. He sighs—not a heavy, exhausted one, but a soft one. A quiet, accepting sort of sound.

He slowly lowers himself to the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, running both hands through his hair, and it’s just enough to give you pause. You glance over at him, trying not to let tears fall beyond the plateau of your lower lids with the frantic downward movement of your eyes, and you’re only just barely successful at it.

“It’s alright,” he says gently. “It’s… it’s alright, young one. I… suppose I am in no place to judge. Quite… quite literally,” he murmurs, gesturing to the space around him with a lazy wave of his hand. Maker, his figure is too watery and unfocused to make out his facial expressions, but you don’t want to blink to clear your vision just in case a sudden downpour escapes. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have asked. You’re… not my Padawan anymore. I should have no reason to… even care at all, really.”

There’s something that feels… major in that, something monumental yet incredibly well hidden, but you’re still too full of blind panic to interpret it further. Your breathing is shaky and you wonder, quite stupidly and not for the first time in your life, if it’s somehow possible to use the Force to evaporate the water in your eyes before it turns into tears.

“I am certain it took place in your younger years, a long time ago,” he continues calmly when you don’t immediately say anything. “You did always have a… a rather unconventional relationship with the rules.”

Your only response is a quick jerk of a nod. Yes.

“Yes,” you immediately agree, hoping your tone sounds convincing enough through the lingering tremors. “It was… a long time ago. I’ve changed, since then. Grown up in many ways.”

It’s his turn to nod, and you manage to calm down just slightly. You’re still breathing too hard and you’re a bit too braced, too much of a stance to truly feel like relief, but your heart rate is beginning to settle back into a somewhat acceptable rhythm.

Master Kenobi looks over at you, and he says absolutely nothing about the traces of water still glistening along your eyelashes. He just smiles softly and pats the space next to him.

You cautiously make your way over to him after a moment, feeling more unsure now than you’ve felt this entire mission. You leave at least a half a foot of space separating the two of you once you carefully sit yourself down on the mattress, and you can’t even look in his general direction. You just focus on the long, draping sleeves of your black robe as you look down at your hands and wait for him to speak first.

“Sometimes,” he eventually sighs. “Sometimes I… feel like you’re the person I know best in the entire galaxy, you know. I’ve… I’ve known you far longer than I ever knew my own Master, young one. I picked you out of thousands, and I’d do it thousands of times again. Sometimes—especially since the day of your accolade and subsequent absence, I feel like I can know exactly what you’re thinking, even from across an entire star system. And yet somehow, you… always surprise me. Even after all these years, I am just. Consistently surprised by you.”

You don’t know how to take that. You just sit there in a guilty silence, still unable to turn your head or offer any sort of response.

“I chose you as a Padawan because you surprised me, you know,” he reminds you quietly. “I had certain expectations for you, and you did not meet those expectations. Instead, you presented an alternative I’d never before considered, an alternative that forced me to reevaluate you—and by extension, myself—far beyond what I had previously. That is not a bad thing. It has never been a bad thing. As is made blatantly obvious by the fact that I’m the one currently standing in the way of saving lives, and you’re…not.”

Maker, this is thin ice. You don’t know what to say that’ll express hesitant agreement with his sentiment without making it sound like you’re not apologetic for breaking your oath. You’re… well, you’re not, not really. His response itself is causing you to feel far more turmoil than any legitimate regret for your actions.

“It was—” On instinct, you almost say it was a mistake regardless of the conflicts you’re just so happening to encounter on this mission, but something stops you. You suddenly remember your place here, your goal. To save the galaxy from the Separatists’ reign. And, by extension… sleep with your Master. You can’t call it a mistake if you’re going to ultimately try to convince him to do the same thing. So instead, you scramble to finish your sentence with a different thought, knowing his full attention is pinned to you right now. “…A long time ago,” is all your exhausted mind is able to come up with.

“Yes,” he gives you a small, companionable smile. “It’s alright. Your prior lapse—or, well… lapses in judgement… will forever be safe with me.”

And still, you don’t feel relief. Not when Master Kenobi very quickly appears to look uncertain.

“I… apologize,” he offers after a moment, “if. If I ever made you feel like… like you could not confide in me about any struggles or… or urges you may have been experienc—”

“Maker,” you suddenly interrupt with a frantic wave of your hands, everything cringing inside you, “Maker, we don’t have to do this. None of it, it’s okay. Know what? Let’s just go home—screw the galaxy, I don’t care, just stop talking.”

He snaps his eyes over to you, a sudden bark of laughter escaping him before the rest of his face even seems to register something was funny.

It evolves. Eventually he’s covering his face and stifling ridiculous little snorts behind his hands, trying to apologize in between the chuckles but laughing even harder. It’s almost like… just a form of pure stress relief for him. So far beyond traumatized that it’s revealing itself in a slightly hysterical way, even if what you said wasn’t hysterical at all.

“Now you have a mere glimpse into what my experience has been like today,” he finally tells you with a sparkling grin once he composes himself, lifting his chin as he looks at you and scratching his beard with a quiet flicking sound. “Shall I keep going? If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what, things can always get worse.”

“They don’t have to.” You say it without thinking, the gentle reprieve caused by his laughter flowing through you in waves and making you throw caution to the wind. The four words serve to shut him up quite quickly however, even though it was the opposite of your intent, and your smile drops. Maker, just freely conversing with him about these things is navigating a minefield for his mental state.

“You… you say that, and yet even—” Master Kenobi eventually responds, cutting himself off with a cough. “Even the things I’ve heard are meant to feel… pleasant, were just.” He shakes his head and blinks his crystal blue eyes over at you. “By all accounts. Agony.”

“I know,” you nod. “I know. Projecting that specific situation was… sadistic of them. A distortion of the truth. Probably rooted in deep tradition, but also a great scare tactic if I ever saw one, playing with us by presenting the absolute worst of it before anything else. It won’t hurt. At all. I promise. In fact—I-I can make it feel—”

Maker, you don’t even finish your sentence, but you must think the general idea loud enough for him to understand. You don’t actually have a specific word in mind—good, great, amazing, euphoric?—and yet, something quiet settles over you two at the silent implication, the mere whisper of the possibility of you pleasuring him.

And him… allowing it.

“Master, I—”

“Don’t,” he quickly tells you. “Don’t call—You don’t have to… call me that. Just for right now, it’s. I don’t—” he takes a breath that sounds shakier than it looks, and then he paints an easy, fake smile on his face following the exhale. You recognize that smile anywhere, though. While you’ve never seen him wear it before, it’s the smile that politicians make when they’re about to present a lesser truth to you, a smile shown to you in negotiations all the time that signifies something… hidden. He’s hiding something, something important, and you have no idea what it could possibly be. “I don’t feel like I even deserve to be called that right now, young one. Perhaps you should be the Master, and I the learner.”

“Ah yes, the circle is now complete,” you can’t help but jest in return, wanting to keep the tone light even though the subject matter is heavy. “Is now when we trade lightsabers?”

“Indeed,” he smiles, this time more sincere, and… you can’t pinpoint when exactly it happened, but it appears you’re physically closer to each other now than you were when you first sat down.

“Do they, uh… actually expect us to…” You clear your throat and wave a hand around, “…Project the entire time like that?”

Master Kenobi quickly shakes his head. “No. s’Zer—Queen s’Zerthia informed me that. Ah. For us, projection will only be necessary during the… well, she called it the ‘closing ceremonies.’”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod. “I… see.”

It’s like you can physically feel his body start to break out into a cold sweat next to you at the sudden… realness of it all, the realization that it has to be getting late. Close to midnight, if you’re not already pushing it. It’s come time to make a final decision, you both know it. You want to console him, offer him some kind of solace or reprieve, but stars, you just don’t know how, not when you’re this much of a mess about this, too, but for entirely different reasons. You don’t have a single clue how to make him feel better about any of this.

“I just,” you rush before you lose the nerve, “I want you to know that—e-even if you feel like you’re somehow alone in this, you’re not. Okay? I’m… I’m really nervous, too. I don’t… I don’t actually know what to do at all right now. I don’t know whether to respect your apprehension or tell you it’s unfounded. I don’t know if I should remind you what’s at stake here or whether I should avoid mentioning it at all costs. I have no idea what position I should take, but I’ll—I’ll take whichever one you want me to.”

And it’s odd, because when you first launched into your confession, Master Kenobi gradually began to look more and more relieved, but at a certain point, something just goes horribly wrong. You don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, it seems to rocket through your Master and suddenly his breathing stutters.

For a moment, you think he’s going to reach back, yank your neatly folded Jedi robes up from the mattress and push the dark fabric into your hands. Tell you he’ll meet you at the docking bay posthaste, tell you not to linger, tell you that the mission was a failure. But then—

“Before,” he suddenly says, the word almost startling you with how abrupt it comes out sounding. Almost like he wasn’t quite expecting himself to say it either. “Earlier today, you asked… you asked if there was anything you could do to… make this easier.”

“Yes,” you prompt immediately. He won’t look at you, and for some reason your heart begins beating faster and the inside of your thighs are getting warm.

“I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this,” he admits with a whisper, his voice sounding so quietly reluctant, like he doesn’t want to say the words aloud but is forcing himself to. “But… the Council put you in charge of negotiations.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trying to understand his implication. What does that have to do with anything? Is he saying that you’re supposed to be in charge, and therefore he’s defaulting to you? “I’m not sure I—”

“The Galactic Republic…” Master Kenobi enunciates very, very pointedly, still unable to look at you, “…put you in charge of negotiations.”

Specifying—or in this case, generalizing—doesn’t help much. “I’m still not—”

“Maker, for—for the good of the Republic, young one,” he presses under his breath and finally flicks his gaze up to meet yours, sounding urgent and torn in equal parts. “Negotiate.”

Stars, negotiate with who? With—with him? For the good of the…? Is he asking you to somehow reason with him beyond what you’ve attempted to do already, or persuade him to do what’s right for—?

Maker—Master Kenobi is asking you to seduce him.

Shock paints your expression blank and his eyes instantly evade yours once more. You have to sit there for just a second and double-check that you’re not dreaming. None of this seems real. All of it seems like an incredibly elaborate illusion of the Force, ever since you first laid eyes on him at the start of this mission. You know you missed him but stars, did you truly miss him this terribly? Your longing must rival something fierce to unconsciously conjure this wild of a scenario. Is he actually here right now? Have you been speaking to a ghost? Are you actually here right now? Are you going to wake up any second and remember he’s thousands of lightyears away and has been for years, risking his life on the front lines of galactic war while you’re left to play politics and negotiate treaties behind the scenes?

These thoughts aren’t safe to have in normal interactions with him, but nothing about this situation is normal, and while you know Master Kenobi has years of experience reading your signature, he most likely won’t be able to gauge the specific details of your thoughts when you can sense how intensely he’s focused on guarding his own chaotic mind from you.

So you let yourself think. If only for a second, you sit next to him and allow yourself to just… think about him. About how much you care for him, how desperately you ache for him—you let all these improper longings finally have their moment with you. You let yourself confront it, crack the lid of the hidden box tucked away behind your consciousness and brave it, because if there was ever a moment to do so, it’s right now.

Your heart starts slamming up against your ribcage and your hands feel like they’re tingling. He wants you to convince him to have sex with you. He’s asking you to corrupt him. He wants you to negotiate the galaxy’s survival with the last man standing in the way of its prosperity—a good man with strong, immovable morals, a man who understands the consequences that follow integrity around and won’t be easy to tempt.

“This was a bad idea,” suddenly comes Master Kenobi’s voice, quickly backpedaling after too long of a silence. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said that, we should just g—”

“Would you like to meditate?” You immediately ask him on a complete whim, shuffling back towards the middle of the mattress for the second time today. You’re careful to make sure he doesn’t see you carelessly flick your neat robes to the floor with the Force, clearing the top of the large mattress. “Let’s meditate.”

“Stars,” he breathes, shyly his head turning to follow you, “I’d love nothing more, but there truly just isn’t any time—”

You find it easier than you thought it’d be to pull a playful face at him, crossing your legs and straightening your spine. “Please, you’re a Guardian. You blue sabers practically invented battle meditation, did you not?”

He looks skeptical for a moment, as he has a valid right to be. “Is this a battle?” He eventually asks over his shoulder.

You say nothing in response to that, instead using the Force with a flex of your finger to tug at the loose cream fabric of his robe at his elbow. “Come on, it’ll do us good.”

He looks conflicted for a second, but then ultimately decides to humor you. “Alright,” Master Kenobi finally agrees, turning around and crawling towards you on the mattress, and you’re just quick enough to stamp down a flicker of arousal at the mere sight of it. “It won’t hurt.”

“Of course it won’t,” you agree with just a bit too much air in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. He just seats himself directly in front of you, facing you, crossing his legs close enough to yours that your knees barely touch, and—

—Maker, he’s lovely.

You purposefully let yourself think it as his eyes slowly fall closed and he takes a deep breath, beginning to tame the wild tempest of his mind. You let the word flitter around your thoughts without instantly repressing it like you always do, and just the mere act of allowing yourself to acknowledge the truth is freeing. He’s lovely. He’s lovely. You could scream it.

Your eyes trail down the lines of his ever softening, tranquil expression, not even bothering to pretend to meditate for his benefit this time. Your gaze roams shamelessly across his face, the way his hair is combed back away from it. The sandy, masculine beard leading down to the thick column of his throat, the broad lines of his shoulders draped in pale fabric, the way his chest slowly moves as he breathes. Lovely. Lovely.

And then you go… lower.

His abdomen is stretched long with how upright he’s sitting, his flawless meditation posture. His thighs are spread wide in this position, pants stretched tight into an elusive drum over his crotch and preventing you from truly seeing anything—but stars is it a thrill even just letting yourself look.

Especially knowing that the more his mind works to compose itself, the easier it’ll be for him to hear you.

You keep thinking, growing bolder the more you’re left alone with this box wide open. You think about how lithe and strong his body is, how it would feel under your hands. You think about all the different things you want to show him, all the… the mind shattering pleasure you can give him if he’ll allow y—

Master Kenobi says your name without opening his eyes.

It doesn’t sound the way you expect, though you don’t really know what you expected it to sound like. A sharp, frustrated bark? An exasperated, pleading attempt to get you to stop?

No—none of those. It’s a quiet, low growl of a sound, and the clear warning in it absolutely burns a hole through you like he picked up his lightsaber and used it instead.

You take practiced breaths, trying to calm yourself down. Stars, he just said your name, he’s said it so many times before, and yet hearing it in his mouth with that tone in this context feels like he just strapped rockets to your ankles and told you to stay put. You’re impatient. You’re turning yourself on, working yourself up, trying to get to where you can actually make a move on him after dedicating so many years to desperately repressing the longing to do so. Once he told you to negotiate this deal with him, however, it’s as if every ounce of the impeccable self control you’ve practiced so spectacularly throughout most of your life slowly started to unravel.

Reaching out tentatively so as not to startle him, you wrap both of your palms around the bend of his knees and squeeze gently. Master Kenobi displays no physical signs of—well, anything really, keeping his body completely rigid under your hands with no noticeable alterations in his breathing pattern. Biting your lip, you begin to slowly rotate your thumbs, making sure to keep your movements slow and perfectly symmetrical. Complete relaxation is your ultimate goal here—coaxing your Master into a serene state where physical contact is desired, not obligatory. He's so uncomfortable with the concept of intimacy in and of itself though, from the way his eyebrows start to furrow and his spine begins gradually tilting back and away from you, it's almost as if your ministrations are dampening rather than fueling.

“Relax,” you murmur, and stars, even though you make it sound quiet and gentle, it’s like the melodic lull of your voice appears to startle him more than if you’d just spoken normally. Maker—it’s counterintuitive; how are you supposed to turn someone on when the mere state of being turned on turns them off? “Relax with me, it’s okay—”

“But I just can't, young one,” he suddenly implores, his voice pressed up tight in his throat, his cerulean eyes popping open in frustration and something else—an honest, heartfelt emotion that's strikingly less familiar to you, even after years spent by his side: deep, hot, stomach-wrenching guilt. You watch your Master’s palms run the length of his thighs; back and forth, back and forth—almost like a nervous tick, you think—and it’s oddly endearing, if not increasingly concerning. “I just can't, this is all so wrong. Don't you understand? E-Even if the Council did provide a—well, a rather admittedly ineluctable blessing for this downright ludicrous endeavor, i-it’s… I don't…” He takes a deep breath, and visually, it looks like he's attempting to collect his thoughts and composure, but you know your Master all too well. You know what he's really doing, and at this point, it's almost… frustrating.

“What are you so afraid of?” You clutch his knees and whisper quietly, interrupting him before he can verbalize whatever perfectly logical reason he's trying to formulate as to why you both should leave the planet immediately, what he's going to say to the Council if they ever inquire as to why negotiations ultimately failed. He jerks his head up sharply to look at you.

“The Jedi fear nothing,” is his automatic response, though his previously intense gaze strays slightly from yours after a second of too much eye contact. “Fear is the path to the Dark Side, you know this.”

“And yet you are afraid,” you remark calmly, studying the way he’s turned his face away from you completely now, how you can still see his jaw clench under the thick beard with his profile shown to you like this. “I—I’m trying to understand, Master, but I—I don’t. Even if this mission were half as important as it is, your loyalty to the Order would follow you right into an early grave. But this?” You remove a palm from his knee to gesture between the two of you, the mattress beneath the both of you, “fulfilling this mission and these terms to save the entire galaxy is too ‘downright ludicrous’ for the Great Negotiator? I don’t believe it. Tell me what you’re really afraid of.”

Only, he’s suddenly moving—away from you. Turning and planting his palms to fur, beginning to climb to the edge of the bed and sweep his legs around under him, and your voice has an unintentional edge to it when you address his back.

“Do you know how many lives over I owe you?” You ask, and he jerks to an abrupt halt, feet just shy of stepping on the floor. “Do you have any idea the stockpile of mortal gratitude you’ve amassed from me? How many times you’ve risked your death to save me from mine over the years—can you count them? I have. I know my debt to you, I know the weight of my life piled on top of itself over and over again. I remember each and every one of them like they happened yesterday, and not once did you hesitate even slightly, let alone the way you’ve hesitated today.”

”And?” Master Kenobi quite suddenly snaps over his shoulder as he grips the edge of the mattress, sounding sharp but not necessarily directed towards you. “What is your point?”

“My point is that if you’d so readily trade your death time and time again to prevent that of even one other person, let alone a difficult Padawan who caused the Order nothing but grief for years, then what is it that makes the deaths of trillions—” you nearly say preferable to bedding me before you realize how incredibly harsh that would sound, but something about the way he seems to tense his shoulders and curl inwards implies he was following the general cadence of your agitated signature more than the specific content of your words.

He says absolutely nothing, but he doesn’t move to drop his feet to the floor, either. If only you could punch a proverbial hole through his practically indestructible mental barriers, you'd see the real reason he's so flustered, why he's purposely attempting to deceive you. Unfortunately for you though, they feel like they're made of triple-reinforced beskar, a countermeasure gradually increasing in strength the more you try to probe.

But then—all at once, something clicks. Something… fundamental. An understanding.

Your Master is a gifted negotiator, yes. But more than that.

He wields a blue saber. Not a green one.

He’s a Guardian. A warrior. He fights. It’s something that has never truly been part of your nature, no matter how much you struggled with it over the years—but it is a part of his, no matter how exceptionally he’s been able to mask it for even longer.

So, all at once, you stop pushing. Your signature abruptly pulls away from him, gives him room to breathe and simply hovers within your own personal space, unassuming and careful not to disturb him. You see your Master lift his chin and straighten his spine slightly, immediately noticing your absence and the constant pressure you’d been applying, and you honestly can’t tell if he relaxes or tenses up even more because of it.

Finally, when you feel like it’s been long enough, you slowly reach out and gently place your hand on his arm. This time, there’s no underlying motivation attached, no inherent desire for him to fulfill any sort of obligation. Just a warm, companionable gesture to reinforce the simple knowledge that you’re both in this together, for better or worse.

Please tell me, Obi-Wan, you quietly whisper to him through the Force, allowing your tone and energy to transfer through your open palm and into his troubled spirit as softly and gently as you possibly can—a caress more than anything even close to a sentence or inquiry. Your usage of his first name is entirely unprecedented however, and your Master sucks in a sharp breath in response.

I don't… But then the subconscious, half-formed thought fades away almost as quickly as it’s offered to you from behind the solid, unyielding fortress of his mind. “W-what are you doing?”

You bite your lip, wondering how honest you should be with him right now. Though, you suppose, if you truly want him to confide in you, you should at least meet him halfway.

“You’re the locked door,” you finally settle on. “This is me knocking.”

Obi-Wan turns around and blinks at you, looking for all the stars in this galaxy like that was quite possibly the last thing he expected you to say. You can see the frantic thoughts pass through his eyes almost as if the clear blue was completely transparent, likely remembering all the times you’ve leaned on him for guidance, listened intently and learned from his wisdom and experience. And now you’re a fully grown woman patiently offering him your ear, wondering if you’ve earned enough of his trust for him to do the same.

“I’m afraid I’ll form an attachment to you.” The words tumble from his mouth even though his body all but whips away from you in the process. “It’s unreasonable for the Council to expect this from me. From us. I’m afraid our relationship will forever be tarnished from this, that neither of us will ever be able to go back to the way things were before. I’m afraid that regardless of whatever decision I make, I won’t be able to carry the guilt on my conscience and continue to call myself a Jedi and Guardian of the Republic. But mostly, I just—I-I—”

Your heart is pounding as Obi-Wan buries his face into his hands and his muffled voice groans raggedly, “—I’m afraid I’ll like it. I’m afraid I’ll want it again, and again. I’m afraid it’ll follow me back to Coruscant, that I’ll save the galaxy but spend the rest of my days aching for something I’ll never be able to keep, and that’s petrifying. Desire, passion, selfishness, possession; all of them lead to Darkness, and I can—I can feel it right now. Your soul is so gentle, so peaceful, and yet you… you inspire such Darkness in me, dove.”

Maker, you’re trying so hard. So hard to keep your legs from clenching together at the utter desperation in his tone, how his breathing has picked up now that the words have ripped themselves out of his throat, like the whole thing was physical agony even just to say. You have to take a second. You’ve been so patient this entire time, but stars—this one makes you need a moment. You’re so glad his eyes are clamped shut behind his fingers right now because yours lose focus trying to mask the absolutely debilitating wave of arousal that sinks down hot through your stomach.

Even when you regain the ability to speak, the ability to form a safe and proper response to the bombshell he just dropped on you completely evades you.

You purposefully don't say that you're already helplessly attached to him, that the colors of the galaxy somehow lost their brilliance the day you graduated to Knight, the day you left his side. You don't say that you want this so badly you can feel it in your neck, that it would probably break you in half if he said no to this now. Though it's the honest-to-Maker truth, you know discovering this information will only cause your Master to further distance himself from you, and somehow that thought alone is a million times worse than being denied the opportunity to be this close to him. Even… even if what you end up sharing is more emotional than physical.

So you take a deep breath to center yourself, and choose your words very carefully.

“A compromise, then.”

Obi-Wan suddenly raises his head, turning around to look at you and blinking twice. “A what?”

“You told me to negotiate. What do we do as negotiators, hm?” You raise an eyebrow, giving him a gentle smile and trying not to curl your fingers into the fur underneath you with how hard it is to conceal your burning arousal. Do it for him. Do it for your Master, you’re in l—you… care about him, and you care about the things he cares about, even if doing so feels like it’ll rip you apart. “We compromise. Yes? So, let’s find one.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t see h—”

“If you were to…” You cut him off and look down, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase this. “If you were to… find other means to bring yourself to completion, would you be able to convince anyone listening that I was the one doing it?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even blink this time. He just stares at you, holding himself like a statue in front of you. Finally, he seems to find himself. “I… I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“You’re stronger in the Force than anyone on this planet, Master,” you encourage softly, placing a hand back on his arm and squeezing this time. “I’ve felt it.”

“N-No,” he practically hiccups. “No, I mean I-I… I don’t know if… if I can.”

Your eyebrows narrow, a mixture of confusion and concern coloring your expression. “If you can…?”

He looks back at you almost desperately, his eyes practically begging you to figure it out so he doesn’t have to say it. Finally, Obi-Wan sighs, seeming to collapse in on himself with its intensity. “I—I’ve never… purposefully reached completion before,” he admits. “I’m—I’m not sure how to.”

Your eyes widen, wanting to kick yourself for making assumptions. Of course. Of course he’d follow his oath to its strictest interpretation, why would you ever think otherwise? “Oh, y-yes, of course not,” you stutter, sounding incredibly stupid and perfectly mirroring the embarrassed flush also painting your Master’s cheeks, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s alright,” he holds up a hand. “We simply… view such things differently. So long as you do not pass judgment, then neither shall I.”

You nod and look down at your hands, wondering how else you can attempt to tackle this predicament. “What if I…” You blink slowly, almost wanting to keep your eyes closed in case he’s offended by the idea but figuring you should have them open to read his responses. “What if I… don’t touch you?”

Now he just looks confused. “I’m sorry?”

You blush and clear your throat, obviously phrasing this wrong. “If you can modify the context of your projection, then I can… get you there. Without touching you.”

“How could you accomplish such a thing without tou—” Obi-Wan immediately cuts himself off when you lift your hand and close your eyes.

His thigh. The right one—you focus on it. There. Right above the bend of his knee folding over the edge of the mattress, you concentrate all the energy from your fingertips and reach out, connecting the two together. And then you take a deep breath and begin to draw your attention slowly upwards.

Your Master’s breath catches in his throat as you use the Force to delicately trail further up his leg, not laying a single hand on him as his muscles start to visibly tighten and quiver.

“Young one, I—” His breathing stutters when you keep your hand raised but let your head tilt and drop down towards your shoulder with your energy, slinking down the inside of his thigh like water and getting dangerously close to his— “Stars, hang on—”

You blink your eyes open at him and continue concentrating right there, letting your focus melt warm and thick along the muscle and squeeze it—

“Maker—” Obi-Wan gasps and drops his head back, his legs nearly spasming apart. “Maker, hang on, I…”

“Do you…” You breathe tightly, flicking your eyes down to the way he’s fisting the fur under his hands and subconsciously flexing his hips up just the slightest bit. Even though the Force, his body feels good. Strong, sturdy, and braced tight under your attention. “Do you want me to keep doing this? I can… go higher.”

“You can…? The—the Force isn’t—” Obi-Wan groans, his eyes clamping shut, “—isn’t meant to be used in such… in such… If I’m to break my oath, young one, it needn’t be so… so blasphemous—”

Trying to conceal the hot sparks of arousal deep in your stomach, you simply allow your metaphysical hand to continue resting right at the juncture of his hip and thigh, waiting for a real answer. You bite your lip and wait for him to tell you to either cut it out or to keep going. He doesn’t even have to say it out loud if he doesn’t want to—he can just slide it under the impassable door still separating him from you, the door you’re eventually going to get him to unlock himself.

His back is to you, so you can only see a bit of his face from this angle, but you can hear him loud and clear when he opens his mouth and whispers to you, barely louder than a breath. “Go higher.”

Adrenaline rockets through your veins and slowly, your fingers curl in thin air while your gentle energy wraps itself around his cock.

Both of Obi-Wan’s hands instantly fly up to his face and he releases a tight, longing whimper into his palms, and you feel almost as desperate as he sounds. You can sense the ghost of his thickness in your hand, and the way he’s already throbbing for it is like pure spice to you.

You can’t stop your crossed legs from shuffling and rotating your body to face his hunched spine more directly, just taking a second and allowing him to adjust to the sensation of you just holding him between his legs like this. Your fingers rest gently along his pulsing skin while he hides from you, and if only to get a little bit more of a reaction for your own sake, your thumb just barely angles to delicately brush up under his frenulum.

Obi-Wan shudders and makes a choking noise behind his palms, and oh good Maker, you really want to see his face. You know it’ll probably never happen unless you take your own initiative, but you also don’t want to overstep and snap him out of this blissful reverie. Still, something compels you to be so gentle about it that he hopefully won’t even notice.

You start to slowly work the length of him and squeeze his cock a bit more firmly, but a tendril of your energy slowly slithers upwards, so quiet and full of caution that it hardly even counts. Very carefully, you start to flatten the lifeforce from your other palm over his stomach and trail it up, gradually urging him to stretch his slouched figure upright and then eventually start to tip backwards, never once letting your focus on his throbbing erection falter.

Your courageous efforts bestow prosperous rewards. Obi-Wan’s hands drag down the length of his face and he makes it almost too easy to keep pressing him back—back back back until his muscles give up what little fight they were putting up against it and his shoulders are dropping down to the mattress, his head falling into your lap.

“There we go,” you whisper under your breath, just loud enough to softly encourage him if he’s listening but avoiding a break in his focus if he’s not. “That’s not so bad.”

“It isn’t,” Obi-Wan gasps up at you, his eyes tightly closed but his jaw slack and his handsome features screwed up in rapture. “Oh, no, it’s… it’s really… rea—good.”

You bite your lip and your cunt flexes hard between your legs without your permission, feeling so empty. If you’re being honest, only touching him through the Force causes your hand to become increasingly bold, also feeling too empty. Obi-Wan’s head rolls to the side and he pants hot air against the thin black fabric covering your thighs as you tighten your hold around him just slightly and start to move up and down his cock in earnest.

“Fuck,” he whispers, the dirty word and rasp in his voice contrasting brilliantly with the proper Coruscanti accent and the crisp enunciation behind it. “Fuck, this feels so good, I—”

His fingers grab at the fur covering the mattress top and pull at it, his adam’s apple bobbing sharp along the arching column of his throat as he groans and twists his head around in your lap. He confesses it like it’s so wrong, but it can’t be wrong when he fits so perfectly in your hand? How can this be wrong when it’s the only pleasure you can possibly give him that’s anywhere near close enough to match the way you feel when he’s around? Even then, it’s but a fraction.

Your gaze flickers briefly from his face to check your progress with his body, and—stars, there’s a startling wet spot staining the front of his pale trousers, his cock tenting up shameless and needy for you to ache and throb just as desperately for in return. Fuck, he deserves this, he deserves more—

“I can—I can make it better—” you can’t help but gasp, your eyebrows slanting upwards with need. “Oh fuck, I can make it so much better than this for you, Obi-Wan—”

“You…?” He blinks his stormy eyes open and sounds like he’s about to explode. “This can be—” he chokes out, “—better?”

You can’t stop yourself. Your pussy is clamped up so tight between your legs and Maker, you want to reward him for being so good to you, give him true adoration instead of phantom touches. You don’t think before you’re moving out from under him and slinking down onto the floor, slipping in between his spread thighs. You use the Force with a bend of your finger to tug his pants down just enough, just enough to let the swollen tip of his cock peak through the waistband, and then your head is dropping into his lap as you let it slide into your hot mouth.

Obi-Wan lifts his head and snarls at you—and something across the room shatters as you widen your throat for him and slowly sink down his length, curling your finger to stretch his hemline further as you go. His fingers aren’t gentle when they fist into your hair and neither is the way he immediately twists it sideways, feeling like he’s trying to pull you off and shove you down on him at the same time.

You’re stuck between going as slow as you physically can to drag this out and giving him the best oral you’ve ever given to make him dream about this for the rest of his life. You want him to want this as badly as you have for so many years. You want him to fall into this Darkness with you, to crave you and what you can give to him so much that he’ll never want to leave you again.

So you make it wet. You make it soft and slow and wet, switching between sucking gently at the tip and swirling your tongue around it, and then inching his length down your throat and swallowing around the thick girth of it once you can’t fit anymore in your mouth. Obi-Wan is just an absolute mess about it—he can’t sit still, he’s tugging uselessly on your hair, whimpering out his bliss into the quiet room while you close your eyes and ignore his squirming, just taking your sweet time enjoying him and the way he feels.

He tastes exquisite. Maybe it’s just because all your broken, stupid brain can think right now is slightly varying forms of my Master’s cock is in my mouth and it’s fucking leaking while you slowly nurse from it with your tongue, but stars—he tastes exquisite.

He’s swollen. Throbbing. Aching for you. Releasing precum from the tip like his body is producing way too much of it after decades of neglect and just needs to get it all out at once. Shifting and writhing underneath you but managing to never move his hips or cock a single inch away from the soft attention you’re giving him. You can feel his smooth skin pulse against your tongue as you continue your lazy pleasuring, finally giving him what you’ve both been denied for so long and steadily swallowing down the spoils of your endeavors.

“—Wait, wait, Maker—stop,” you faintly hear gasped from above you not long after you even begin, and it takes the sum of all your efforts to unlodge his throbbing cock from your throat and pull away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale automatically, trying not to slur your words as a bit of drool slides down your chin. “I’m s’sorry, Obi, I should’ve asked before I—”

“Something’s… n-not right,” Obi-Wan interrupts you and lifts himself up to his elbows, his abdominal muscles heaving and a wild, frenzied look in his startlingly bright eyes. “My stomach was—I-I felt—”

Heat blooms through you along with a realization, and your eyelids begin to droop slightly at just how sexy it is—the fact that this man, this fully grown, red-blooded, warrior of a man is currently teetering on the precipice of his very first ever orgasm, and you’re the only one with the power to give it to him.

You shuffle backwards slightly, grabbing hold of his thighs and squeezing to get his attention. “Hey. It’s okay, relax.”

Obi-Wan nods his head vigorously down at you, the exact opposite of relaxed.

“Listen to me,” you urge quietly, trying to ignore the sight of his thick, swollen cock twitching restlessly against his abdomen, precum still steadily dribbling at the tip. Is your mouth watering? “This is it. You’ll need to start projecting when you’re ready. It’ll be tricky, but not impossible. You’ll just have to imagine you’re inside me when it happens.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head vigorously from side to side, vehemently opposed.

“No, I don’t—” He croaks, “—I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t be able to—”

“Doesn’t my mouth feel similar at least?” You ask, looking down at his cock once more.

“I-I—” Obi-Wan sputters, “I don’t know, young one—you tell me!”

Okay, well. He… makes a valid point.

You settle back on your knees even further, gazing at your Master thoughtfully. His chest continues to rise and fall with heavy breaths, a thin sheen of sweat coating his temples and a mild flush high in his cheeks, but his eyes have regained a bit of their focus. “You can just try to imagine the, uh,” you try, your cunt nearly convulsing with burning need at the mere sight of him, “the same positioning and sensation from… earlier?”

“Alright, I can…” Obi-Wan nods, though his hands are shaking. “I’ll do the best I…”

You can’t help but lean forward to press a soft, encouraging kiss to his thigh, and he jerks under your touch. You try it again, receiving the same result, and it makes you pause for just a minute longer.

“I’m nervous,” he blurts unceremoniously after a moment of stillness, as if you hadn’t noticed. “Oh stars, I’m nervous, I—”

“Obi-Wan,” you let your voice lull, your hands squeezing gently around the bend of his knees once more. “Calm down. Clear your mind.”

He hiccups and you wait. You wait with your mouth a few inches away from his cock, waiting for his breathing to slow and for him to follow your lead.

Can you hear me? You murmur through the Force, and he quickly whimpers and nods. Focus your thoughts.

You gently kiss at his tensing thighs once again, and he doesn’t flinch away from you this time. His breathing slows into a calmer, steadier rhythm, letting you trail your lips gently along the curve of his leg.

Will you let me try something? You ask after a moment, opening your mouth just the slightest bit to brush your tongue out and taste his skin.

“Y-Yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, his breath stuttering through the word.

And—perhaps you shouldn’t have, but you give him something; a suggestion, more than anything else. You give him a… visual. A reference to guide his mind through the Force.

You, still in your black robe, slowly standing up from between his legs. Widening your stance to straddle his lap, pull you robes up just enough, and then adjust your hips just slightly over the head of his cock.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at the vision, his eyes clamping tightly shut against it in vain. He can close his eyes, turn away, hide his face all he wants—he can’t escape the way your body looks as it slowly begins to sink down on his.

At the exact same time, you lower your mouth around his cock once more, and you try to make it as close to the sensation as possible. You don’t even move your tongue, you simply lift your soft palate and close your lips around his girth, beginning to carefully bob up and down along his length in time to the image you’re conjuring of you riding him.

Only, you already feel his balls tightening up and his body starting to go rigid with tension once again, and you can sense him still wanting to resist his approaching orgasm. It’s okay, Master, you encourage quietly through the vision, it’s okay, just let it come easy.

“I—I’m not—” he shakes his head back and forth against the bed frantically, his breathing getting shallower and almost immediately picking back up to where it was before you stopped. “I d-don’t want—”

Stop fighting, you tell him, continuing to mimic the sensation of him thrusting into your aching, neglected cunt with slow and steady movements of your throat. Don’t run from it, let it take you.

He grits your name tightly in response and subconsciously begins to rock his hips up to match your unhurried pace, his ragged breathing gasping out into the quiet room and gradually increasing in volume and desperation the longer he stubbornly tries to hold out against it.

You know not strong enough to use the Force to coax it out of him. You can’t alter your technique and break the illusion, either. So you have to resort to desperate measures.

There’s enough remaining wherewithal to your mind that prevents you from permanently damaging his clothing when you tear his robes open with the Force and allow the metaphysical image of yourself to rip them apart with your hands. Obi-Wan gasps when both versions of you reach up his bare torso at the same time and dig your nails into his chest.

Master—you demand, taking his cock down your throat as far as you can go and then clawing hard down his stomach—cum.

And thank everything good and right in the universe that he remembers at the very last second to start projecting, because being this close to someone as strong in the Force as Obi-Wan when he finally succumbs to his first taste of the Dark Side is just a fucking atomic missile straight to your nervous system.

It’s all you can do to just remember to keep swallowing.

The projection he casts out through the shockwave is utterly flawless—brilliantly composed, looking and feeling so authentic and overwhelming even from this distance that there should be no issue at all convincing any s’Ziscari in the wide vicinity who are tuning in right now.

Except—then you hear it. Through the roaring pleasure of his thoughts, a flicker of his subconscious he’s unable to mask through the mind blowing bliss.

Is she…? Maker above, she’s drinking it—

A ragged groan tears through the silence of the room, his cock pulsing spectacularly on your tongue. He just keeps cumming, and cumming, and so you just have to keep swallowing, and swallowing. You suppose you should’ve expected this from a fully grown man who lived a life of celibacy, but what would typically be a rather short moment with anyone else subsequently goes on long enough to where Obi-Wan is actually able to lazily raise his head up from the mattress and simply watch you continue to swallow his load, dazed and reverent in his stare, glassy blue eyes trained on the hypnotic movements your jaw and throat make around him. The remaining traces of whatever visual he attempted to maintain immediately flicker out of existence, replaced instead by the sight of your mouth around his cock, diligently taking down each rope of cum he gives you.

When he finally stops throbbing, you reluctantly let his cock fall from your mouth and slowly stand up as the botched projection fizzles out completely. His gaze eventually follows the movement like he’s on a five second delay.

“So, uh…” Your voice is hoarse. “We… need to have sex.”

“Alright,” he agrees dreamily, his eyes lazily dragging down your body. “Alright, we can have… I… Wait, what?”

“You, uh. I know it wasn’t intentional, but you might’ve, uh…” You shuffle awkwardly from side to side, wondering why you’ve chosen now of all moments to become shy with him. You’re literally still savoring the taste of his release in your mouth. “You might’ve accidentally projected a very specific thought towards the end there and let everyone know that we weren’t actually doing what we’re technically supposed to be doing.”

“What did… what did I think?” The question would likely be nonsense in literally any other situation, but you understand. And truthfully, for the life of you, you can’t find it within yourself to feel even a little bit mad about it, not when it means you can continue doing this together. You can’t even conjure up a single shred of disappointment in his failure, it’d just be a lie.

“Doesn’t matter,” you assure him, your heart continuing to pound. You know you should make your next move now while he’s still so loopy, the post-orgasm bliss causing his signature to vibrate with pulsing endorphins as he blinks up at you slowly from the bed. “Though we won’t be able to do it for a little bit, just uh. Just for general… anatomical reasons. But that should’ve at least counted for… initiating the Ritual, so I don’t think we have to worry about time anymore.”

Obi-Wan just stares at you, his Force signature feeling more serene and spaced out than you’ve ever sensed before. Oh Maker, how you wish you felt the same. You swallow thickly, still tasting his hard orgasm on your tongue, and then try not to clamp your thighs together with how embarrassingly turned on you are. Anyone with any experience whatsoever would know exactly what you’re going through with just a mere glance—you’re biting your lip with your entire body is subtly crumpled in towards your swollen, neglected pussy—and your Master has been watching you struggle through it this entire time.

“Are you alright?” He asks dumbly, finally managing to at least push himself upright, still completely unaware or unconcerned at his softening cock on full display for you and your starving libido. “You’re… shaking.”

“I—won’t die,” is the only serious assurance you can make to both him and yourself right now that’ll ease your suffering the smallest bit. The last thing you want right now is to come on too strong and snap him back to his senses, bringing everything back to square one. “Just, uh… r-really worked—worked up. Trying to just. C-Cool it?”

Your fingers flex at your sides because no matter what you try, you just can’t stop thinking about his. They’re right there. They’re so close, so strong and thick and—

“Aren’t you…” He trails off, letting his head tilt and then drop to his shoulder with a combination of confusion and exhaustion. “Aren’t you going to…?”

“To what?” You prompt shortly, your hands suddenly clenching into fists to deal with another violent wave of arousal at how unbelievably drunk he still looks. Maker, you did that. That’s all you.

“s’Zerthia said all—” Obi-Wan murmurs, blinking long lashes lazily up at you, “—all Jedi must… participate.”

Fuck. Just hearing him provide you an excuse to give into the boiling arousal causes you to suddenly break out into a sweat. You don’t know if he wants you to get yourself off or if he’s indirectly implying he wants to help, but you’re so far beyond desperate that you jump at the chance as soon as he so much as hints at the opportunity.

Very slowly, you move forward and lift one trembling knee to brace next to his thigh on the mattress, and then carefully swing your other leg over his lap, lowering yourself into a straddle in the same exact position he attempted to project earlier. You’re so unbelievably cautious about his cock, making sure you don’t accidentally touch it and jolt him awake. Instead of your newfound proximity scaring him away like you feared though, he stays so… docile. Still so relaxed from his very first orgasm that he even rests his large palms over the thin fabric covering your thighs, letting the loose silk drape and fold over his hands as he drags them up and down.

His eyes follow your trembling fingers as you work at the knot tying the material around your body, your cunt throbbing between your legs at how he’s just… staring. His eyelids are dipped slightly, breathing so calm and slouched under you, pliant and waiting.

The thin fabric slowly parts only enough to reveal the valley between your bare chest to him, and you watch his eyes fall down the thin strip of skin and catch on the dark line of your panties riding low on your hips. Maker, you can’t help but remember his terror at even glimpsing the two acolytes taking off their robes earlier—the way his eyes bounced around and how his cheeks lost whatever color they had left to them as soon as he finally made himself look. Now, though. Now he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the soft flesh of your tummy, the way your nipples are still covered by the thin fabric of your slightly parted robe but are impossible to miss while your breasts subtly move with your breathing.

You gently call one of his wrists to your hand with the Force and Obi-Wan is either mentally or physically too weak to resist your will. He allows you to catch his hand and slowly lead it downwards with both of your smaller ones to the part of your body that’s longed for his attention for years, though now it’s absolutely weeping for it.

You don’t want to scare him. You don’t want to scare him. Oh Maker, you need him to be brave for you right now, or at least just continue to be stupefied. You can work with stupefied, but you cannot work with panic, especially when you feel your own wanting to rise up the more you drag this out.

When the tips of his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties, Obi-Wan’s hand pushes under it without your guidance.

You’re throbbing. It’s been years in the making. Unable to stop the way your thighs contract and you lift your hips against his palm as it steadily curves down the slope of your soft curls, the sight of the finish line so within reach makes you reckless and too quick. You can’t help it. When he gets hesitant and eventually slows down to a halt right above your slit, you don’t even think before you’re suddenly giving his wrist an abrupt shove with the Force, pulling his hand down before he’s ready and forcing his middle finger deep through the soaking cleft of your pussy.

Your shameless moan of his name comes out sounding so grateful—you pour everything you have into it and sag into Obi-Wan’s chest at the feeling, but he startles and all but rips his hand out of your underwear before you can stop him. He was a hair’s breadth from touching your clit and the denial of it—the sudden turnaround from your goal is just so massively overwhelming that tears suddenly spring to your eyes.

You can just barely make out the sight of him staring down at his trembling hand between the two of you, your slick shining wet and hot along the length of his finger.

“Stars,” he rasps, blinking his wide, sapphire gaze up to yours—and then he quite suddenly looks alarmed. “Did I—Did I hurt you?” Obi-Wan gasps, his energy beginning to outright seize with distress while you blink rapidly and try not to crumble on his lap.

“No—I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m just… oh, fuck, I n-need it,” you stammer. “Oh fuck, I need it Master, I’m so sorry—I’m trying to be calm but—”

“What is it, little dove?” He urges, reaching his hand up to your face and flicking his eyes back and forth between yours, sounding almost as panicked as you do from your desperation. “What do you need?”

“Oh stars, Obi-Wan, I need you to just—” You can’t fit anything into words, a tear finally making its way down your cheek when you clamp your eyes shut in frustration. You just need him to understand, to give you what you’ve been craving for so long—but when you blink your eyes back open, his troubled expression has suddenly resolved itself.

Your Master’s hands immediately grab tight to your hips and twist you around, easily tossing you back up onto the mattress. The jostle of bouncing back into the soft fur startles you, but not nearly as much as when he climbs over your body and braces an elbow next to your head, gently placing the tips of his fingers to your temple.

He pushes carefully but firmly against your natural mental barriers, flexing the energy shields inwards gently enough to not hurt you but with enough force to let you know he’s entirely capable of breaking through should you refuse to let him in.

So you do. You let him in without a single thought, never mind a second one. Obi-Wan gasps as your shields all but collapse for him that easily, and then he’s finally breaching the surface of your thoughts.

“Oh—Maker above, little one,” he grits almost immediately, his forehead dropping to your shoulder and his other hand wrapping tight around your arm as he struggles to acclimate to the blinding distress you’re experiencing. “Collect—” he groans as your cunt clamps down at the rasp of his broken voice, “—collect yourself. I can’t—can’t think—”

Oh, no, it’s too much. It’s way too much, even just having him inside your head without being able to read him in return—it’s too much for you. You start hyperventilating and instead of wanting him out, you just want to drown out the sensation of everything else. The endlessly pulsing, aching throb between your legs that you’ve been dealing with for so long, the way you can feel his cock dragging against your tummy from this angle and how much you already want it in your mouth again, the way your nipples are so hard right now that even this soft fabric feels so rough and sharp against—

Your robe suddenly rips itself off your chest, and you whimper up at the ceiling as you dig your fingers into thick fur and writhe under him, almost completely naked and just desperate for him to do something, to at least just use his hands or his mouth to make you feel bet—

Obi-Wan’s head drops and his blazing mouth opens hot around your nipple, his tongue rolling soft and slick up under the hard bud.

You choke out the first part of his name and you barely even have a flicker of a thought—a brief flash of a rabid, baser desire you’re not even able to consciously recognize before you feel his jaw opening and his teeth closing gently around it, biting down just hard enough to make you spasm bright and urgent between your legs. “Oh, fuck—”

As soon as you feel the pleasure and twisting ache spark deep in your core, Obi-Wan flutters his eyes shut and wedges his hand back into your panties, humming low in his throat when your legs jerk apart for him.

This time, your clit is the very first thing he touches.

He zeroes in on it. The tip of his finger starts to rub it exactly how you’d do it to yourself, exactly the right angle and speed and pressure that your body suddenly feels massively overheated and dizzy from it. It blindsides you. It makes sense he’d be able to do this, after all, but for some reason, the whole thing just absolutely blindsides you.

“Maker,” you whimper at the ceiling, soft and pitched high in your throat, eyes rolling back when Obi-Wan gently bites down on your nipple again and continues to work to relieve you even as every muscle in your body feels like it’s tightening up.

“Stars—” he whispers when he pulls away, “This—this feels incredible, Padawan.”

You moan and roll your hips against his hand, on cloud nine at just how he’s slowly allowing himself to become filthier with you, to lower himself in all his righteous beliefs and descend into delicious sin with you, and—

—wait, did he just…?

Your cunt clamps down hard with realization as he continues massaging your clit better than you’ve ever even done it yourself. Maker, it shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does, hearing that word in this context. Padawan. Padawan, holding her legs open while her Master explores her pussy. Padawan, moaning desperately as her orgasm buzzes deep down inside with a rising, threatening resonance. Padawan, Padawan, Padawan—

“Oh, you liked that,” Obi-Wan remarks tightly, taking a second to tug on your clit. You nearly start to cry again, your insides pulling up and going rigid at the sensation. “I heard it, little one. You like it when I call you that?”

“Oh I like it when you do f-fucking anything,” you choke out helplessly, your words starting to slur together. “Oh fuck, you’re so amazing, you’re so good at everything, you’re the best Jedi in the whole entire galaxy Master, you’re so much better th—”

“My, you’re agreeable like this, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan grits, his touches growing stronger and quicker and rocketing you straight to the edge of madness. “Shall I take that to heart, my darling little Padawan? Or did you say such flattering things to the oth—”

“Wait!” You suddenly exclaim, desperately trying to push his hands away. “Oh, nonononono—wait, wait, wait, I—I-I’m about to cum—I need to—”

His hand yanks itself out of your underwear once more and you take giant, gasping breaths and try to compose yourself at least somewhat, but then your Master is quickly scrambling down your body and using the Force to rip your panties down your hips—

“Obi-Wan, wait—” you choke out, “that isn’t—you don’t… h-have to…”

He looks up at you, dark brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’ll be able to—y-you don’t—” You have to take a few gasping breaths and remember how to speak Basic. “I used my mouth on you before because I… I wanted to. If—If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to. It’s not… oh fucking stars above, it’s not n-necessary.”

“Are you telling me this because you don’t want me to?” He immediately asks, though you both already clearly know the answer to that considering how exposed your wild thoughts are to him right now.

“Ah, no I, uh… I just.” You try to clear the thickness from your throat and you feel your body tremble while you focus as much effort as possible into trying to explain. “I just want to be sure I’m not taking advantage of you, that’s all, I—I want you to know the truth about these things. It’s not… necessary, b-but.”

“But.” He repeats the word meaningfully as he glances back down at your weeping cunt, nodding slowly to himself.

And then your Master leans in, flutters his eyes shut, and slides his warm tongue deep into the seam of your pussy with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever.

“Obi—Wan—!?” You gasp, somewhere between a squeak and a squeal, your entire upper body launching upwards around his head as your clit is immediately enveloped into a slick, dexterous furnace.

Hold still, you hear his voice warn through the Force, sounding so much closer than you’ve ever heard him before. Whether that can be attributed to the fact that the command came directly from wherever he is inside your head or whether it’s simply because his tongue is now tracing gentle circles around your clit as you whimper pitifully into the quiet of the dimly lit room, you’re not sure. All you know is that his mouth feels like velvet between your legs and his beard is scraping across your thighs and your fingers have buried themselves in his hair without your conscious permission.

Hold still, young one, he urges once more, but you just close your eyes and moan shamelessly at it this time, opening your legs wider for him. His voice, it’s… it’s maddening like this, coming directly from your own thoughts. Deep, precise, somehow sounding so true, so much clearer and full-bodied without your pesky ears in the way. Your hips are subconsciously rolling slowly against the lower half of his face when Obi-Wan apparently decides he’s had enough.

An invisible energy wraps around each of your individual limbs and snaps them against the mattress without any warning. You whimper high in your throat, arms and legs held so firmly against the bed with the Force that your internal struggles aren’t able to be translated outwardly; he doesn’t allow your body a single centimeter to move under him, no matter how hard you fight it. Which means you have to lay there and just take the way Obi-Wan’s hot mouth continues to lick and kiss at your clit slowly, taking all the time in the universe to properly explore you between the legs he’s forced apart.

“Obi—” you croak breathlessly at the ceiling, feeling a familiar heat start to burn hot and tight through your core, “Obi, I—I have to p-project—before I—ah!—before you—before you ma-make me cu—ugh, f-fuck—I have t-to—”

Then project, he encourages simply, gently fluttering his tongue over your clit. You gasp and he hums, murmuring through the Force once more to you. We’re not hiding anymore. They’ll all know I’m using my mouth on you like this. It’s alright. Let them know.

You realize you’re going to cum the second you hear your Master’s voice say the words using my mouth on you like this while he slowly sucks on your clit, and you barely have enough wherewithal to gulp in a giant breath and begin projecting your signature as far across the palace and surrounding city as physically possible before your body shatters hot into searing euphoria under him.

Obi-Wan groans deep in his throat and holds you perfectly still under him as you cum with a ragged, hoarse wail of his name, giant waves of white hot bliss beginning to radiate through the Force from you with spectacular power. The contractions are so much more pronounced when it’s one of the only sets of muscles in your body he’s granted permission to move. It’s like everything is concentrated and multiplied there because of it. You can feel each individual spasm your floor muscles make as they convulse against his tongue, how each blazing shot of ecstasy that shatters through your body wrings more and more wetness from your cunt into your Master’s mouth.

Never. Ever ever ever. Has anyone done something so mind blowingly sexy to you. Nobody. Ever. He’s a virgin, you frantically remember as Obi-Wan purrs softly into the folds of your pussy while it cums all over him.

Your thoughts, young one, you can just barely make out his voice remind you gently, just as gently as he sucks on your clit through the aftershocks, somehow sounding even more aroused than he did before.

After allowing your projection to flicker out of existence with a putter, you’re completely dazed. Incapable of moving regardless of the way he keeps you pinned with the Force long after he pulls away, slowly moves back up your body and waits while you work to regain your bearings. You don’t even want to open your eyes right now, knowing he’s looking down at your peaceful expression while you work to catch your breath. You’re too stupid with pleasure you almost don’t even process the soft touch of something against your lips.

You’re lovely.

The thought is so quiet you don’t even recognize it isn’t your own. Not until he keeps pressing his lips to yours so sweetly, not knowing to do anything else when your mind is too fractured with ecstasy to unconsciously act as his compass like before. Everything is innocent and gentle and not reminiscent of the fact that the robes you’re both wearing are wide open and your mouths tasted of each other even before he kissed you.

Instead of melting into the soft touches, though, they just start to burn you alive, the thick fog of your orgasm clearing more and more with each gentle press of his lips and your need for him steadily growing. He’s kissing you. Master Kenobi is kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds at a time before pulling away, pausing to look at your face each time to make sure your eyes are still closed, before leaning down and carefully pressing his lips to yours again.

The only part you can’t stand is that he won’t even let you move your jaw to kiss him back.

Kiss me, Obi-Wan, you urge desperately through the Force, not wanting to interrupt to speak.

“I am, little one,” he replies between kisses, and the sincerity in his tone tells you he’s not purposefully teasing you. No, this is him kissing you, genuinely, the only way he knows how to.

Let me— you start to struggle in earnest against his hold on you, —please, let me—

The warm breath from his nose puffs softly against your cheek with a quiet little sound from far back in his throat, and then you suddenly gain the ability to move from the neck up.

You immediately part his lips with yours and Obi-Wan pulls back just the slightest bit in response, but your neck lifts up to compensate as you lick deep into his warm mouth. He gasps at the foreign sensation and loses his concentration for a split second, enough for you to break free of it completely. Your hands quickly fly up to cradle his face as soon as they can move and your fingers hook around the thick beard blanketing his sharp jawline, urging him back down into you.

Your legs come up to wrap around his lower back and he sags against your strong will with a needy groan, dropping down closer and obediently keeping his mouth open for you to taste. As soon as he presses his body into yours, his cock strains and drags against your lower stomach, already throbbing hot and leaking precum along the soft hills of your skin.

Maker, you want it but somehow you… you don’t. You just want to savor tonight as long as you physically can, keep holding him and kissing him like this for another few hours at least before you try to take his cock, but he’s unintentionally grinding it against you while his tongue shyly dances with yours, needy and already raring to go in his own timid way.

Do you want it, Master? You finally murmur to him, running your fingers through his hair and gently biting his bottom lip, scooting your hips up to let him rub himself against something better than your tummy. You feel… ready.

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. Your feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, and Obi-Wan finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck.

“Yes, I—” he moans into you skin, “Oh stars, I want it.”

With a gentle wave of your hand, you use the Force to drop his hips down to the proper angle and tilt the head of his cock to line him up perfectly.

And now this is the part you don’t want to rush. This is when you take Obi-Wan Kenobi’s virginity. You’ll savor just being able to remember this for the rest of your fucking life. You’ll see him in Council meetings years from now and be reminded that you’re the only person in the galaxy to know the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room. You’re the only one who will know that sound, that sound is yours, that sound belongs to—

“Padawan,” he grits, hips stuttering into you while you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “your thoughts—”

You groan up at the ceiling and your pussy tightens at the reminder that he can still hear you, but your body is just too bold and desperate for it. Your thoughts begin to flare bright, growing more possessive by the second, and you can’t even wait for him this time. Every single muscle in Obi-Wan’s body goes rigid when you tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow.

It stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you as Obi-Wan instinctively tries to lift off you and away from it, but you’re clinging too tightly to him. Your whole body hovers off the mattress to stay with him.

“You said—” he gasps, “—it wouldn’t h-hurt—oh—”

“It doesn’t,” you groan, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. “Oh, Maker, it feels so fucking good, Obi—feel it—”

His elbows shake where they’re locked and braced against the mattress but he drops his head and holds strong like this while you work your muscles to take him as far as you can from this shameful angle. Your body feels like it’s on fire while you desperately cling to him and the length of your robe brushes against the mattress while you just keep trying to get him deeper inside you—

Suddenly something grabs hard at your hips and tries shoves you downwards and off his cock, but you want it too badly. You summon the hidden strength of your energy and then channel it into your legs where they’re hooked around the curve of his lower back.

Obi-Wan chokes at the unexpected resistance and his elbows buckle, dropping you both down to his forearms with a jolt, but you’re too busy mentally clashing with each other for it. The result is… well, it’s maddening.

Every time your pussy is able to swallow him more than halfway, you pull back and let his energy shove you down his length—but then dig back in right before you drop completely and use the Force to bend your legs and fight the uphill battle to his cock once more. Your Master gasps, beads of sweat gathering at his temples while you fight him with every ragged breath in your body to keep fucking him.

Except—he’s the fighter. And you should’ve known.

You’re no match for the sudden blast of energy from him, easily hinging your legs apart from around his back and then ripping you down off his cock with a wet sound, bouncing back down into the mattress once more.

In order to stop the desperate tears of defeat from coming to your eyes, you immediately clamp them shut and twist your face away from Obi-Wan’s, but he makes a low growl and uses the same ferocious royal blue energy to keep your knees pinned open and wide against the bed.

And then drops his hips and rocks back into you, giving you those last few precious inches of his thickness you weren’t able to get at before. It hits sharp nirvana up inside you with his thighs pressed tight to your hips like this. His name rips itself from your throat while Obi-Wan clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed with the Force while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you.

He’s so gifted, so strong in the Force, he’s able to use your mind as his anchor and give you pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. And in return, you want to do the same to him. You want to read his thoughts, instantly be able to give him everything he never knew he needed—

“You do,” your Master chokes out, “darling, you already—”

Everything inside you surges up at the admission, aching that much harder to hear him, to hear everything the way he can hear you. The tips of your fingers find his temple, slick with sweat, and you press just hard enough to tell him your intent.

“Let me in,” you whisper, wicked arousal swirling tight in your lower muscles as they start to bear down on his cock.

“I—I can’t—” Obi-Wan gasps breathlessly, “I can’t—”

“Open—open the door, Master,” you beg, “please, open th—”

“Fuck,” he cuts you off, his voice rising in pitch while his his hips snap just a little harder against yours and his rhythm falters, “—It’s too good, Padaw—I’m going t-to—stars, are you—are you r-ready?”

Some terrifying, swirling darkness manifests itself deep in your thoughts. It rises up, part of the desperate, hidden subconscious that you’re typically capable of stifling. No, it says, don’t let this be over. Not yet. You don’t want to go to sleep alone, wake up and remember you’ll never have this again. You need there to be a next time, and a time after it.

You try your hardest to push the longing downwards when you recognize it, but your Master is too quick, too talented to deceive when he’s this close to you. He easily plucks it from your mind and expands it, enlarges the chaotic string of thoughts until you feel them pulsing at the edges of your consciousness.

And then Obi-Wan sees it all, immediately playing out in your memories as you helplessly watch on. Every desire you buried for him unearthed, every whimper you stifled with the back of your hand when you touched yourself at night and thought of him amplified. The years of repression, the blind hope that simply ignoring it would make it go away. How hard you worked to deaden the burst of affection that radiated through the Force when you finally saw him after two years apart. The circumstances behind the night you lost your virginity—not a long time ago, as he suggested before, but only just last year. So desperate in your loneliness and longing for his presence that you began routinely sneaking around and fucking other Knights—Guardians with blue sabers whose souls were just marginally close enough to Obi-Wan’s, and you thought of him the whole time. Every time.

But, perhaps, worst of all. The… fantasies.

He sees himself dropping to his knees and congratulating you for passing your trials by burying his tongue inside your warmth and telling you how proud of you he is. He sees you opening his trousers and slowly licking his cock while he meditates, trying to get him to break his concentration. He watches the two of you fucking in every conceivable position, how incredibly ready you always are to take him when he needs it. Most importantly, he recognizes your inherent, blazing desire to drag this out as long as physically possible, to permanently brand every moment in your memory to get you through his impending absence.

And then… then Obi-Wan does something unexpected. Something incredibly uncharacteristic.

You watch as he morphs the fantasies right before your eyes. He's still on his knees with his head between your legs, but now he’s telling you how proud he is of you for negotiating the mysterious, confidential deal that ended the Clone Wars. You’re licking his cock as the ship autopilots itself through the week-long journey back to Coruscant from s’Ziscari, letting him slowly cum in your mouth as he sprawls lazily in the captain’s chair. He’s taking you against the wall of your quarters after a mindless and dull Council meeting; you’re riding him quietly in his bed after lights-out at the temple; he’s rubbing your clit while he sits behind you and advises you on matters concerning your own Padawan you’ll be choosing sometime soon, two fingers deep and squeezing a bared nipple when he whispers in your ear how much he absolutely adores you.

Thoughts that aren’t your own begin to fill the empty spaces of your mind, a lovely pale blue tenor to harmonize gorgeously with the soft green alto of your own consciousness. The resulting color of your combined energies fills your soul with Light, a stunning turquoise of a color you’ve never loved more, one you wish you could live in for the rest of your life.

For every debased thought of yours he sees, he shows you one even more revealing. The way he used to dream of you at night, especially after a close battle where many Jedi and Clones fell, and then he’d wake up in a cold sweat with an erection pulsing feverish and so terribly shameful between his legs. How he tried to shove a pillow down there once to somehow relieve himself of the aching hardness, and then had to rip it away and launch it across the room with the Force when he realized he’d been dragging himself against it and thinking of you.

“I’m gonna—cum—” your voice scrapes across your throat, and you can already sense him throwing his beautiful consciousness out like a net. You match him with what little mental strength you have remaining, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your ankles around his lower back and pulling him down into you.

Obi-Wan’s energy keeps swirling a brilliant aquamarine with yours, presenting his every subconscious thought to you, one right after another, so quick you can barely keep up. How he’ll always be with you, no matter what. How the Maker himself won’t be able to drag him away from you now. How quiet jealousy still tugs at his heart just thinking about the fact that you broke your oath—before you both could do it together.

Everything swells up inside you and you scream when it finally crashes over, your blended signatures sealing themselves together permanently and then detonating in a debilitating shockwave that ripples the air around you. You’re blinded and deafened by its vivid energy, powerful and dazzling every shade between blue and green and Light and Dark, all balanced perfectly together.

You lay there in the gentle afterglow afterwards and feel your pussy still clamping tight to him, pulsing in random intervals while Obi-Wan slouches into you and every muscle in his body trembles with the comedown. Everything is right. Everything in you sparkles.

“Stars, Obi,” you start chuckling up at the ceiling, the sheer joy overwhelming you and bringing tears to your eyes. “Stars, did we just—”

“We just won the Clone Wars, my dear,” he slurs into the crook of your neck while his cock still throbs inside you, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping up his spine, every single thought in his mind completely dead at the moment.

“How long do you… do you think it’ll take before it’s over?” You ask quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair. Obi-Wan groans and buries his face deeper into your neck.

“Few months, maybe. Time for s’Ziscari…”

He stays like that for just a second, and you press your nose to him and breathe him in, marveling at how utterly gorgeous his signature is right now. Clear blue with the lightest touch of teal, rippling like quiet water in a crystal calm riverbed.

Lovely.

You keep softly playing with the hair at his nape, and then quickly wrap your arms around him when he goes to try to brace his forearms next to your shoulders and lift up just the slightest bit.

“Wait, don’t—it’s—” You bite your lip and feel him sink back down into your body without another word, clearly having only attempted it for appearances. “This is good, let’s just… stay for a second.”

He doesn’t respond, he doesn’t even move, and—a few months, you think. A few months of his absence, of wondering where he is but never being able to ask. It burdens your heart, but you understand it’s necessary.

The Council may… grant me a position with a more permanent location after this mission, he responds quietly to your dip in the Force after a moment, too tired to even talk anymore and exhaustion weaving his every thought. On Coruscant.

Your heart pangs with sudden hope, and you know he can feel it. “They would do that?”

I could ask to oversee the s’Ziscari’s assimilation into our ranks, he offers alongside a stifled yawn into your collarbone.

He’d… request that? To be closer to you? But why?

He doesn’t hesitate before offering the words to you simply, not even considering them before they’re the only thought in his mind. Because I care for you more than there are stars in the sky. I always have.

Lovely.

No, no, not even, that’s just. Love. By itself.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmurs softly into your neck, and your soul feels like it grows wings.

You both lay there in silence for a long time after that, and it takes you even longer to realize he hasn’t succumbed to sleep yet, even as the aching fatigue weighs heavy on his back. He’s resisting it, keeping his eyes purposefully open against your neck while yours are blissfully shut.

“Master,” you eventually whisper up at the ceiling, and his cock twitches inside you. Oh stars, you’ll have to remember that. “Go to sleep.”

I have one more confession. The thoughts are slurred and distorted, barely conscious as he desperately tries to outlast the sleep trying to pull him under. I didn’t even want to mention it before because I didn’t know how this was all going to go, but… He blinks slowly against your neck even as his eyes droop, only just a few seconds from passing out with exertion. The Sh’inzith lasts six days, dove.

Your eyes pop open in shock just as his finally fall shut, and Obi-Wan stops fighting.

#WE OUT HERE #obi-wan kenobi x you #Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #smut #fanfic #no-droids

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vennilavee · 3 years ago

Text

sunkissed

pairing: levi x reader (moon/stars universe) ft kaiya and rina

summary: rina peach's beachy birthday weekend!!

warnings: none at all, just a cute summer drabble

word count: 1810

Kaiya has never been very fond of the beach. She is very much like Levi in that sense- they both would prefer to either stay home or go to the park rather than allow the potential for sand to hide in the crevices of their bodies. After all, seagulls are a nuisance and it’s not like you can even see animals other than those pesky birds.

At least according to Kaiya’s speech about why she did not want to go to the beach last weekend. But it was Rina’s birthday, and unlike her older sister…. Rina loves the beach. She loves poking her feet in her sand and feeling the salty ocean water brush over her chubby legs. Her specialty is building sandcastles and she had sneakily asked if she could bury her daddy in the sand.

To which you had said maybe. And Levi had sent you a sneaky glare.

You can vividly remember the first time you brought baby Kaiya to the beach. She’d been a year old, after you and Levi had done extensive research on what sunscreen would be best for Kaiya. She looked so cute that day, in a bright orange bucket hat with blue starfish on it, a blue swimsuit and tiny orange crocs.

It took you nearly fifteen minutes to get out of the house, because you were too busy showering her with kisses and taking photos of her first beach day.

While she had been all smiles on the way to the beach, her expression had quickly turned sour when you had tried putting her feet in the water. Her lips parted ever so slightly to let out a stream of wails and her eyes leaked tears. She was trying her best to avoid her feet touching the water with all of her tiny might.

Kaiya hated the sand even more, if that was possible. She glared at the sand stuck in between her toes and Levi had only looked smugly at you. As if to say ‘I told you so’.

And he had.

But today, Rina is tugging Kaiya’s hand impatiently, wanting to splash around in the water with her big sister. Kaiya is hesitant, warily eyeing the water and looking at Levi and then Rina.

“Oh, fine,” Kaiya sighs, “Only for five minutes.”

“Yay!” Rina cheers and does a little dance before running off towards the water (with Kaiya and Levi on her heels).

You can’t help but watch Levi’s golden skin glisten in the sun as he gets farther away from you. His shoulders flex as he jogs after his girls, and you sigh happily before rubbing sunscreen on your arms.

You had rubbed sunscreen into Rina’s skin while Kaiya had insisted on doing it herself. Levi had wordlessly asked you to rub his back, which you had gladly done.

But not before squeezing his bicep indulgently, because damn, your man looks good.

You brought a book with you to read (and Kaiya had as well. She had stated firmly that she plans to read on the beach during this weekend trip.)

Your gaze travels from your book to immediately zero in on the girls and Levi from the tops of your sunglasses. Rina’s giggles are contagious and filter through the salty breeze, tucking away in your eardrum and you can pretty much hear Kaiya grumbling from all the way out here.

Setting your book aside, you decide to join your family in the water. You adjust your baby blue swimsuit, making sure all of your bits are covered, and make your way over. Your jumbo sized umbrella, beach towels and cooler are close enough that you can keep an eye on it from the water.

“Mama! You come,” Rina beams, reaching for you from Levi’s arms.

“I did, peach,” you reply, scooping her up. She’s getting so big, she’s already four. Rina is no longer the small baby who used to waddle around the house clumsily, she’s now old enough to run through the water and splash her older sister.

Levi pecks your lips in greeting while Kaiya dramatically gags.

“On Rina’s birthday weekend? Ugh, gross,” Kaiya rolls her eyes. Levi splashes her playfully with his foot and Kaiya gasps.

“Wow, watch out, daddy.”

“Ya, daddy, watch out! Watch out!”

“Oh, alright. I surrender,” Levi says, holding his hands up.

“It’s nice out here, isn’t it?” you murmur, nudging Kaiya’s shoulder. She tries to scowl, but she can’t hide her smile from you.

“Yeah, it’s nice. I guess.”

“Oh, you guess? How lucky for us,” Levi teases, ruffling her head of dark hair.

“Daddy! I did my hair and you’re making it messy!” Kaiya pouts, messing her hair up again.

“It not messy!” Rina protests, “It nice!”

Kaiya gives her a toothy smile in response, to which Rina mimics.

“Mama, can we have some drinks? You brought those peach ones, right?” Kaiya asks with hopeful eyes.

“Of course I did. You think I’d forget?”

You and Levi had taken extra measures to hide the cake that you both had baked for Rina’s birthday in the mini-fridge of the cottage that you were staying in for the weekend. In fact, it was Kuchel’s little cottage by the sea- Levi came here as a teenager and a young adult. And you can remember the first time he brought you here, too.

Kuchel will be arriving tomorrow to join the celebration, but tonight it was just your little family.

“Kiki,” you whisper from the corner of the kitchen, “Kaiya. Kaiya!”

“Yes, mama?” she whispers back.

“Will you please get Rina and your daddy and bring them outside to the deck? The cake is ready,” you reply and Kaiya nods, running off to find her sister and her dad.

The small deck has been decorated with shell themed balloons and streamers of gold and green (Rina’s current favorite colors) in the last two hours, while she was napping and while Levi had kept her entertained before that. You can hear her peals of laughter approaching closer and closer and you make sure to have your phone ready when she sees the setup you and Levi created for her-

And she gasps with wide eyes before squealing happily and running around the table decorated with teal lace to stare at the carefully curated mermaid themed cake that took hours for you to finish up.

“Mermaid! For my birfday, mommy?” Rina gasps, bouncing on the heels of her feet.

“Happy birthday, Peachy,” you beam at her and kneel for her to run into your arms for a big hug.

“Thank, mama,” Rina says, “Daddy, Kaiya! Wook cake! Come hug!”

She’s always been very affectionate. Levi says she gets it from you.

“Happy birthday, Rina Peach,” Levi murmurs, kissing her hair, “I’m so happy that you’re happy and healthy.”

Rina only looks at him with your eyes.

“Happy birthday, Peachy peach,” Kaiya says, jumping with her, “We gotta sing Happy Birthday! And then you blow out your candles and make a wish!”

“Make wish! Make wish!” Rina says excitedly, her dark hair shining with the sunset. Kaiya leads the charge in Rina’s birthday songs while Rina smiles brightly at you and Levi. It brings a few tears to your eyes and Levi tugs your fingers in his subtly.

Your girls are getting so big. Levi still remembers when Rina barely fit in the palm of his hands, when she came into the world so quietly. When fear filled his heart.

Seeing Rina blowing out her candles (with some help from Kaiya) makes his heart warm. Kaiya is getting so tall- he can tell she might be taller than him someday soon. Kaiya’s eyes glisten and shine, reflecting bits of his own steel grey when she looks at him.

He’s feeling contemplative. You can tell.

Once you finish with your pictures of everyone, Levi cuts slices of cake for everyone to eat. Rina most definitely stuck her fingers into her slice of cake but now, she is seated in his lap as she tries to feed herself (but ultimately leans back against his chest for him to feed her). Kaiya sits in between you and Levi.

It’s quiet, the sound of the waves against the shore vibrating around you as the close of Rina’s birthday draws close. The summer breeze drifts into your hair and you spot goosebumps on Kaiya’s arms.

“Gonna get some blankets, my little fruits. Be right back,” you murmur, patting her leg.

“Hey! I’m not a fruit!”

By now, the moon is shining brightly in the night sky and the stars along with it, and Rina is fast asleep in Levi’s lap while Kaiya is laying across your lap with tired eyes. You’ve all moved inside the cottage once the summer chill settled in to watch a movie.

Rest assured, you’re dozing off, too.

You hear Levi call your name. You hum in response and open your eyes blearily. It appears you’ve been asleep for longer than expected, because Kaiya is no longer in your lap and Rina is not in Levi’s arms.

“I put the girls to bed,” Levi murmurs, “C’mon. Let’s get to bed.”

“You gonna carry me or what?” you joke, but before you can get your feet on the floor, he scoops you up in his arms and pecks your forehead.

“How romantic,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, alright,” Levi rolls his eyes.

“Did you check the locks?”

“What do you take me for? An idiot?”

“I’m just making sure, okay-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, patting his cheek adoringly, “Hurry, I’m tired and my feet ache.”

“How lucky for me.”

“The girls had fun today,” you murmur, rubbing lazy circles over Levi’s chest, “Did you?”

Levi hums, fingers trailing up and down your arm tiredly. “I like the sea, despite what you think.”

“You don’t like the beach. You hate finding sand in your-”

“Yeah, I hate the beach, but the sea is nice.”

You chuckle, pressing your lips to his throat.

“I’m surprised Peach went to bed so quickly. But she must be tired from running around in the sun with Kaiya all day,” Levi muses.

“Probably. Your mom can run around with Rina and Kaiya tomorrow at the beach. We should do boozy brunch in the meantime.”

“Why? So you can get drunk off your ass from two mimosas while your daughters are in the ocean?”

“Okay, first of all, that was a joke. Second of all, two mimosas? You think that much of me?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I’m going to sleep,” you huff dramatically, “Give me a kiss goodnight.”

Levi gives you a little more than a kiss goodnight when he pecks your lips, licking into your wet, warm mouth until your eyes flutter shut and he presses himself on top of you to envelop you in his embrace.

tags: @simpingmaize @kentobean @captainchrisstan @alrightberries @celestidarling @regalillegal @castellandiangelo @bakuhoesworld

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman #levi fluff #levi ackerman fluff

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crystalirises · 3 years ago

Note

FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).

Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.

But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...

So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.

TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365

“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.

After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.

“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”

No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.

“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”

“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”

“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”

For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.

“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”

“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.

“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”

His only wish was to go home.

The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.

Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”

---

“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”

George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.

After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.

At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.

“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”

The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.

A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.

Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.

He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.

“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”

“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”

George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.

“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.

George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.

“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”

---

Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.

Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.

He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.

When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.

It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.

He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a “little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.

Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.

The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.

The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.

The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.

The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.

The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.

The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.

Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.

Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.

---

It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.

“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”

Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.

“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”

He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.

“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”

The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.

Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.

XD laid him down on the altar.

Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”

“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”

Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”

“I OBJECT!”

---

George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.

“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.

“Let him go, XD.”

“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”

“I’ll take his place.”

The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”

George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”

He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”

Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”

XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”

George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.

Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.

The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.

“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”

=============================================================

Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.

Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).

I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.

The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).

#fundy #dreamxd #dreamwastaken dsmp #fundywastaken #fundXD #wilbur soot #georgenotfound dsmp #georgebur #goddess of death kristen #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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herald-divine-hell · 3 years ago

Note

kitchen counter make-outs

Amayian and Leliana

This is a long one, and a bit spicy, so I am sorry for that, if you did not want it. I did add a fair amount of fluff, though. So I hope that makes it more bearable.

Word Count: 2849 words

Tags: Fluff and Smut (by accident)

Amayian woke to the scent of brewing coffee in the air, and a wash of pale gold in his eyes. The cold feebly sought to seep through the thick timbers of the cottage, but they did not touch him, as brittle and sharp as their icy teeth were. Heat swaddled him—heat from the blankets strewn about his naked body, and the heat that poured from himself, as well. It was almost strong enough to lure him back for a few more moments of sleep. Almost, but not entirely.

When had it last been since such a deep slumber came upon him? More than a few years, he thought. Perhaps well over a decade. At first, it had been hard to do so. His mind was aware of his surroundings even when he wished it not to—heard the scrapping of branches, the whistling of the winds, the howling of wolves; felt the smoothness of the bed, every crinkle of the bed sheets. But more importantly, he felt the tickles of Leliana’s hair upon his chest as she pressed flush against him; heard the soft breaths of sleep leave her as she rested her eyes; smelt the scent of incense and rosewater that melted away the fears that whispered within the depths of his mind. As she has always done, she helped me find sleep. He still wondered what exactly he did to deserve her. Not what I did, no. She chose me. Regardless of what faults I have, she still chose to love me. And she still does, no doubt. She was very adamant that her love only has grown since they decided to reveal their feelings. With what little he could possibly give, it still amazed him. She once said he could always strive to make her smile, and that would be more than enough. Amayian decided that he will do so, and more. It was the least that he could possibly give, least what she possibly deserved.

Getting up was harder than he thought. The blankets and coverlets slipped off his nude figure as he rose. The chilling air trailed over the length of his broad back with scrapping fingers, light gooseprickles rising at their wake. But beyond a faint brush, he felt little of it, in truth. By magic or by merely being accustomed to such temperatures, Amayian paid it barely little mind. Though, he would still have to put something on. Walking around nude, even around his wife, would probably be in poor taste. He had at least some sense to know that.

Tugging up some loose woolen black trousers, Amayian slipped out of the bedroom. The coffee scent grew stronger, wafting through the corridor in strengthening rolls. Alongside the scent came warmth in strolls, melting away any lingering coldness as it swept over him. At the same time, it tugged at his eyelids, murmured for him to slip back beneath the covers and sleep for a few more minutes, or hours. For the first time in a year, he was tempted to do so; and it felt strange to find that temptation so strong and sweet, the underlying fear of being ravished by any wandering wolf or bandit swept away from his limbs, loosened and crumbled away from his heart. Not even with the Inquisition he had ever felt so safe, though he knew it had stemmed from there. Perhaps even earlier, with the Warden, during the Blight. Funny, how one could feel so safe, when in reality they were not; that death was always around the corner, waiting before them, and trotting after you from behind—ever encircled by death, but finding a bonfire nestled at the center, to rest, and throw off the darkness, even if it was for a little while.

And now, he could do it for as long as he lived. Amayian hoped he could, at least. With Leliana, and the children.

That brought a smile to his lips, as he trod through the hall, tittered to the left down another passway, into the main living area. A burning fire nestled into a curved alcove made of smoothed gray stone, rounding as an arch at the top where a mantle laid with numerous paintings. Along the sides of the hearth were decorated spirals of flowers and veins, melding at the center a flame surrounded by rays of light. Trails of smoke buffed whisply up into the chimney, staining gray with orange. Two wide windows cut into smaller squares by crossing wooden beams, glistening with white-silver frost knitting along the glass, hung at either side of the hearth, allowing pale-gold and silver light to stream through.

A light tapping of silver against porcelain came at his side, a whistle almost swallowed by the murmuring crackles of flames. As Amayian turned his gaze, his breath caught. Always it seemed to catch whenever Leliana was before him. This time was no different.

The glow of fire crowned her copper hair in sheen of amber, like a veil of dawn’s sunlight, red and gold and orange. Light flowing through windows lightened her skin, drew out the scattering of freckles along the lengths of her arm, swarming the small of her neck, peppering across her shoulders and the hints of back that was revealed from the large shirt she wore. One of his, no doubt. It fell well past her knees, pooling almost at her ankles. The shoulders were too broad, hanging loose off a shoulder, sloping down to reveal a slight, freckled-shouldered.

He did not know when his feet took him up to her, but before he knew it, his arm was around her slender waist, his lips laying a kiss onto that pale, gleaming shoulder. He felt his breath catch, drawn tight, as her shoulders grew rigid and her back straightened. Only for a moment, however. Just as quickly, he felt her muscles slack, her body slipping close until they were pressed flush together, her head tilted to give him more access. The worried within his limbs, to presume too much and that he had angered her, slid away like oil off a table covered in water. The scent of rosewater and incense washed over him, the lingering drags of cold from the night and all the lumbering weariness of sleep melted away; though warmth filled him as easily, overfilling him, shrouding his mind in a rose-tinted mist.

Simply being near Leliana was enough, and yet she allowed him to access more, to peak into the light that dwelt within her heart. Sometimes he felt as if it was wrong, that he should lock it back and push it into her hands, that she would be wasting it on him—

No. She chose you. Everyday it seemed he had to remind himself of that, and everyday he was more grateful for that; and everyday, he cradled that light within her heart, and thought it was far more brilliant than the stars and as warm as any sun.

Amayian kissed her neck again, stroking a circle into her stomach. “Good morning,” he mumbled against her skin, filling his limbs with her warmth, his mind with her scent, peace falling upon him like rushing water cascading off his body. He heard her giggle, and thought it was the song of the first spring wind coming out from the heart of winter.

A slender pale hand rose, lightly freckled, a glint of silver and violet flashing in the morning light, and fingers prayed over the stubble of his jaw, stroking his jawline, and the scar that followed along the curve of his neck, up a little behind his ear. “Good morning,” she said, in a voice as light as chiming bells. “I made you some coffee.”

“You didn’t have to.” He began to say, though Amayian could not keep the smile off his lips.

“Yes, I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.” A fondness was in her voice, though it was sharpened with a strain edge. His heart leaped in fear, but he settled it down with a hard grapple, silencing its whines.

Struggling to hold the thumping in his chest, he whispered a soft, “I’m sorry.” And as he was about to draw his arms back, Leliana whirled around, facing him with a light smile on her lips and fire in her eyes. Brown-twined blue eyes flared with hints of gold, sparkling like gems beneath a sea.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, though she was forced on her tip-toes. “And why should you be sorry?” asked Leliana, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes a touch. As he was about to speak, a finger swiftly rested upon his lips, and lightly tapped before beginning to idly trace over the scar that cut over his upper lip. “You needed your rest, and I wanted to return all the things you’ve done for me, one small one at a time. You do not need to apologize for asking, however, or feel worried that you may be using me.” She shook her head, her hair stirring with a light bounce, pale light shivering over the strands like rippled sun-lit water. “You aren’t. You being worried speak otherwise.” And she smiled, more broadly, teeth revealed, in that endearing way that made his mind mush and his heart seeking a way out of his chest with the way it hammered.

His lips were upon her, capturing the soft gasp that turned into a moan. He lifted her easily, resting her onto the counter, and slipped between her spread legs. A hand slipped behind his neck, onto the small of his neck, playing with the locks there. The other raised up, stroking his cheek, tracing scars that litter his face. Warmth rushed to his head, blossoming over his cheeks, as his lips melded against hers. Sparks flitted through the darkness of his sealed eyelids, capturing the softness of her lips, the breathness of little moans that escaped between them every so often, the feel of her hips in his hands as they strolled along the length of her sides.

He pulled away, the warmth covering his face in a heavy blush, and smiled slightly. “Sorry.”

Redness shrouded her cheeks, drawing out the freckles that splattered over her nose and cheeks lightly. Amayian fought the desire to lay kisses all over them. He could not help it. Leliana had a very kissable face. But she whacked his arm lightly. “Amayian…” Sighing, she shook her head again, though her smile still lingered on her lips. “You may repay me for that apology with another kiss,” she declared, grinning up at him, her legs drawing him further in by tightening around his waist.

“As the Most Holy declares,” he said, unable to keep off the smile on his lips, as if he wanted to. Another kiss took her retort, this one more delicate, more searching. He felt her hips roll against him, a whine leaving her lips as one hand slipped down, felt smooth skin against his calloused fingers. She wore no smallclothes, and he felt a fire spark in his stomach, stirring his loins.

Amayian drew her bottom lip back with his teeth, allowing Leliana to catch her breath. For a moment or two, his finger slid up and down the length of her folds, gathering wetness that slick his fingertip. Leliana caught her breath; then released it hagged. Her shoulders spiked up, her head lolling back, and his lips were upon that pale swath of neck, laying kisses here, faint bites there.

Vibrations pulsed against his lips, his ears tickled by her moans. As he slid a long finger inside her, he felt her walls shiver and tighten around him. He smiled more at that, pressing another kiss to a new mark that slowly turned the red skin a faint purple.

Rocking his finger back and fro, he littered kisses upward, lingering for a moment at her chin, before trailing along the gentle curving line of her jaw. Amayian took in her moans, the feeling of her body pressed against him, his hand trapped between the soft, hard, and warm hold of her hand; he took it in, and more. The way Leliana’s eyes fluttered and the corners crinkled into wrinkles, brows furrowing, and soft, bruised lips shuttering. He watched as her pale cheeks redden further, watched as the sunlight twirled her hair into a crown of fire, ripples of amber and gold—flowers amongst the snow.

Amayian kissed her again, captured her moans, pressed here and relented there, following a dance he would dance for a thousand years if he could. His heart was in his ears, yet it dimmed next to the soft sounds released against his lips.

His thumb grazed a ghost touch over her clit, and Leliana thrusted her hips forward, whining once more. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips, striding his other hand up along the flaring of her hip, the dip of her waist, up until his hand slipped into her amber-flamed locks. He pressed harder against her, raising his speed and slowing it from time to time. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Laying kisses on the other side of her jaw, he trailed down, leaving marks behind and memorizing marks from before. He felt her pulse against his lips for a moment, sucked another hickey there, and then descended; ever as his finger rocked back and forth. He slipped another in, and heard Leliana’s breath catch. Another note that lifted high before falling back to the gentle rhythm. “Amayian...Amayian...please..”

He unraveled the ties of his shirt, began to leave marks and kisses behind upon her breasts. It pooled off her shoulders, breasts bare for the world. Goosebumps riddled her skin. Delicately, he cupped a breast. His hand was large enough to cover it entirely. Scarred palms gently squeezed and molded the one breast, as he took the other’s nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue and scrapping it faintly with his teeth.

Her breath came in shaky, trembling gasps. Every so often, a moanful whisper of his name flowed past his lips, twined with curses in Orlesian and Common Tongue. He smiled around her nipple, before returning the same treatment to the other. Leliana’s nipples had always been exceptionally sensitive. The first time he had noticed it, he had overwhelmed her; until she uttered their safe word. He could not help it. He so enjoyed hearing her moans, hearing and seeing her relax before his eyes...because of him. Making her release was also a nice side benefit as well.

Making her release, just as she did then. He felt her soak his fingers, her walls throbbing in tightness and releasing then and there. He slowed his pace, whispering soft words against her skin, letting her ride out her orgasm.

With eyes upon her—Leliana’s own, bearing down with that heated fire, dazed with mist as they were—he slipped his soaked fingers out, and just as he was about to fill his mouth with her taste, she latched down a hand on his wrist. Drawing it slowly up to her mouth, Leliana slipped it into her mouth, moaning at her touch, a curl of a smile on her lips. He throbbed in his breeches, suddenly finding the loose trousers too tight. But he wanted a taste all the same.

“I wanted to taste you,” he said, struggling not to growl. He did not think he fought against it well.

“I could say the same about you.” Her eyes bore down on him, on his knees, rolling down the expanse of his broad chest, focusing on the forest of dark hair on his chest, a scar like a river cutting from his right shoulder down to his left hip. Amayian watched as she licked her lips. “I want to taste you as well.”

“You will,” he murmured, suddenly shy and flushed. The way Leliana stared at him….with so much desire...and love...and adoration. Maker, he did not deserve her. “Let me do it first, though. Please?” Hastily, he added, “If that is alright?”

That smile grew more, more fond and more loving than that wicked smile she had when she took his fingers into her mouth. He still felt their phantom touch around them. “You may. You’re too endearing, you do know that right?”

He felt silly for smiling so broadly at that, but Amayian did. “Thank you.” He felt her fingers begin to stroke his hair, massaging it softly. It made him smile, growing the blush on his cheeks, as his lips began pressing kisses to the scars littering her thighs, faintly stroking it with a brush.

And when his lips were finally between her legs, he felt her thighs tremble on his shoulders, press against his ears, drawing him closer. And closer he got, close to the sun of his life, knowing he may be burned

But for Leliana, that was okay. Amayian knew she would never hurt him. She never could. She was the fire, nestled in that heart of winter.

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eirist · 4 years ago

Text

Winter Whimsies ❄️

CUSTOM MADE

Vignette #: 3

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: Vignette for the ZoNa Holiday 2020 at @zonamievents in Tumblr. December 18 theme: Ornaments / Traditions. Well, I honestly don’t think it’s a vignette anymore. And I’m still aiming to finish all themes even if the event has ended. It’s still holidays after all.

Summary: All in all… they pretty much started a weird tree decorating tradition. And Zoro, as usual, doesn’t want to be a part of it.

The Mugiwara Christmas tree stood in all its glory inside the Sunny’s library.

It was the crew’s first time in two years to put one up. Luffy was enthusiastic with the idea. And with Chopper who was just as excited at the prospect of enjoying the festivity that comes along with the said tree… there was no room to say no.

So off Zoro went—along with Franky—to scour the island for a suitable tree to cut down and use. Brook and Jinbei undertook the task of preparing the library. Nami and Robin headed to town to buy decorations and do some more shopping while Sanji busied himself preparing the Christmas dinner. Luffy, Usopp and Chopper took turns stealing some of the cookie dough whenever the chef’s back was turned.

Trimming the tree was chaos unfolding. The moment Zoro was able to situate it in the library, an argument started on what ornaments to adorn the tree as all of them wanted to have their own specific contribution dangling from the evergreen branches—ranging from normal festive baubles, edible confections to weird knick-knacks.

And that is how Nami and Robin found them when they arrived back on the ship. The navigator immediately hit the roof and the boys (including the older ones), trembled in fear.

When she stared at them with blazing eyes and stated in a tone as cold as the winter island that they all better stop because tree trimming was her and Robin’s job... Usopp immediately volunteered that he and the boys would be the ones to decorate the outside of their ship... far away from the fuming map maker.

He high-tailed it out of the library, miraculously dragging the others with him while Nami threatened that if they do an awful job… she will charged them with all the shopping expenses plus interest.

So the two girls busied themselves with the Christmas tree as the others hang wreaths, garlands and boughs of holly in the library, galley and other parts of the Sunny. Franky and Jinbei then suspended some ice lights on the decks and yellow string lights in the rooms, giving the whole area a more festive ambience.

As more and more Christmas ornaments and decorations were put up on the Sunny… the more excited the crew became.

When Nami and Robin finished decorating the tree, Franky added some string lights to it as well. They all hold off placing the star on the top as they reserved that honor for Luffy and Chopper.

They were putting some finishing touches in the tree and fixing the presents underneath it when Brook walked up to them, humming as he nonchalanty hung additional ornaments on the branches that looked like miniature pirates wearing little red, Santa hats—with hair colors oddly similar to the crews’.

“Brook that is cute!” Nami gushed as she stared at a familiar orange-haired pirate. “Where did you get them?”

“Yohohoho! It’s a secret Nami-san.”

“Fine. Keep it to yourself!”

“Perhaps if you show me your—”

“Not in this life or the next!”

“It’s really charming Brook,” Robin interjected as she studied the mini pirates while Nami smacked the musician with her Clima-tact. “Good find.” She touched one that looks just like her.

“Yohohoho! Thank you Robin-san!”

The sound of Sanji’s voice, crooning for his beloved ladies pulled their attention away. He had baked some Christmas cookies and prepared tea for the girls’ snack time.

With the Christmas tree done and decked out they decided it was time for a break.

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

When Nami stepped inside the library later that afternoon she was surprised to see that the Straw Hats’ Christmas tree got additional decorations.

Aside from the mini pirates Brook has placed earlier, there were also the cardboard drawings of their faces that Usopp made back in Punk Hazard when Trafalgar Law shambled half of the crew and some flowers from Robin’s flower bed. There intricately-made trinkets obviously made by Franky and transparent Christmas balls with little sea kings inside which looks like Jinbei’s.

Nami’s lips twitched a little. She had just left Luffy and Chopper stringing popcorns and cranberries under the direction of Sanji. Aside from the candy canes they wanted to place on the tree, the blond cook also suggested they make an edible garland to circle it… much to the reindeer and rubber man’s delight.

And since pretty much everything eatable hung on the tree will not go to waste—thanks to Luffy—Nami decided to affix some of her precious mikans on it. She carefully wrapped red ribbons around them so she can string it on the branches for all to enjoy after tonight’s dinner.

A loud snore interrupted her as she was beginning to hang the fruits.

With brows furrowed, she slowly peered behind the tree and was surprised to find their swordsman snoozing against the wall, hidden behind the all that green, without a care in the world.

Was he here all the time?!

Damn the man unwittingly camouflaged himself using the Christmas tree!

She stared at him for a good few seconds, pondering if she should wake him up.

But she remembered that it was Christmas and that she promised to play nice and that Zoro was the one reason why they currently have a tree on display.

“Tch! Guess this is your contribution then, you lazy ass,” she muttered as she continued with what she was doing.

There was silence. Before she heard a ‘hmph’ and grumble.

“Yeah… you try lugging that back here while your idiot companion decides to play in the snow.”

Nami rolled her eyes even if he cannot see her. “Fine,” she groused. “I’m letting you off the hook since you did a good job with this tree.”

“Tch.”

She tilted her head slightly to peer at him again. “Just so you know. Everyone have something distinctively theirs in this tree.”

Zoro studied the tree for a moment before scoffing. “That’s overkill.”

Nami glared at him. “It’s called Christmas spirit idiot!” She frowned as she hung the last two of her mikans. “If it’s not too much for you, maybe YOU can also join us in this activity!”

“Maybe it is too much for me.”

“Ugh,” she groaned out in frustration. With her hands on her hips she glowered at him. “Really Zoro?”

“Yeah.”

Nami scowled. Sometimes his lone wolf persona grates her nerves. Especially at times like these when the whole crew is involved and he’s acting like he doesn’t give any rat’s ass about it.

Still she doesn't wanna start a fight with him today of all days. Instead, she just sighed and settled on glowering at him. “Just get your dumb self in the galley in half an hour. If it's not too much for you to join your crew for dinner."

There was a bite in her tone. Then she swiveled around to leave him, ignoring the wondering gaze he was now giving her.

All in all… they pretty much started a weird tree decorating tradition. And Zoro, as usual, doesn’t want to be a part of it.

And that makes her feel a bit disappointed.

Yet when he didn't appear when they started the Christmas dinner, she was the one who went to check if he was still snoring in the library.

Why her? The hell she even knows.

Maybe because the others are already busy celebrating in the galley that she was the only who noticed that he wasn't there?

She opened the library door. The lights on the tree were already lit. Franky or Usopp may have switched it on. It looks more beautiful even if it was decorated with random trinkets, baubles and food the crew decided to hang on it.

Yet the star still needs to be placed on the top—which Luffy and Chopper will do after dinner and before they start exchanging presents.

To her surprise, Zoro was still where she had left him earlier.

She strode towards him to wake him, when she accidentally snagged something from the tree, causing it to fall.

She stared at the object quietly sitting on the floor. It looked like paper folded into a shape of...

She picked it up and studied it.

A bird?

"Paper crane."

She spun around and saw Robin standing in the doorway.

"In Wano, it means good luck," Robin explained as she approached her, lightly touching it with one finger. She smiled at Nami. "It also means a wish for someone to get their heart's desire."

Nami just stared back at her amazed.

"And there are ten of them." Robin observed, eyes crinkling with mirth at the tree before returning her gaze at her. "One for each of us."

Nami's eyes settled back at the crane in her hand.

Robin chuckled. "Thoughtful isn't it Nami?"

"I guess..."

The older woman gave her shoulder an affectionate pat. "See you two at the galley." She nodded at the still sleeping Zoro.

Nami watched her leave before shifting her attention again at the green-haired man, still slumbering peacefully against the wall, the red scarf she wrapped around his neck earlier hiding the lower part of his face.

He may appear cold and uncaring, but sometimes looks can be deceiving.

She crouched down beside him. Leaning forward she kissed his exposed nose.

"Not bad Zoro. Not bad."

Addendum: I went and tweaked the paper crane legend a bit. Though I honestly think it’s not really that far from the original one.

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona vignettes #zoro nami fanfiction #ZoNaHoliday2020

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alias-b · 4 years ago

Text

The Shape.

Summary: It's Halloween, everyone's entitled to one good scare. Being blind, Marnie McClane considers herself scared of very little. Few things worse than the polite pity she gets from the neighborhood. A misunderstanding leads to a conversation she’ll never forget while she recalls an old friend.

A/N: I’m not back, I might return Monday but idk I guess when I’m down, I write things for slashers that interest very few in my circle. Posting anyways :( I made this in 2 hrs lol

Hope this is enjoyed either way, just trying to get my drive back. Thanks all!! ((TW: Shockingly none!!! Light threats of danger maybe?? No smut sorry)) Let me know what you think and I promise to reply when I return to tumblr for good. xoxo

Halloween, 1963

“Trick-or-treat!”

Always followed with shy giggles and little, outstretched hands.

“Take as many as you like.” A bowl was pushed forward with a colorful selection. Marnie McClane tilted her head to hear the rustling. Parents chided so ‘thank yous’ followed.

“You’re all very welcome.”

“Richie, don’t take that many!” A voice sparked.

“Ah, mom, she said to take a bunch. She can’t see me!”

“Richie!”

“It’s alright, we bought too much this year.” Marnie listened to footsteps across cobblestone.

“Richie, don’t run too far, young man!”

“I won’t!”

“Sorry about him. Just at that age. You know?” Mrs. Castle approached the porch Marnie had seated herself on.

“Kids.” A light shrug followed.

“Who did your decorating?”

“Dad and I before they left for my Aunt’s.” Eerie blue eyes shifted a few directions. No focused on any impossible blur in the black.

“And...you’re alright here by yourself?”

Marnie tried not to sour. The nosy neighbors meant well.

“Yes. Get around fine same as always.” She plucked up a cane next to her and tapped the ground.

“Oh, well, that’s good. Pretty costume.”

“Mom said Red Riding Hood was in this year so I let her dress me. Honestly, I think she just wanted me to stand out in the bright red cape if I decided to wander.” Marnie paused to greet another small round of kids. Smiling to offer the packed bowl.

“My, ah, nephew is visiting. He’s smart. So handsome. Studying to be a lawyer. You’ll like him. I’ll send him by. Just some good company.”

Marnie twitched a smile. Story of her life. Everyone trying to set her up with nice, young men. Pity dates for the blind girl.

“Great.” She replied flatter. “So nice.”

“You two will hit it off, I just know it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an impatient boy gesturing- I’m coming, Richie! ...Enjoy your Halloween dear.”

“You too, Mrs. Castle.” Marnie heard the wind rustling.

Chatter and footsteps. Distantly, birds flapped overhead. It was easier to greet trick-or-treaters from the porch steps. Cold didn’t bug her during long autumn days. Always nice to feel wind on her face.

Not like she could watch much on television.

The night lingered and candy ran low.

Marnie picked up her thin cane and tapped around. Heard some animal rustle violently in the bushes. Probably a raccoon, they loved to eat the pumpkins. She moved back up the steps so she could put the bowl inside and shut the porch light off after feeling for the switch. When her parents weren’t home, she kept the house pitch black.

She didn’t need the lights.

Shifting back to the porch stairs, Marnie crouched down and reached about for the pumpkin sitting there. Lifting it poised to blow out the candle. The flicker of warmth touched her expression

A ragged breath cut into the space. Near the open gate. Made her perk. Dark hair fell over her shoulders and she exhaled. Leaving the candle on to bathe her face.

“Hello?” Feet shifted over concrete, making a slow scrape. She pressed her lips together. “I suppose you’re here to tell me it’s against the rules to snuff the lights in a pumpkin before Halloween ends.”

No reply.

“Well, I suppose I can leave them on just this once. Can’t upset the Halloween spirits.”

Nothingness.

“Are you Mrs. Castle’s lawyer nephew? Forgive me, she didn’t tell me your name.” Marnie sat there on the porch. Heard the steps get closer. “Silent type.”

The Shape stood over her in darkness. Figured the nephew was the man he’d left in the bushes a few moments ago. The street around them hushed as more houses turned off their porch lights. Marnie stood with the pumpkin under one arm. Face glowing.

“Name’s Margaret. McClane. Marnie for short. How do you do?” She extended one hand out into the wind. Felt the cool breeze kiss it. A broad palm lifted, decided against it, and dropped.

All she heard was the tapered breathing. Even like a heartbeat.

“Shy sort.” She tucked hair away and sat down to put the carved face aside. “Well, you walked all this way. I didn’t hear a car. You can sit if you like.” Bright eyes stared ahead into nothingness. The Shape moved finally. Sat upon the creaking porch steps. “Studying to be a lawyer. I thought you’d talk my ear off. It’s okay, I can talk enough for both of us. Like a guessing game, I like those. Probably my condition. Most of my life is a guessing game.”

She tilted her head to laugh softer. A too sweet sound.

“It’s alright to laugh with me.” She clutched her cane in one hand and placed the other on her knee. “Good sense of humor makes the day a little easier.”

He might of grunted but she couldn’t quite tell.

“You’re already thinking I talk too much. I get it a lot.” Marnie swallowed. Sounded a little harder. “We can get one thing straight. I’m blind. I’m not shy. Not helpless. If I need help, I have a perfectly good voice and I use it. I know it annoys people, but they’re too polite. So, if you’re the polite, pitying type, I think it’s best you continue on elsewhere.”

He didn’t move. She inhaled the air. Metal. Grass. Dirt. Earthy-like.

“Very well.” Marnie’s lips lifted again. They sat there together. A dark fall night with a glow from the moon and stars twinkling.

Marnie could imagine them. Although she figured the stars were multi-colored like Christmas lights and the moon was a blob of a shape. Moving as a lava lamp would.

“I lost it when I was young. My eyesight. I have these memories like maybe I saw what a cat looked like or my mother’s face. But, it’s probably all wrong now.” She leaned back like she was admiring the moon. Basking in its light. Thoughtfully, she recalled something else. “You remind me of a friend I had. He was quiet too. We fit together. He spoke very little and I too much. He didn’t seem to mind. Like you.”

A head turned finally to study her behind a rubber mask.

“You know, that old stereotype, that all blind people wanna do is touch faces...it’s all wrong. Everyone thinks I want to, I hate it when they force my hand up without asking.”

He puffed.

“Exactly, it’s so rude. I don’t often touch faces. I don’t like to.” She placed her cane’s handle under her chin to hum. “But, this boy I knew...I asked to touch his face. Everyone used to call him angelic-like. Said he had the face of an angel. I wanted to know what an angel’s face felt like.”

Marnie laughed again like it was silly.

“Though, I suppose I had nothing to compare it to.” She paused and he felt for a moment that she was looking through him. Burning into the chill of stone and black. Slowly, Marnie scooted closer. Not enough to touch him, but enough to feel body heat vibrate. Her chest shuddered.

He didn’t move. Hard and rigid like marble.

“Can I touch your face?” She lifted one hand. “I just want to know if you’re smiling or frowning. Trying to figure out if I should shut my damn mouth.” Extending as steady as she could. A slash cut through the air.

Marnie gasped out.

Fingers curled firm around her wrist. Another shaky breath. One they shared.

“Sorry, if I offended you.” Softening, she stayed there. Heard his lungs vibrate.

A rustle followed. Knuckles twitched as he closed the distance. Let her draw lines up his jaw that was smooth and angled carefully. Face sculpture just so. Maybe by angels.

When he couldn’t handle more. He pushed up from Marnie. Pulled his mask down. Felt the warmth of her touch trapped under it.

“Leaving?” She jumped up, dropping her cane aside. A hand went out and missed it. The footsteps stopped at her gate. Returned before her cane was pushed aimlessly at her palms. She paused. “Thank you.”

A glint of a blade met the moonlight. He pointed it at her heart while she stood oblivious. One plunge, it would have eased into her like butter. A stray, dark lock shifted over her eye.

“Maybe you’ll tell me your name next time we meet. I hope.” Marnie hushed. Unaware. Unafraid. One finger awkwardly shifted the hair from her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone in the process. She leaned into it and remembered something else. “Michael.”

He froze. Blade still poised. Tremoring, he pulled back from her face.

“That was my friend’s name.” She sounded out the syllables mournfully. “He changed. Went away. That’s what they told me. I always wished he grew comfortable enough to speak his thoughts. That’s why I’m not shy. No use hiding behind masks. Except on Halloween, I suppose. I’ve never touched an angel before, but maybe you’re close. It can be another guessing game.”

Marnie smiled kindly down the blade, chest sinking.

“If not, that’s fine too.” She said, catching his hand when it came down. Both their palms were chilled. He thought to slash forward. To crush her. Whatever was left of the boy with a face of an angel turned him back to marble. Delicately, Marnie placed one careful kiss upon his knuckles. Burned it there for the rest of his life.

There was a pause while he slipped away.

Before she heard the steps retreating.

“Will I see you again?” She chuckled at herself. Touching her lips. “Sorry, the phrase always makes me laugh.” Marnie went up her porch, cane clicking as she felt for the doorknob. Michael Myers stopped at the gate. Saw her shifting in shadows to open the door. “Will you come back?

Lips opened to sound out a single word against the cool, night air. Neither of them heard what is was. Just the breath that cast with it. Marnie’s lips pressed simply.

She bid The Shape a lovely goodnight and went inside. Left him there. Taking what lingered of the past with her. Leaving him the burn of a kiss he would never forget.

#Michael Myers #Michael Myers x OC #Halloween #Halloween 1978 #Michael Myers Imagine #Tony Moran is a babe #that's the moral here #mine #writing #Marnie McClane #Michael x marnie

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windup-dragoon · 4 years ago

Text

【Ｇｏｄｄｅｓｓ】

Word Count: 5033

Hien x Kiri

[[ Water Goddess AU ]]

Waterlilies

Drifting. Silence. Shadows.

She hates it here. It feels empty yet her stomach churns and her heart aches.

Helpless. Lost. Alone.

She yearns for the days of color. The sounds of daily life to fill her ears. A sweet song she wasn’t aware existed ‘til now.

This world, so bleak and abysmal. It would swallow her one day but she prays that it will not be so soon. She begs the powers that be to listen to her silent plea. To rescue her from the darkness that stretches so eagerly towards her. Reaching, always searching.

And then there is light. Strings that glitter and ripple; a web of fractured light and curtains falling across her face in swaths of warmth and life. She recognizes the patterns and is filled with relief.

Drifting. Silence. Light. Hope.

She exists beneath the waves, the womb of all life. It is here that she feels safe and yet her heart yearns for more. The ocean is vast and full of life... yet she is alone. Beneath the tides, between worlds of light and darkness, life and death... she mourns her loss.

It was beginning to feel as if the young prince may never see his goddess again. Hours gave way to full night and day rotations, so many that he dare not ask again for a count or suffer more ache in his chest than he could bear. Soroban, the Kojin who haunted the sunken library was his only form of company and even then the grand old tortoise mused at how impatient men could be. And while he did make an effort to speak with Leviathan, the great beast only spoke in a melody he was unable to comprehend and the occasional unsatisfied hiss.

“It is bewildering,” Remarked the prince one afternoon (or perhaps morning?) while thumbing through pages of century old books, taking pause to admire drawings or squinting at passages his eyes could not make heads nor tails of. “Why would a goddess have need for such a collection?”

Soroban, nose buried in a book of his own choosing, chuckled. “Collection?”

“Aye,” He nods in affirmation, his jaw set while re-shelving the old leather bound tome where he had found it. “While most, or at least a grand majority, belong to this forgotten civilization; written in a language I do not recognize, there are still few that I can discern. Children’s books of fairy tales and ship logs. Are these all belongings she has plundered?”

Upon his first evening spent in the library, when Soroban ushered him to a bedroom to rest, he had made his first of many discoveries about the sea goddess. The bedroom, perhaps once a study room for scholars to read in peace, had been decorated with tattered but fine silk curtains; the bedding salvaged pelts most certainly crafted from creatures on land and not of the sea. Even the garments he was gifted to replace his water logged garb seemed out of place. A collection of lost treasure.

Night after night he returned to rest among the familiarity of land culture, comforted by the portraits of long since gone people, staring up at a ceiling which had been decorated with jewels that mimicked a night sky when the candles burned low. And when he roused from slumber, the anxious feeling in his stomach waking him with concern for the goddess, he found ways to distract himself, namely picking through a personal shelf of assorted books and regarding their contents.

He had half expected the written text to be in a language he did not know, as all the other tomes that filled the library, but to his surprise, the prince was greeted with characters he could recognize at a mere glance! Small books, the leather soft from usage, were often ship logs or other such documents. Occasionally he stumbled across books with only beautiful ink drawings on each gilded page. All spanning from depictions of a ships mechanism to more fanciful things like pixies dancing, painted in the most vivid colors he had ever seen.

But only one book in particular caught his attention. After discovering it, tucked away beneath the bedding he had slept upon, he could only laugh. A book on how to dance. He found it humorous that it had taken several nights and several days to realize just who the bedroom belonged to.

“As a prince, ya’ have’ta attend parties, yea?” She had inquired one evening after swearing an oath to him. He remembered it so well, the night sky caught in her eyes as the ship cut silently through the still tide.

The question had taken him by surprise but he answered with a grin. “Aye. Lavish parties with horribly uncomfortable attires and even worse company. It’s all formality and severely unappealing. Why do you ask?”

“Parties are suppose’ta be fun. Ya’ must be doin’ it wrong.” The goddess laughed but not her typical bark of laughter. This was soft, amused and interested.

Hien leaned further on the banister and tilted his head in hopes of catching a glimpse of her smile. “Oh? And what part do you believe should be fun? Sure, the wine and food are not always bad but beyond that, I am afraid I do not see what fun there is to be had.”

It was then that she turned to him, stars aglow in her eyes and moonlight tangled in her hair. All at once he had forgotten that the woman standing before him was a Goddess; she almost seemed childlike as she graced him with a smile. “What ‘bout dancin’? And the music!”

If only he had been wiser, he thought now with a chuckle. He might have noticed sooner her deep seeded curiosity for the world outside her own.

Soroban, setting aside his book at long last, lifted darkened eyes to the young prince. Beside him sat a heap of untouched books, taken from various nooks and levels of the library; Hien had witnessed it himself as Soroban climbed creaky wooden ladders to pluck books at random from their shelves and bring them here to add to his growing collection. It was from this very pile that the Kojin now sifted through.

Hien curiously turned to watch, abandoning whatever spine of a tome he had been trying to pronounce for the last couple minutes. A soft hum and a nod later Soroban offers the prince a plain looking book. The cover had been lost or removed, now bound only with corded leather, the pages soft from wear.

“I pray I can read this,” Hien mused with a chuckle as he graciously accepted the book. It was small in size and only a couple dozen pages long.

“Perhaps if you try hard enough?” Soroban returned with a laugh of his own. Hien couldn’t help but to feel this was a ruse to keep the prince busy so the Kojin could continue his studies in peace. “Take a candle with you, there’s an alcove on the first floor with another book for you to reference there.”

The prince smiled and thanked Soroban with a bow before doing as he was directed. He was most certainly being gotten rid of.

For all the days spent wandering the library with Soroban, Hien could still only scarcely manage the vast layout of the building. Several floors high it rose, a literal tower on the ocean floor. Each tier circled around the entrance, overlooking the fountain and the glittering jeweled motifs of Leviathan. Every floor had its own small pocket chambers; some filled with long since withered plants, perhaps a garden for scholars to read within? Others, Hien had discovered out of pure curiosity, had been repurposed for various reasons; more hidden treasures like scavenged ballgowns and small ornate chests filled with romantic jewelry for high class citizens; another a storage for spices plundered from trading ships. But none had been the alcove Soroban made mention of. But then again...

Hien leaned on the marble banister, unafraid of the dust that now caked the front pocket of his borrowed clothing; he was still three floors too high. His legs ached from trudging down staircase after staircase, in some cases having to shimmy across broken ledges where wooden stairs had rotted away from the moisture. Giving himself a moment of peace, the prince looked once more to the foyer of the library, sunken as it was.

He often found himself staring at the fountain from which ever floor he currently resided on. Water still babbled from the statues vase, casting ripples across the water at her feet. No matter how he stared, no matter the angle or the distance between the fountain and himself, he still had yet to see the goddess sleeping beneath the surface, blanketed in lily pads and an array of colorful blossoming lilies. Some days he would count the hours sitting at the ledge, humming songs to comfort himself and the slumbering goddess. But his only audience, who did enjoy listening, was Leviathan.

Even now, Hien glancing from the fountain to observe the snake like beast, Leviathan rested its massive head upon the broken stonework of the library floor. An eel peering out of its cavern. Beast or no, the prince couldn’t help but notice the almost melancholy air that it held as it stared unflinchingly at the fountain.

“Your loyalty to her is admirable, my friend.”

He could admit he felt the same. While Soroban was hopeful that she would awaken at any time, his own patience was wearing thin. He wanted to see her again. To hear her. Even if she was making demands of him or rolling with laughter; anything to fill this deafening silence.

His heart ached in his chest, hollow and cold at rising thoughts of what might yet come. She may never wake. And if that were to happen, what next? Would the crowned prince of Garlemald be announced as victorious? Or his female companion? Ah, the world has he knew it would be in trouble if Garlemald had some how possessed her powers over the sea.

Ice shot through his veins. His country, his people, without their prince, what would become of them? Trapped in this library beneath the sea until his dying hours; forsaking the very thing he sought to protect with the blessing of the goddess. His throat tightened, mouth dry. So much to worry about, yet here he was, following orders from a tortoise.

“...A good read should clear my head....”

- - -

Once upon a time, there was a city on the cliffs by the sea. The people of this city, so fond of the sea, swore loyalty to the tide mother; she who controlled the oceans with a sigh. To the goddess they prayed for safe voyages, for loved ones to return home safely, and for a bountiful catch that would sustain throughout their days. Together the goddess and her people lived in harmony.

But one day a man arrived to the small town. He spoke of inventions and curious things! Metal shaped by fire! Ships that sailed among the clouds and birds! The town folk were enchanted by such curiosities. While they still cherished their goddess, the man began to spill poison in their ears.

‘What of this unseen goddess? Has none seen her? Do any commune with her? If she exists, would she not want to smile upon her loyal followers?’

It took time and careful wording, but the poison the man brought with him began to spread.

‘You pray that ships return safely, yet not all come home! Your goddess is no more than a fickle witch toying with you!’

In time her statues were torn down and cast into the sea. Saddened by her peoples distrust, the goddess wept. A full year passed with naught but storms and angry currents, true to the goddess’ pain.

The poisonous man angry at the goddess for slowing his products arriving to town with her tantrum, spoke up once more.

‘This is no more than curse upon your city. How could a loving goddess hurt you all so?’

The towns folk murmured, once again shunning their goddess. How could she have forsaken them?

Angry, the goddess did as the poisonous snake suggested. With her powers she gave the town a curse. Second born daughters would be born in her image, as she was the second goddess given form. The city would look upon their daughters and see her in them.

She would not be forgotten.

- - -

Water arched around her as she broke the surface, shimmering diamonds falling against torchlight. She parted her lips, sucking in stale but familiar air, filling her senses with the scent of the library. It was as if returning home at long last, warmth filling her chest to near bursting. Beads of water caught in her eyelashes, cascading down the crest of her cheekbones. Eyes of scarlet and sapphire opened at long last, greeted by a rainbow of lilies.

She was alive.

A delighted sound echoed around her in the cavernous library entrance. The sound mimicked that of whales singing in the depths, low pitched to high in a single breath. It was a melody she would recognize anywhere and had her eyes shooting up from the fountain’s water in a heartbeat.

“Levi, did’ja miss me?” She called in return while leaning on the lip of the stonework fountain. Yalms separated them, but it was hard to miss the tilt in Leviathan’s head or the glossy admiration that filled his massive scarlet eyes. Another song graced the foyer, echoing softly off the stone walls and rising all the way to the top tier of the library. Still singing, Leviathan sunk beneath the water and out of sight of the goddess, no doubt eager to stretch now that his master was sorted out.

She gave a lazy wave goodbye, regardless of the fact that Levi had already departed, then laid her cheek to the cold stone that returned her life.

“Missed you too, ya’ overgrown noodle.”

- - -

“Soroban? Where in the hells are ya’?” Her voice filled the corridors as she barked the Kojin’s name again and again. It had been a trial in of itself to rise from her watery bed, her body aching in places that shouldn’t even exist. And then there was the added weight that slowed her down.

It came as a distinct slapping of something wet against stone. Kiri, Goddess of the Ocean, had emerged from her pool reborn. With her ruined and bloody attire abandoned at the fountain she strode forth, her goddess form nearly luminescent in the unlit spots of the library. Her flesh shimmered with an opalescence unlike any time before, a faint shimmering of scales that traced her curved outline. If one did not look closely, it could easily have been mistaken for powder worn by prosperous women looking to catch eyes. Her hair tumbled down beyond her shoulders, spilling to the floor in a curtain of moonlight silver. Like a slug she left behind a trail of water, not only still pouring off from such long locks, but from a tail too long and heavy for her to hold up off the floor while out of water.

“Soroban???” She called again, a slight growl rising in her tone.

Many questions had begun to bubble in her mind now that she was awake and conscious enough to consider them. How many days had passed? Had anything else happened while she was away? And what of the prince? Or those goons who hunted her like prey? But oh... the thought of a certain young man had caused her questions to halt abruptly.

She recalled the pained look on his face as she laughed her injury off as if it were merely a scratch. That golden ichor hadn’t poured from beneath her rib and stained her coat. It felt like only moments had truly passed since then; his voice still rough in her ear as he begged her to stay awake. The drumming of his heart pounding against her temple....

Kiri blinked when she realized she had completely stopped walking, too absorbed in such a brief but intense memory. Her own heart was a flutter beneath her breast, oddly nervous and hesitant to continue on.

What of the prince? Did he return to the surface? To his countrymen?

Surely he must have. Only an idiot would stay when you had a kingdom waiting for you.

... So why did it hurt? Who now would she ask about the world on land? Who should tell her the way a garden smells after a spring rain? Or how birds sing in choirs in the forest when the air is gently sweeping the boughs. Her chest tightened and eyes began to sting.

“Soroban!!”

“Kiri?”

A voice echoed from the corridor she had yet to traverse. Her eyes wide and hands trembling, she spied a flicker of light and chased it. She needed reality more than ever now. She needed Soroban’s guidance and wisdom to remind her that the thing beating in her chest wasn’t to be trusted. That as a goddess, such treasured feelings should be discarded. A grim reminder that the ocean floor is desolate and lonely; and it was her kingdom.

Light began to flood the corridor, her own radiance growing as she ran.

The alcove with a candlelight flicker came into view and she came to a sudden stop, narrowly avoiding slipping on her own two feet.

Miscolored eyes searched the alcove, narrowing at the sight that greeted her. “Soroban, the hells-”

There was a clatter in the alcove; a book falling to the floor with a definite thump against the stone.

Soroban chuckled, sitting at a small desk inside the carved out nook and paging through a time worn journal. “Oh dear,”

But it wasn’t Soroban that had the goddess cursing.

An awestruck prince, not even aware that he had dropped his book, gaped at the goddess with a slack jaw and warm eyes wide.

Her heart swelled and sang and thundered in her chest all at once, only visible by a small twitch at the corner of her lips. Yet she managed to compose herself, completely disregarding her lack of attire at the given moment. “What’s he doin’ here?” She demanded with a cocked brow.

Soroban hummed as he shrugged. “It would seem he is gawking.”

“I-I am most certainly not gawking!” Hien stammered with averted eyes, kneeling now to fetch his discarded book.

“Catfish got’cha tongue, pretty boy?” Kiri mused and crossed her arms with a definitely-not-on-purpose sway of her hips.

“T-Tch! I thought you dead yet you rise to mock me.”

The goddess flashed a grin, proud to recognize the color blossoming along his cheekbones.

“And with added accessories, I should note.” Allowing himself a moments glance, Hien gestured vaguely to the goddess and her current form.

Her tail, mostly hidden beneath a waterfall of silvery hair, slapped the stone with a wet smack. The small fins along her hips and ears fanned out, stretching and collapsing against her skin. Having such attachments had often been a burden to her in the past; she resembled no ancestry that walked the land, making it difficult to hide on the very rare occasions she met with sailors before they washed ashore from a shipwreck. But seeing the prince have such a reaction, his failed attempt not to look, made her grin a cheshire’s grin.

“Part of the job. I get submerged in sea water, this is the end result.” As if to punctuate this fact, she lifted her tail once more to slap the floor at her feet.

“Mayhap the boy is frightened.” Soroban chimed in without looking up from his book.

“Frightened? Of such beauty? Hardly.” There was confidence in his as he addressed Soroban.

Kiri felt her heart skip a beat. A wave of heat touched her cheeks. Hien offered her a smile and her heart ruptured with butterflies. What a feeling of elation! To hear he did not fear her in this form but found her stunning? But the goddess struggled to find a proper reaction for this foreign feeling welling in her.

“S-Stop starin’!”

- - -

“Can ya’ help me...?”

Hien found himself fidgeting ever since the goddess had awaken. He had expected some grand show, a spectacle or miracle when she would finally rise up from her watery confinement. Yet instead with unceremonious grace, he was greeted by a naked woman with aquatic appendages decorating her body. While her scales were a thing of beauty, he had never seen such colors, there was little magic in the moment as she scolded him.

Even now, standing with his face buried against a pillow in her bedchamber, he felt as if he had missed some wondrous display of revival magic. What it must have been like to see her emerge from a bed of waterlilies! Unable to tell where her long hair stopped and water began. To have been able to say ‘good morning’ when she first woke up....

“Oi, Prince! I ask’cha ta’ help!”

“You said I wasn’t allowed to look.” He returned, albeit muffled by the pillow against his lips.

“I’m decent now, look all ya’ want.” She blew out a sigh.

Pillow aside, the prince looked up to view the goddess as directed. He half expected a return of her usual clothing; a stolen coat and trousers with thick boots. But his jaw slacked at the sight before him.

Her human form had yet to return, thus her choice in clothing had been limited. Instead of sailors clothing fabric hung from sparkling gold chains at her throat and around her waist; maroon colored silk draped her chest just enough to be considered decent, a cut of the same fabric a loincloth starting at the flat of her stomach and pooling on the floor at her feet. Bangles and more golden chains glittered from her wrists and even strung on the quills of her fins like jewelry.

“...Yer starin’ again.”

Hien coughed, sheepishly clearing his throat as he rose from the bed to stand beside her. “Your sense of fashion is astonishing is all.”

“Oi,”

Yet before she could continue, he smiled. “What did you need help with?”

Her hand extended to offer him an item. He reached out in return to accept, until he caught a spark of light dancing on the blades edge.

“A knife?” Dumbfounded again, he raised a brow. “Please do not ask me to descale-”

“No! Wait, what?? No!!!” Her cheeks puffed. Kiri reached for her hair, bundling it and draping it across her shoulder. It was still slick and dripping; a trail of water a new track of hers. “Cut it for me?”

He couldn’t help the tilt of his head as she asked so softly such a harmless request. “But you at last have hair longer than mine. Surely you don’t wish to cut all of it?”

“I do, actually. Hate havin’ it long like this.”

Without further argument and the knife now in his hands, Kiri twirled on her heel, her hair once again falling down the curve of her back.

Such long, silken hair. She could have easily worn it to cover herself. Dragging his fingertips through it, Hien leaned a bit closer to the Goddess. He could smell the ocean on her; the sea during a storm with rain and salty winds.

“Kirishimi....?” His voice dropped, his eyes tracing the outline of her shoulders and recognizing touches of scarred flesh peppering her skin just as much as dark and light freckles dusted her shoulders.

He was reminded in that moment of her beauty. Of her power and strength. So what then, had caused her scars?

Kiri shivered, his breath hot at the nape of her neck. “Yes...?”

The prince held the knife tightly just above his other hand still knotted in her hair. The blade’s edge skimmed her flesh which drew a subtle inhale from the goddess.

“What happened to the town you cursed?”

- - -

Silence filled the room. She felt him, so near that she felt the heat radiating from him. His breath a near whisper in her ear, his voice level as he delivered such a heavy question.

“So that’s what’cha were readin’...” Although the accent still came through, she did her best to imitate music. A siren could lure men into a false sense of comfort, why couldn’t she?

His hand tangled in her hair tightened its grip, pulling her slightly closer. “No games, Kiri. I want the truth. You’re still bound to me, are you not?”

Although armed with a weapon as he was, he had yet to directly threaten her with it. It did little to stop the rabbit like heartbeat in her chest, a mixture of hurt, annoyance, and a touch of panic. But yet his hand relaxed and soon she heard the blade gliding through her hair.

“Bound ta’ ya’ doesn’t mean I gotta spill all my secrets.” She replied in earnest. Her contract with the prince had plainly showed a lack of interest of either parties history. But when he inhaled sharply, the goddess sighed.

- - -

“First, I want’cha ta’ know, ya’ should’ve finished the book before accusin’ me of anythin’.”

Hien didn’t respond. Instead his mind replayed the moment; the book he had been engaged with falling from his hands at the sight of her. Heat returned to his cheeks but full glad was he that her back was to him.

“As for the curse.... I didn’t curse anyone. That was the original Tide Mother. The first Sea Goddess. Her grief and pain swelled into a mighty storm in her heart and clouded her eyes. Girls were born to look like her with and without her scales and tails. They were blessed by the Goddess but it frightened the towns folk.”

There was a sorrow to her voice that made the prince loosen his grip on her hair, even halting his cutting of her hair as he listened. Part of him had believed the story was a fairy tale written by mortals. A retelling of something the Goddess had done, good or bad.

“Scared people are easy to trick... And a man knew just how to talk to a crowd. He convinced them, every single one of them, that their daughters were to be sacrificed to the Goddess. Ta’ show her, ta’ put her in her place. Ta’ defy the very goddess whom they had loved so dearly before.”

Even though he couldn’t confirm it himself, Hien knew the goddess before him was struggling not to burst into tears. And who wouldn’t? The idea of it... His stomach churned as cogs began turning in his mind.

“You said she was the first,” He started slowly, “does that make you...the second...?”

“Aye.”

“Kiri....”

“She was disgusted by mortals. How could they? How could they be so cruel?!” Her shoulders shook. Hien couldn’t tell if it was because she was crying or shaking with fury. Or maybe it was a mixture of both. “Those mothers and fathers looked at us and smiled, convinced it was the right thing to do! The only option they had! Bloody cowards is what they were!”

With a twist of his wrist the remainder of her hair was cut through, the floor length locks shifting to salt water and landing on the stone with a splash at his feet. The knife clattered to the floor alongside the puddle, discarded so he could take her into his arms and hold her against his chest.

The goddess, so powerful and courageous, trembled in his arms; tears stained the front of his tunic when she curled into him.

“... When she tried ta’ stop them,” Kiri began again, a hiccup interrupting her, “the man attacked her with strange weapons. She was severely injured and in her rage and sorrow... She sunk the city. Brought the whole cliffs down and buried it beneath the ocean.”

“I’m sorry,” Hien found himself whispering it over and over again, a mantra that was some how supposed to help her feel better. At least her trembling had subsided.

“... I was the only one that survived. The Tide Mother was dying inside and out... but she saved me from drownin’ like the others... and passed it all ta’ me.”

More cogs began to stir. “That must be why Zenos and that Octavia woman were after you. The man in the story must have been Garlean. Perhaps someone survived and lived to tell the tale....” But when Kiri gave no answer, Hien dropped the subject. She was in no mood or condition to talk about her own death. Instead he drew her closer still, the scent of the ocean still stormy on her.

“The book you were readin’... Soroban found it in his travels before meetin’ me.”

“Speaking of which... Why the library? This whole sunken city, this library... It is the one she buried, right?”

Kiri gave a nod against his chest and sniffled. “The library was the only place they were allowed to worship her in secrecy. A few folk tried to expose it, so they destroyed the goddess’ face on the fountain. Anyone who questioned the library was then lead to believe that Leviathan was the one they prayed to.”

“...So why sink it at all?”

The goddess lifted herself from his chest, her eyes rimmed red with tears and mismatched eyes like jewels. “So no one would ever remember her... or me.”

Clearly the original Goddess hadn’t expected survivors of the tragedy. How else had he known the legend of the Ocean Goddess? Or the prince of Garlemald that seemed so determined to capture her?

Hien scrunched his nose and bid the thoughts leave him; at least for the moment. With all his heart, all he wanted to do now was hold her. A kingdom all her own, built upon the jealousy and hatred of a goddess and a single man. One she had to endure alone at the bottom of the sea...

#|| Untold Stories #|| Tide Mother (( au ))#Hien x Kiri #Hien x wol #Hien Rijin #Kirishimi #Water Goddess #Sea Goddess #/slaps this on the dash at 5 am #HERE WE GO #I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT WRITING IT #YEEHAW #if it doesn't make sense man idk I'm not responsible for that

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alienoresimagines · 5 years ago

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I'll Make This Feel Like Home | Floyd Talbert x Female! Reader

A/N : This is for the birthday of the amazing, wonderful, beautiful Vered (@floydtab ). She is one of my closest friend on here, my American sister from across the ocean. If you don't follow her go do that right now! She is a true blessing, she is kind, sweet, friendly and I'm so glad to have met her. Also, please go wish her a happy birthday, we might not be Rick Gomez or Ross McCall (as far as I'm aware of at least), but still💞

Happy birthday Vered!❤😘

Taglist: @wexhappyxfew @glxssysam @floydtab @inglourious-imagines @ray--person @punkgeekchic @luz-lovebot

Posted : 15/05/2020

Masterlist Taglist Prompts

A breath of air caressing the exposed skin of your shoulder was what woke you up. Shivering slightly, you smiled nevertheless, burying your head in pillow that was most probably not yours judging by the smell and kept your eyes closed, simply enjoying the peace and serenity of this rare moment of calm. The sunlight illuminated the room, somewhat muffled by the beige curtains, the cool air of May slipping into the room like a gentle murmur, bringing with it the rustling of the leaves against the breeze, the smell of freshly cut flowers and grass, and the birdsong sounding a sweet melody to your ears. You felt strangely relaxed, as if a weight you didn't know existed had been removed from your shoulders. Nuzzling your face further into your husband's pillow, you let a content sigh escape your parted lips before you rolled onto your back, the duvet now only covering half of your legs and part of your belly. As the cool air tickled your feet, you allowed yourself to yawn gracelessly before sitting down and finally opening your eyes. Folding your eyes to the light, you glanced quickly at the right side of your king-sized bed. Confirming your suspicions at a glance, you were actually alone. The smell of coffee reached your nose and you let out a sound very close to a moan at that. However, you couldn't bring yourself to care about who could hear you, not when it was only you, your lovely husband and your dog, who heard much worse and louder coming from you. Passing a lazy hand through your air, you yawned again as you stretched your arms above your head and arched your back pleasantly. You liked mornings like that, without the rush of the work week. Where you could stay in bed, and enjoy the warmth and comfort of your home without having to keep a constant eye on the clock. You sighed softly, styling yourself with the comb of the 5 fingers, preparing you slowly but surely to get up. Your dog, Trigger, kept you from getting up to choose clothes when he jumped onto your bed and rested his own head on you thigh. Laughing softly, you gently scratched his head and ears, knowing it was some of his favorite places to be pet along with his belly.

"How are you today, Trig'? You slept well? I bet you kept Daddy from burning the kitchen down." You cooed as the german shepherd just looked at you with big brown eyes.

"Oh, you're awake!" A new voice was heard, a voice that you would instantly recognize everywhere. You knew that voice as well as the first aid gestures. Which was something given that you were a medic during World War Two. You have seen the snow being tinged with scarlet, the stars being hidden by shells and life swerving between your bloody fingers as the water would escape from a vase that has just been broken. However, you refused to dwell on these memories. The war was over, the Earth was still spinning, and you always had your husband, your anchor and rock, the one who stood by you even in your darkest moments when you doubted, ignoring his own sorrows. Raising your head, you smile softly when you see your husband leaning on the door, with a light wooden tray in his hands. The light that filtered through the curtains gave his hair a slightly lighter hue and brought out his eyes nicely. Still in his pajamas, with his bedhead, and a sweet smile on his lips, the crinkles by his eyes appearing, he never looked so beautiful.

"Morning Sunshine!" Floyd beamed happily, approaching the bed. The dog on your lap didn't seem to mind the noise. In fact, you were pretty sure Trigger was asleep.

"Hey Beautiful." You laughed softly to yourself. "You should stop calling me this, it suits better."

"Now, princess, have you watched a mirror lately?" The teasing in his tone was evident but the look of pure adoration in his dark green eyes couldn't be missed, even by a blind person. Tab bent down to lay a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips, a hand coming to rest at the base of your neck, his thumb drawing circles under your jaw. The kiss was sweet, a "I love you" with every slide of your lips. Two souls, two hearts pouring out their love for each other in the simplest and most sincere way they knew. Floyd was the first to break the kiss, his eyes standing on your lips for a moment before coming up to meet your eyes. You swore you could have cried right there and then at how much fondness Tab's gaze held. You hadn't even noticed that he had put the tray on your nightstand until he took it and put it on your thigh - at least what wasn't occupied by your dog.

"Happy birthday, princess." You laughed breathlessly as you saw what was on the tray while your husband sat to your right, throwing an arm around your shoulder. On the tray was a beautifully decorated plate, with only one pancake in it. However, a candle stood warm and... almost completely burnt. How you didn't notice the smell was yet another story for another day. You quickly blew out the only candle, petting Trigger's head with one hand to calm him. If you didn't smell the candle burning, he surely did. Looking to your right, you couldn't contain the giggle that was building inside of you at the adorable pout on Floyd's face.

"I wanted to do something nice..." He sighed sadly while you giggled. Pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, you smiled widely.

"Thank you, honey, you know I'd appreciate anything as long as I'm with you." He smiled a bit to your words but he kept on pouting, knowing you couldn't resist it. Rolling your eyes playfully, you layed a chaste kiss to his lips. It seemed to be enough for him though, a playful smile taking over the pout as he looked at you with shining eyes. Cutting the pancakes, you took a bite and you closed your eyes in pleasure. No matter how much you teased him, Tab's pancakes were the definition of gastronomic. However, you knew that his ego was twice as big as his heart which meant that you couldn't let him know that.

"How does it taste?" Oh, even with your eyes closed, you could perfectly see the smirk on his lip, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"See yourself." You grinned back as you pushed the plate to your right. Trigger must have decided you were moving to much because he stood up and got out of your bed to go to his own, next to Tab's side of the bed. He was aging. A buzz from Floyd brought your attention back to him, your left leg feeling a little numb.

"It's alright." He kissed your shoulder, making you shiver. God, it was there, the devilish look in his eyes that even George Luz learned to fear when it appears. "But you taste better." You blushed furiously as you almost choked on the orange juice that was placed next to the plate. Your attempt to glare at him mustn't have been successful if the smile on his lips was any indications.

"Please, just tell me you're not going to sing." Floyd made an indignant sound.

"Honey, I love you, but you can't carry a tune." You said softly as if you didn't want to hurt his feelings even if you knew perfectly well that he was aware of his singing skills- or his lack of for that matters. He huffed but the corner of his mouth twitched as he settled against the headboard.

-----

The pancake was eaten, the tray rested on your nightstand and you were perfectly settled, head against Tab's broad chest. One of his arms was around your shoulder, thumb tracing circles on your arm while his other arm was petting Trigger who decided to come back and was now resting with his head on Floyd's belly. It felt like home. You, Tab and Trigger. A feeling of warmth spread through your chest. Loved. You were feeling loved, by the man who meant the world to you. You were home.

Floyd smiled softly at the feeling of your hair tickling his chin before he frowned slightly. You were humming a song quietly, hot breath on his skin. He wasn't even sure you realized what you were doing, but he would never miss an opportunity to tease you. Especially when he recognized the song. A smile split his face in two before he whispered, as if he did not want to break the peace of the moment

"This song is overrated, you know."

Floyd was pretty sure he heard your neck cracked with how fast you turned around to glare at him half-heartedly. Wriggling in his grip until your chin was on his chest, you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Excuse you and consider yourself unfriended, blocked, deleted. You are no longer my husband. I want a new one" You deadpanned, but you could feel your lips stretching in the slightest smile. Floyd must have seen it given his own smug smile.

"All I said was that the song you were humming was overrated."

"Don't care." He couldn't help to chuckle then.

"So you don't want your present?" The speed at which your face changed was hilarious to him. You huffed before resting your head above his heart.

"You're insufferable."

"You love me." Silence took over the words, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. A thousand words were spoken, carried by the wind, floating in the air, clinging to the hearts.

Floyd blinked once, and when he opened his eyes again, you were right in front of him, golden light haloing an angel.

"That I do." The words hung in the space between your lips, before you closed it, pressing softly your lips together. Your tongues met in a slow dance, knowing each other perfectly by now. Your eyes remained closed as you broke the kiss to press your own forehead to Floyd's.

"So?" He opened his eyes, fondness written on his face.

"So what?" You buried your cheek a bit deeper into the warm hand that just cupped it as you smile playfully.

"What's my present?" Floyd laughed, loud and beautiful, at that. He turned his head to the left, acting as if he was in deep thought.

"Well, I thought we could go to the pet store down the street and give Trigger a new buddy." You hummed thoughtfully, a smile playing across your face as you looked down at said dog. Oh, how beautiful would it be.

"Hmm... But then it would be a present for Trigger. And since we all know how much you love dogs so..."

"You love them as much as I do." It was your turn to laugh, throwing your head backwards. Floyd was sure that if he were to go blind, your laugh would be enough to bring colors to his world. You kissed his lips one last time before you jumped out of bed, almost bouncing in excitement making Trigger whine in irritation as he was forced to move as you grabbed Tab's wrist and almost dragged him out of bed. He laughed once again, and it felt nice to laugh like this again. No bullets splitting the air, no screaming piercing the ears.

"Where are we going?"

"Pet store! Now hurry and listen to the birthday girl!" Your laughs echoed in the house, a barking here and there, birds singing outside, painting the world with joy.

"Yes ma'am!" The playful answer came through all the laughs, as he followed in the hall, Trigger at his feet.

Two arms open to hug you tight, one heart beating to heal yours, kisses to hold you together, laughs to make your eyes shine like diamonds in a starry night. Home.

#band of brothers reader insert #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #floyd talbert x reader #floyd talbert imagine #my writing

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goparkseonghwa · 5 years ago

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A Devil’s Covenant [ Prologue ]

Genre: Angst, Romance, Horror, Smut (in future parts)

Pairing(s): Seonghwa x Reader (mostly) x Wooyoung (briefly) + ATEEZ

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Making a deal with the devil to bring back a loved one has its consequences. Are you ready to pay the price for your sins?

Warning(s): Themes of Horror, Strong Language and Violence, Character Death (these will be throughout the storyline so read with caution).

| next

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

"For the love all things holy, Seonghwa," You laugh down the line, the sleeve of your sweater covering your gaping mouth slightly, "This isn't the type of talk you should be indulging in with your best friend." You flush at the recollection of his previous statement, becoming hot and bothered easily at his low voice alone but his choice of wordage easily made you weak in the knees.

"Ah, but you love my sensual talk," He breathes down his end of the line, joking none the less, but still how he says it sends a faint tremble down your back. You secretly love it when he speaks to you in that manner, but you'd never admit that to his face - or rather to anyone in your inner circle. Hell, you could barely admit that to yourself the first time his words took a different toll on your heart. "And besides, who else would I use to practice my pickup lines on?"

Continue using me, please. You tap your finger against your lower lip as if you were in deep thought, letting a playful hum reverberate through your vocal cords in light spirit, lips turning up in the corners in the slightest motion. "Mmmmm, I know, you could use your suave moves on Yunho. He'd really have a fond appreciation for you after that." You stretch your arm behind your head, tousling your hair slightly as you run your fingers through the mess that was long overdue of a wash.

"You mean he'd probably have a fond appreciation for my chopped off penis sitting in a jar if I pulled that shit on him." He chuckles, and you can't help but gently roll your eyes at his sentence, knowing for a fact that the younger would actually find his elder's practice sessions enjoyable, being able to pick up on some tricks himself all while acquiring some form of blackmail to dangle over Hwa's head in the future.

"He loves your penis too much to ever bring any harm to it." You smile, crinkling your nose in endearment when you hear a scoff echo throughout the speaker, knowing his own cheeks were becoming flushed from embarrassment at your erotic, sinful thoughts.

"I highly doubt you on that one," He starts, voice becoming a bit muffled as the rustling of bags and other voices that echo throughout your speaker, indicating that he was at the market picking up groceries for a dinner he was hosting tonight at his and Yunho's shared apartment. Yunho had gotten in contact with Jongho, who seemed to be as much of a recluse nowadays as the spider, and convinced him to take a break from working on his novel to indulge in friendly conversation and delicious food. Seonghwa's stepbrother, Mingi, was in town for the week on business and Hwa wanted to reunite the five of you before Mingi jetted off to the next country for who knew how long, and before Jongho sealed himself off from the world again. ". . . thank you. . . alright, I think I have everything for tonight."

"Eh, you never know what could be going through Yunho's mind, so you shouldn't be too surprised if he has thought about it once or twice." Standing up from your bed, your knees slightly popping from being in the same, stiff position for so long, you maneuver your way into your bathroom to assess the damage that needed to be tended to before dinner. Cringing upon the sight of your greasy hair, and stained sweater from countless fridge raids, you turn on the sink faucet to begin your much needed 'spa treatment'. "Anyways, so what is Chef Seonghwa preparing for our taste buds this evening?" You inquire, picking up a washcloth to dampen.

"Ah, little one, it's a surprise," He playfully taunts, the tone in his voice making you huff out in annoyance. Surprises were nice and all but you would like to know what type of food you get to daydream about until it's finally sitting on a plate in front of you.

"Let me guess, you've decided to treat us to a frozen pizza?" You shift the phone from your hand so that it is now pressed between your shoulder and ear, allowing you to utilize both hands as you prepare your skin care routine.

"Damn, I can't believe you figured it out. You and the others get to indulge on a frozen entrée while I prepare myself a lovely steak dinner." He states, amusement easily interwoven within his words. His drawl that was as smooth as velvet was dangerous in itself, but when paired with any form of teasing or amusement it was a catastrophe just waiting to happen. The sultry undertone just waiting to pull anyone into a delicious, sinful paradise where temptations were acted on rather than ignored. A heaven within hell, the angel's fall from grace at the mere prospect of being entangled, consumed with another being that was corrupted beyond a point of redemption. But, those sickly sweet, lust driven whispers would be worth the fall if it meant you could spend eternity with him.

Knowing that he is merely pulling your leg, you decide to play along, "Mmmm absolutely delicious. My mouth is already watering at the mere thought of a burnt piece of bread with a pathetic excuse of toppings decorated on top." Sarcasm drips from every syllable that is enunciated with your tongue, a genuine, but snarky, way of conveying the lightness of the conversation. A smile graces your plush lips as wipe your face with the cloth, the water alone already making your skin feel better, more refreshed than it had been minutes ago.

A beautiful, deep laugh reverberates through the line and you could literally feel your heart rate slightly spike as the sound danced around within your ears. Something so pure, so sweet coming from the lips of a man whose heart was as big as the moon and whose soul was as golden as the sun made you feel as though heaven had answered your prayers, blessing you with a magnificent human who deserved nothing less than the stars. Park Seonghwa had easily found a way to leave pieces of himself within everything you did or saw, intertwining his existence with yours. A colorful pattern so bright it managed to dynamically shift your view on the world from one of black and white to one of vibrant, explosive pastels and neons. He was the artist and his words were the paintbrush as he transformed your life into a living, breathing masterpiece. He meant more to you than anyone could ever imagine, and being so fortunate to hear his laugh, to be around him when he was happy, to see him at his highest while also being there for the lowest was, and is, something you hold close to you. You would never trade anything in the world for those moments you are able to spend with him, the memories too precious to take for granted.

"But on a serious note, the meal I have planned tonight will be to your liking, so you have nothing to worry about," He reassures you which does improve your mood. Not that you weren't in a good mood prior to his statement, you were placed in a tranquil atmosphere the second you saw his name appear on your phone screen, but by him confirming that the meal tonight would be up to the high standards he always set made your spirits heighten further than the clouds.

"You better not give me food poisoning, Park," You grumble, scrubbing your face with the cleanser, "Or else you and I will be having a very strong, very colorful discussion tomorrow."

He gasps on the other end, "I'm hurt, Y/N, truly. You've punctured my heart." He feigns mock hurt, and you can only imagine the cute pout that is present on his plump lips, the crease between his sharp eyebrows and one of his hands placed on his chest, directly over the organ that you wish would belong to you.

"Let me grab my sewing kit so I can stitch that tragic wound of yours," You smile, grabbing the washcloth to dampen once more so you could remove the soap from your face and move on to the next step in your routine, "So, have you heard from Mingi? Is he in town yet?"

"Yeah, his plane landed about a half hour ago, so him and Yunho should be heading back to the apartment as we speak," He trails off, voice becoming muffled, distant from the phone as he must have gotten distracted by something or someone in the marketplace, "Hey, you like roses right–" He's cut short by the sound of a loud bang, startling you to the point of your phone nearly slipping from your shoulder.

"Holy shit! What the hell was that?" You shriek down the line just as another bang can be heard off in the distance, screams following quickly after. Worry starts to flood your veins as you drop the towel onto the counter, fingers now gripping tightly to the phone as you press it harder against your ear, "Seonghwa, what was that? Is everything okay?" There's rustling on his end, shuffling that sounds as if something has dropped or has been thrown down. When you hear short, sharp breaths through the receiver that's when your anxiety spikes dramatically. Something is wrong, something is terribly, horrifically wrong. The screaming intensifies as it draws closer to the phone, panicked voices forming incoherent sentences are jumbled together as well, frightening you even further. "Seonghwa, answer me! What happened?" A faint whimper, a grunt of pain and one final, sharp intake of breath is made before a soft, long exhale is emitted. Your heart sinks. "S-Seonghwa?"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

"Check for a pulse!"

"Oh my gosh! He's dead!"

At that, the phone drops from your now shaking hand, landing on the floor with a smack. Your mouth slackens, head becoming dizzy as your vision begins to produce black splotches in the corners of your eyes. A pounding sensation is heavily felt within your skull as the bathroom begins to spin. You lose your footing, stumbling backwards away from the vanity as your lunch from earlier begins to churn violently in your stomach. No, no, no, no, no. This isn't happening. They can't be talking about Hwa, it has to be someone else. But hearing his name faintly come through the speaker by an unknown voice confirms your worst nightmare.

You’re numb, face the palest white possible as all of the blood seems to evaporate from under your skin, from your veins, your heart stuttering in your chest. It rapidly presses against your ribcage and you feel as though it’s about to combust from the pain that is pulsing through it, searing it so deeply that being physically stabbed in the chest would be like a measly paper cut – and you’d much rather be impaled a hundred times over than feeling what you are currently feeling.

Your eyes connect with your reflection for a brief second, in the next they roll into the back of your head, your weak frame toppling over, falling right next to your phones now cracked screen.

83 notes · View notes

gwoongi · 5 years ago

Text

acts of love

bts / reader, all members / reader genre: best friends au, fluff + crack rating: general words: 9.6k warnings: platonic relationships, smoking, so much fluff you might need to book an appointment with ur dentist for tomorrow morning ASAP a/n: if u want 2 be bts’ best friend, raise ur hand *thousands of hands raise*. this fic fuels my genuine need to be their bff. i saw this post last night + wrote this immediately. hope u love it like i do :D

➸ As long as you’ve got a good group of friends, anything is possible. Thankfully, you’ve got the best group you could ever ask for.

(01) taking pics of ur friends without them asking u to bc they looked so pretty in that exact moment

“Well, at least the views not so bad. Honestly, I thought it would be a lot worse.”

Beside you, at the top of the bleachers that surround the large football pitch below, Taehyung huffs and kicks his feet up onto the empty row in front of him. It would be easy to just move rows, considering the game’s due to start in ten minutes time, and there’s plenty of empty seats closer. But, he’s bought these seats, and by the looks of things, Yoongi and Hoseok are already comfortable where they are, sharing a big bag of sticky popcorn between them. Casting a look to the right, you notice that Sana and Seunghee are making their way up, dressed in jerseys and caps, and you suddenly feel very out of place.

“Tell me why I came again?” you ask, not looking away from the pitch below. The grass is bright green, and every wandering body down on the pitch is just a small speck.

“Because,” Taehyung starts, unlocking his phone and checking his messages. You snoop- one missed text from Jeongguk and two off his Mom, which makes you smile. Taehyung’s always been a Mommy’s boy. “You love me, and you know that I worked my ass off for two whole months saving up for these tickets. And, since Jimin’s sick and couldn’t come, you decided to be a good friend and take his place.”

With a frown, you look back towards Taehyung. “I don’t know shit about football.”

“Cheer when we do,” Taehyung suggests honestly.

Yoongi perks up, patting your arm roughly. “Do what I do, and cheer for the team with the prettier uniform.”

“Don’t!” Taehyung hisses, grabbing you back. “The other team have a prettier uniform, but if you cheer for them on this side of the stadium, you’re going to get mobbed. Hey, Yoongi, don’t tell her that, she doesn’t know any better.”

“Just football,” Yoongi shrugs.

“Just football…” Taehyung scoffs and shrinks back down in his seat.

You laugh quietly, petting Taehyung’s leg with faux sympathy. As you move your body to glance around the stadium, strangely anticipating the start of the match, a flash out the corner of your eye makes you look over in Hoseok’s general direction. Hoseok holds his phone up, taking a photo, and then smiles as he checks it on the screen.

“Jung Hoseok, delete it now!” you gape, realising what he’s done. “Oh my God, I bet I look so ugly...you could have warned me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs sheepishly. He then shows you the screen, “you looked pretty! And it’s your first live match ever, we had to document it. Yoongi, look. Wow...I’m sending this to Jimin for proof that you’re having fun.”

“What if I’m not having fun?” you ask.

He glances up, “you are.”

Well. If he says so.

(02) randomly giving tiny gifts (a comic book that ur friend likes, a heart-shaped piece of paper with a sweet message on it)

“Can anybody here share the exact chemistry behind Elephant Toothpaste?”

Chemistry is the absolute bane of your life. It’s only been a few weeks, and you’re already regretting taking additional classes in it. Technically, it was Jimin’s fault you were here in the first place. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jimin was afraid of enrolling into classes alone and therefore had guilted you into taking advanced chemistry with him, then you wouldn’t be here. You sigh for the fourth time in the last ten minutes and shove your chin into the palm of your hand. The clock above Professor Han’s head seems to be still, taunting you with zero movements.

Can boredom kill you? You wonder about that, letting your mind wander as Professor Han continues to quiz the front two rows on the exact chemical formula of the affectionately named Elephant Toothpaste. You’re so close to finding the answer when you feel somebody poking your upper arm. The finger that pokes belongs to Jimin, and you angle your head to look at him with a questioning glare.

Jimin smiles, his hair falling into his face. Like you, he rolled out of bed this morning and tried his best to look semi-presentable; if you counted borderline pajama wear and a serious case of bed-head to be presentable and acceptable for a 9am lecture. Jimin says nothing, just smiles and pushes something towards you with two fingers. The sound of the paper sliding towards you brings your gaze down, and as you look away to stare at it, Jimin returns his attention to Professor Han. Bare in mind, his notebook is empty, save doodles of Yewon on the front row, occasionally losing focus and staring around the room for long periods of time.

What Jimin has pushed before you is a small little piece of paper, smoothly cut into a heart shape. Now the sound of scissors makes sense… It’s just scrap paper from the back of his notebook, decorated with tiny stars and circles, a pathetic hand drawn galaxy on the front like a book cover. You slowly pick it up, more interested in this than the lecture. You turn it over curiously, your heart thumping endearingly and a smile picking up on your face as you read what he’s written on the back.

you and me have some serious chemistry. love u

Jimin refuses to make eye contact again. He’ll say something along the lines of, “you’re taking it too seriously” when you’ll no doubt ask him about it later, but really, Jimin’s just a softie, with the sudden need to tell his friends that he loves them. You’re not complaining.

(03) handwritten letters with cute stickers

Something’s been left in your shared kitchen, something with your name on it and closed in an envelope with a small Gudetama sticker. You set your cup of tea to the side, sliding up onto a stool near the breakfast bar to read it. The front is in a bold font, in handwriting you don’t really recognise. Careful of the time and effort put into the appearance, you carefully open the envelope and take out the contents.

Y/N

Good morning. I hope you slept okay - when I came home last night after judo, you were actually passed out on the couch in the common room so I piggy backed you up to your room. Hehe, your room is so dirty though...I think I definitely tripped over a plug that connected your fairylights, so sorry if that doesn’t work anymore. Anyway. I left this morning and left you some nice tea and some tablets (Yoongi said that I should put them in your bathroom, so I literally just left them on your sink). I know you haven’t been having a fun time with midterms and you need to take care of yourself! If you get too sick and can’t do anything, then how will we eat?? You’re our uni mom!!! We need to live too!!!!! D:

I also rented out Harry Potter for later. I know you get really sad and lonely when you’re stressed out, and so we can watch it together when I’m home after my shift at work :D

Hehe, feel better <3 Just remember that Jeonggukie loves you!!!

Drink tea and stay warm :)

Lots of love, Jeongguk :D

The paper is signed with Jeongguk’s messy handwriting, like he ran out of time as he was writing it. The page is littered with tiny Gudetama stickers and the sight of it makes you smile. Along with other little notes Jeongguk’s left for you over the last few months, this one earns a spot on your cork board above your desk.

(04) remembering what ur friend likes or dislikes

You were so late.

Almost getting run over by a bus in the process, you sprint across the small road that separates your flat and the University central campus, missing a deep puddle as you step up off the road and onto the pavement. It pours, your hair soaked and makeup no doubt running and staining your cheeks. Holy fuck, you were so late.

Every Friday, without fail, Flat 6 (aka the large and slightly stinky flat you share with two of your best friends) host an annual movie night, inviting literally all of your extended friendship group which definitely is not allowed, but who cares? You noticed Namjoon’s car pulled up in the car park next door and curse again, knowing you’re the last one to arrive to a movie night you’re technically hosting.

You rush up the stairs, since the elevator is still down for maintenance, and burst into the flat with an announcing groan. From somewhere in the living room, Jeongguk looks up with happy surprise and jumps up off the couch, approaching the hall.

“Y/N! You made it.”

You wince, smiling as you hang up your coat to drip dry on the mat near the door. “Yep. I made it. To my own movie night. That I’m technically helping host.”

“No sweat,” Jeongguk shrugs. “It’s okay. Here, I’ll dump your bag in the closet. Get changed, I think Yoongi’s still preparing snacks, anyway.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jeonggukie.”

He gushes, smiling and raising his shoulders cutely. “It’s okay, Y/N.”

Jeongguk swiftly takes your bag from your clutches, faking the weight with the droop of his knees just to hear you laugh, and then he turns to shuffle down the hall to quite literally toss it into the shared storage closet. You’re not too worried; on days like today, in which you have one 1 hour seminar to attend at 5pm and nothing else, there’s nothing inside your bag worthy of being broken by Jeongguk throwing it to the ground. As he does this, you shudder out of your shoes and make your way to your bedroom, to change into something warm and comfortable for the movie.

The sound of laughter makes you hurry to change, one leg out of your damp and cold jeans whilst simultaneously fishing for some old jogging bottoms out of your bottom draw, a jumper from Yoongi that he thought he lost left for you to grab on your bed. What he doesn’t know and will find out in five minutes won’t hurt him. (Yoongi also doesn’t care, because he’s a whipped best friend who lets you do what you want, including steal clothes he actually needs and can’t really afford to replace. Oh well, sharing is caring!).

Your hair is still soaked, and you move towards the single bathroom squeezed between two bedrooms to ring it out in the sink. Once you’re done, and your hair is thrown up into a scrunchie-decorated pony, you pace back towards the kitchen where, rightly so, Yoongi stands with his back facing you, filling up a glass with Pepsi.

“I thought we threw that shit out,” you announce as you walk in. “You know this flat is Team Coca Cola, those are the rules.”

Yoongi sighs, not looking up. “Yeah, I know, but Namjoon is a monster.”

“He’s so annoying...why can’t he just admit that Coca Cola is better?” you sigh, moving towards Yoongi to see the small bowls of snacks he has ready to be taken into the living room. It’s full in there, people stuffed onto the sofas and the floor where a bed of blankets lies like a mattress.

Yoongi’s outdone himself; the bowls are neatly organised by colour and ingredient, and you smile. Yoongi was a lot of things, one of them a secret perfectionist. Even when it concerned bowls of snacks. God, you love to love him.

“Namjoon’s a man of unpopular opinions, I mean, he really thinks the live action of Attack on Titan is good, like, who actually thinks that?” Yoongi rants, and then he glances to the side towards you, is silent for a moment, and then asks, “is that my jumper?”

You look down at it with a smile. “Yep. It’s comfy.”

Yoongi hums, like he’s bored. “Whatever, looks better on you than it did on me. Who the fuck lied to me and told me dark green was my colour...?”

“Every colour is your colour,” you say, patting his back and reaching for the bowls. “Should I take these in?”

Yoongi then nods, humming again. “Yeah. Yellow bowl is for you, by the way.”

You look to it. “And why is that?”

“Cause I know you don’t like the barbeque flavour chips that are in the red bowl, but everyone else does, so I went out and got you the salty ones. Oh, and there’s a bar of Galaxy in the fridge. Don’t tell Jeongguk, cause he’ll get pissy about how I didn’t get him something.”

As Yoongi tells you this, your heart flutters. You had told him that when you first met, after he offered you some of his chips noticing you were the only person not eating.

“You remembered that?” you wonder, and Yoongi looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“I’m a good friend,” he states, as though it were obvious. “Don’t get it twisted, though. I only did it because I don’t want to hear you complaining about it all night.”

You’re sure that’s a lie, but if it makes him feel better, you’ll accept it. You’ll also ignore the embarrassed tinge of red on his cheeks.

(05) inside jokes

[15:16PM] jeongguk: alright fuckers 🔪😡 [15:16PM] jeongguk: who left the kitchen window open all damn night [15:17PM] jeongguk: there’s three spiders in the sink and it rained so the work surface is all wet [15:17PM] jeongguk: [1 Image Attached] not happy bois [15:23PM] jine: i dont even live with you why are you asking the gc this [15:24PM] jeongguk: yoongi has the flat gc muted and idk how else to yell at him [15:28PM] y/n: blame me,,,,i have failed u,,,,,,,im sowwy [15:29PM] jeongguk: hehe its ok ❣️💘💕💓 i’ll clean it up 🥰 [15:32PM] haseul: eye….. [15:39PM] jimin: YALL LMAOODIUGJFKDSLJ [15:39PM] jimin: guess what TF just happened in my maths class [15:41PM] jimin: i forgot that on one of my assignments me and y/n had drawn a camel in the library on the back and he saw and asked me 2 stay behind after class so he could have stern words with me or smthn…..anyway so i go to the front of the class at the end and he’s like “mr park what the hell is this camel doing here” [15:42PM] jimin: and i said sir thats not a camel [15:42PM] jimin: thats my WIFE [15:43PM] y/n: HA HA HA… [15:45PM] yoongi: IF YALL DONT STOP [15:47PM] taehyung: THIS IS THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE MADE THIS REFERENCE AND I DONT KNOW WHAT IT MEANS [15:47PM] taehyung: this inside joke stinks….someone explain to me please what this means 😭😭😭 [15:48PM] hoseok: i hate this damn gc

(06) long phone calls

[Incoming Facetime Call From: Seokjin 👪]

“Hey.”

“Hey. Y/N, are you sitting down because I have some major tea on Professor Kwon and Professor Kim and I’m not supposed to be saying anything and it’s killing me.”

“Oh shit.” Audio shuffles. “I’m lying down now, bitch. Tell me everything.”

“Okay. So…”

[Five Hours Later]

“I’m still in shock about Kwon and Kim.”

“Me too. What’s Kim gonna do, lie and say she had heat rash on her titties?”

“Hopefully she doesn’t get them out for people to see.”

“Literally. God, I hate how our life has resorted to teacher gossip. Are we those students?”

“Yup. Two students bitching about teachers at...like ...midnight?”

“Oh, shit, it’s midnight already??”

(07) facetiming while ur both doing something else (study dates like that are on another level of intimacy)

Jimin’s had the same cold for about two weeks now, and nobody knows what the hell’s up with it. He walks around his flat, according to Hoseok, wrapped up in a blanket and surrounded by a necklace of matted tissues. To be honest, it’s not as bad as he’s making it out to be, but he’s a guy, and so anything that involves a slight stomach pain and a blocked nose instantly translates to man flu, which is almost as bad as the plague.

That being said, Jimin’s set himself under “house arrest” and is therefore glued to his bed or desk chair, still managing to move his sore and aching joints to write a few words on his lab report. With the first round of finals creeping up, Jimin actually wants to go to the library, but, man, what with his man flu and everything, he just can’t seem to do it.

On the other hand, he has you to set the mood for him. After snagging a corner table in the library near the big windows, you make a barrier out of your bag and books to watch the sunset, Taehyung opposite using minimal space with his laptop and headphones, watching a documentary he’ll need to cite for his essay. Jeongguk naps next to you, having exhausted himself from his shift last night that ran into the early hours and Sana secretly paints her nails, blowing them dry as she takes a break from writing.

Once you’re settled and comfortable, you reluctantly peel away the slice of tape covering your webcam (because Black Mirror has forever scared you into thinking 4Chan are watching you and will hold your endless hours of Games2Girls dot com against you) and open up Facetime, ringing Jimin who waits patiently back home.

After a few rings, Jimin’s bright and tired face pops up on the screen and you both silently wave. Jimin has his mic muted, but yours is on, allowing the ambience of the library trick Jimin into believing he’s actually there. It’s not quite like an ordinary study date, but for now, it’ll do. He opens his textbook and starts to work, comfortable and happy now that he’s listening to his friends discuss work, like he’s there. He smiles, occasionally glancing up to see your face working or Jeongguk unintentionally leaning into frame. It’s comforting. He works well.

(08) cooking something for ur friend

“Merry Christmas, Tae. Oh, wait, I have something for you.”

Taehyung is hosting a Christmas party this year, in the apartment he shares with some of the girls in your group and Namjoon. His flat is lit up with lights, draining the electricity, the tree sparkling like diamonds in the front living room that looks out onto the Seoul city. The sound of Michael Bublé sings out festively and Taehyung leads you through to the kitchen, out of the loud madness of the party that’s getting into full swing. In one hand, you have a big bag of presents that both Jeongguk and Yoongi kindly left for you to haul all by yourself to Taehyung’s flat, and in the other, you balance a box across your arm, the corner sharp on your inner elbow.

“Cool. Your gift is under the tree,” Taehyung says.

“Oh, yeah. No, this is an early gift.”

“Just for me?” he asks.

You set down the box. “Well, you can share if you love us all a lot. But, it’s for you.”

Taehyung wastes no time in opening the box, a smile widening across his face as he reviews the contents. The box is stuffed full with cookies, baked big and crumbly for his tasty pleasures. They’re decorated too, because you love him so much and you know he liked them last year.

“Last year you ate nearly all of my batch, so I just decided to make you some of your own this year,” you tell him casually. It’s really no big deal, but Taehyung feels like he might actually cry because the thought is so sweet. You notice this, the glassiness of your eyes. “Ew, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m touched!” he exclaims. Taehyung turns on his spot and wraps an arm around your neck, pulling you in for a hug. With your arms wrapped around his torso, Taehyung smiles with a thrilled sound and kisses the crown of your head. “Thanks, Y/N, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

(09) sending texts when u randomly think abt them

[11:15AM] namjoon 👨🏼‍🚀: i stopped by at kyobo’s today and found a cards against humanity add on pack that was harry potter themed and i thought of u lol [11:15AM] namjoon 👨🏼‍🚀: i bought it for u btw 😊

(10) listening without judging

When the front door slams shut, you know that something’s wrong.

Having opted for sitting in the natural light of the living room to finish your lab report, the sound of the door echoes loudly throughout the empty house. It’s only you home, since Yoongi has volleyball practise until six this evening, which means it’s Jeongguk who’s home and apparently, not in a very good mood.

Jeongguk doesn’t realise you’re in the living room until he enters it, stopping suddenly in the doorway when he sees you cross-legged on the carpet near the coffee table. His eyes are red and swollen, his nose shiny from where he’s been crying and sniffling. The sight makes your stomach churn with an indescribable feeling, and you immediately rise to your feet.

“Jeongguk? What’s wrong- did something happen?” you ask him, not stepping forward until you know he’s okay.

Jeongguk’s sensitive, the baby of the friendship group, and sometimes you forget to go easy on him. He sighs loudly and drops his backpack to the floor with a thud. His books curl inside loudly and he drags his feet across the floor to get to the couch. He moves as if he’s going to sit down and then stops, turning to you. His bottom lip curls like he’s about to cry, and then he opens his arms for a hug. You immediately move forward.

“Oh, Jeonggukkie,” you coo, stroking his hair and moving to sit on the sofa. Jeongguk comes down with you and you rest his head on top of your breasts, granting him this once in a lifetime opportunity and he doesn’t even register it. He just cries, loudly and comfortably, his arms around you as he sobs. “Oh, my baby. What happened?”

Jeongguk hiccups. “Do-Doesn’t matter. It’s dumb.”

“No, it’s not. Something hurt your feelings, and your feelings aren’t dumb,” you tell him seriously. Stroking the hair out of his face, you peer down at him. “Come on. Tell me, I won’t judge or tell anybody else. You can trust me.”

He sniffs loudly, but you don’t cringe. He blinks, tears falling and he embarrassingly wipes the tears away, nodding. “Okay.” And then the words come out like vomit.

“I just. You know how I liked Sooyoung, right? Well, we were talking- everyone knows we were, but still, we were talking, and I just really liked her and wanted her to like me. I did all this stuff for her, planned all these dates and got her flowers. I thought she liked flowers, girls like flowers. I know we joke that you’re one of the guys, but even you liked those flowers I got for you. So, I got her this pretty necklace with an S on it and was going to give it to her and so I went to her practise room. She does dance, you knew she does dance, right? Yeah. And so I went to the room and was in the room talking to her when the door opens and this guy comes in and he comes up to her and they kiss and I just. She. She told me she didn’t want to rush into dating and that she liked me, and then she suddenly started dating someone else and I’m just really hurt and confused. Did I do something wrong? Am I ugly? Am I annoying, I just...I don’t know what I did. I really liked her.”

You don’t say anything as he talks. You just listen intently, nodding against his head with a low hum and stroking his hair gently.

“I know it’s silly and stupid that I’m crying over a girl, it’s just…” He sighs. “It hurts.”

You sigh, too. “It’s not silly and stupid. What Sooyoung did was really shitty and it’s natural that it hurt your feelings. You did absolutely nothing wrong, though. The flowers were pretty, and you didn’t force her into anything, and you were so kind and patient. Any girl would be lucky enough to have you as a boyfriend. Sooyoung missed out! You’re so good, Jeongguk, one of the best guys I know. And you’re not ugly! That’s an insult to actual ugly people! If you’re ugly, then what are we?” He laughs shyly and you smile, “Huh? What are we?”

“Okay, sorry,” Jeongguk laughs, pressing his cheek into your torso with a wide smile. His hands loop together behind your back, meek and timid, and he sighs, this time less sadly. “Maybe I’m destined to be alone forever…”

“You’re being dramatic, now,” you sigh. “The right person is waiting for you. Just give it some time.”

Jeongguk thinks about that for a moment. “Wanna date me if I end up alone and single aged thirty?”

Loudly, you let out a laugh. “Yeah right. You know what, fine. Even though I know you won’t be, if we’re both single by thirty, I’ll marry you. How about that?”

Jeongguk hums. “Cool. Is it safe to have kids after thirty?”

You let out a wheeze, taken aback by Jeongguk’s question. “Woah there. I said I’d marry you, not birth your children! Besides, you’re acting like thirty is ancient! Lots of women have kids aged thirty.”

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t know! My Mom was only young.”

“I can’t believe you just asked me to have kids with you when we’re thirty…”

“Might as well make our marriage interesting,” Jeongguk shrugs.

You quite literally have nothing to say to that.

(11) making someone laugh so hard that their whole body shakes

“Ow- stop! I’m going to pee!”

You don’t think you’ve seen Seokjin laugh at a joke that’s not his own in quite some time. Tonight, across the table in the retro diner that’s been converted and opened in town, he has surprised you. The entire booth shakes with laughter, from all sides and directions. Seokjin leans up against the window, clutching his side with Jimin, Mina and Yoongi all stuffed next to him on the skinny one seater. Next to you, on either side, is Hoseok and Taehyung, with Jeongguk and Namjoon at the counter ordering more drinks.

“What?” you ask, laughing. You’re not laughing because it’s funny, but more so because you have no idea what it is you did to make him laugh so hard. “What did I say?”

Seokjin can hardly get his words out, choking halfway on air and having to reach for his drink which shakes in his hand. He sips and gasps for air: “Just-your...face!” Then he cracks up again, like it’s the literal joke of the century. You just don’t get it.

“What did I do?” you ask. “What’s so funny?”

Seokjin can’t breathe.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi comments, smiling with disbelief and covering his mouth as he laughs. Mina’s french fries are stone cold as she laughs and leans into Yoongi’s side for support.

“Fuck. Y/N, you’re so funny, I love you so much,” Seokjin cries. Cries, literally; there are tears pooling out of his eyes, and he wipes them, sighing loudly as he laughs a few more times.

You’re going to take the compliment happily, and move on. To this day, you never found out what was so funny…

(12) hanging out in furniture stores and testing every couch there is

“Take a picture of me so we can pretend this is our house for Instagram.”

You sigh, taking out your phone and snapping a photo of Taehyung, lounging his legs apart across a lime green sofa that looks like it’s been hauled out of a 70’s magazine. One of the best things about Taehyung is that he’s easy to please, eccentric and adventurous just like you. Taehyung could be taken to a junkyard for a first date and somehow he’d still find it fun. He didn’t watch Bottletop Bill and his best friend Corky and leave not taking some inspiration on what to do with scrap junk.

It slowly became a tradition to go to the weirdest places with Taehyung as your date. On weekends or free weekdays you shared, you’d text Taehyung and get him to come with you to somewhere new. On today’s list, IKEA. It’s not totally crazy, or weird or wacky, just something you don’t think you’d do with Yoongi for fun. Taehyung loved the idea.

Taehyung’s making it a mission to sit on every bit of furniture he can find. As he takes a ride up the elevator to the first and main starting point of IKEA, he immediately notices the display couches and stares at you excitedly: “Let’s pretend we’re about to buy our dream house and test all the couches.”

Your eyes light up. “Yes! We can pretend we’re on a TV show reviewing them.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Taehyung more excited. “Oh my God, yes!” Then he grabs your hand, tugging you towards a cream themed living display. “Let’s go, wifey! Time to review.”

(You very nearly leave IKEA with a bright red sofa that looks like it’s been handmade and the bottom pillows are patterned with tiny cherries. Sadly, you’re both broke and you don’t have a car to take it home.)

((Taehyung’s devastated.))

(13) deep conversations when it's deep in the night

Sometimes, Yoongi stays awake until the early hours in the living room and kitchen. On days where you can’t sleep, you can hear him pacing around, softly grunting as he walks, something he does without really realising and something you love about him. On occasion, you join him. Like tonight, for example.

Yoongi’s curled up on the kitchen counter when you wake up and leave your room to find him. He sits with his back up against the cupboards, the kitchen window open with a cigarette out the window. Catching your gaze wide-eyed, he moves as if he’s going to put the cigarette out but you stop him.

“I told Jeongguk I’d stop,” Yoongi explains. Inside, he’s just grateful you’re not Jeongguk tonight. The cigarette lets off steam. He doesn’t smoke as often as he used to, just when he needs to. Yoongi looks away from the window as you pick yourself up to sit on the cupboards parallel to him. A bottle of wine is out, and you quietly take off the top and take a large swig.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you tell him honestly. “It’s okay. I won’t tell Jeongguk, too. There’s a new air freshener in the cupboard under the sink. Use that when you’re done.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

“Why’d you go back to smoking anyway? Didn’t you tell Jeongguk that you were stopping because you didn’t want to die, or something?” It’s a joke, Yoongi snorts in reply.

“You know how he feels about it. I do too, and I guess I just felt bad about it. It was bad enough for him growing up and at home, and he told me about his brothers asthma attacks because of it and how he almost died, and how his parents smoked religiously and it made them act a certain way.” Yoongi sucks in his breath, like he’s realising what lighting the cigarette means. “It’s not weed. Not what his parents did, but. Still, fuck.” He decides to put it out.

For a while, you don’t say anything to Yoongi. Staring at him is telling enough, and you watch as Yoongi regrets what he’s done so much that he pales, his eyes watering.

“I don’t want to let him down,” Yoongi admits truthfully. “He’s like my little brother. I don’t wanna hurt him, fuck.”

He rocks his head back, sighing into the night. Down below the window, over the small little cliffside that he can see from his window that looks down onto the freeway behind the flat, he watches the lines of traffic whiz by, like long white lights, the honks like ASMR in his ears.

“If you’re going back to bed, can you go in my room and take the rest of my cigs out? Don’t wanna feel tempted by them. Toss them out or something, will you?”

You nod immediately, taking another drink of wine. This gulp stings. “Course. Yeah, I’m gonna go now actually.” You hop down off the counter, handing the bottle and placing it next to Yoongi. “Don’t stay up too late, mkay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You shrug in reply, Yoongi frowns. As you walk towards the doorway that separates the kitchen and the hall, you turn around and look back at Yoongi, calling his name. Yoongi looks over and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Love you,” you tell him. A smile follows, and Yoongi blinks tiredly.

“I love you too. Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches as you disappear into the darkness of the hallway and then faces the nighttime again. The smell of cigarettes lingers, and his stomach churns. Yoongi reaches for the air freshener you mentioned and sprays it generously, sniffing and then turning off the lights to the kitchen. Jeongguk will wake up and complain about the window being open, and might even notice the ash on the windowsill, but, like you, he still loves his big brother regardless.

(14) holding hands while jaywalking so that u Both get hit by a car

“Now!”

A squeal leaves your mouth as Jeongguk grabs a hold of your hand and literally pulls you across the road. A car that speeds down the road presses the horn loud enough to turn a few heads and Jeongguk grins boyishly, raising his hand as if to say sorry even though you’re far enough away to not get hit. Jeongguk’s motto for jaywalking is We Hold Hands, Because We Go Together Or We Don’t Go Down At All, or something. You know he stole half of it from an All Time Low song, but it works, and the song slaps.

From across the road, on the side you and Jeongguk are running towards, Hoseok gapes at the both of you and his eyes bulge out of his head.

“You two have a death wish!” he yells.

“But we lived, bitch!” Jeongguk replies, raising a gang sign to which Hoseok pulls a face at.

“I literally cannot stand you,” Hoseok seethes, walking away even though he’s supposed to be going out for dinner with the both of you. You and Jeongguk share a look that ends in a burst of giggles and run after Hoseok, capturing each of his arms with your own. He complains all the way to the restaurant, even though he loves it.

(15) randomly buying a flower for someone

“Delivery.”

Namjoon’s voice lifts your head. He stands behind the reception desk of your flat complex with a small bunch of flowers in his left hand. If he didn’t already know that you were working your two hour shift today, then he’s lucky he caught you. The sight of a bouquet of wildflowers makes your heart soar curiously.

“For someone special?” you wonder. Maybe he’s delivering to someone in the complex. Namjoon’s a sweetie like that.

Namjoon blinks. “Yeah. You.” He holds the bouquet outwards, with a bright smile. “They were for sale outside as I got off my subway. Thought of you, again. Happy early birthday.”

“My birthday’s in, like, seven months,” you say.

“That’s why it’s for your early birthday,” Namjoon replies.

You don’t know what to say. “They’re so pretty, thank you. Hey - can you go up to my flat and put them in a vase? I’ve still got an hour here, they might dry out if they’re kept down here.”

Namjoon nods instantly. “Sure. Gimme your key?” You slide the key across the desk towards Namjoon and he takes it swiftly. “Cool. Glad you like them. Enjoy your shift, Y/N.”

“Unlikely,” you groan. “Thanks, Joonie!”

He smiles as he reaches the door, sticking his tongue out to you as he prepares to climb the stairs. That elevator needs fixing urgently, and all you can think about is how much you love your friends.

(16) letting ur friends taste ur food and also tasting theirs to the point where u basically ate a fair amount off of each plate on the table

“What do you mean you’ve never tried a steak before?” Yoongi sighs so loudly that it turns a few heads. “Okay. Take a bite, it’s called charity and I’m generous. Come on.”

Yoongi even cuts you a slice and leans over the table to let you taste it. Beside you, Namjoon cringes when you close your teeth around the fork and pull the steak off, taking several bites and widening your eyes with wonder a Yoongi. You have just unlocked a taste sensation!

“Like it?” Yoongi asks.

“Mhm! It’s so easy to eat,” you observe. You look at Namjoon, “try his.”

Yoongi sighs. He willingly shares his food out. You glance down at your own meal, a pretty pasta dish that Jeongguk looks at from next to Yoongi.

“What is that? It looks good,” Jeongguk asks.

“Spaghetti Al Pomodoro,” you quote from the menu. Jeongguk laughs, because who goes to a restaurant and orders spaghetti? “Stop, I don’t know the menu, I played it safe!”

“Lemme try,” Jeongguk invites himself to try the taste, twirling his fork around the pasta and sucking it up like a scene in Lady and the Tramp. This sets off a sequence around the table, something you can’t help but snigger at. Namjoon lets you try some of his curry and Yoongi tries Jeongguk’s burger. By the time everybody on the table has tried everybody elses meals, you finally look back at your plate and notice that literally half of the meal’s now gone. Yoongi has about one bite of steak left, and Jeongguk could easily finish his burger in one bite.

“I hope everyone enjoyed my meal,” Yoongi says sarcastically, and he angrily chews his last piece of steak.

Namjoon looks up with a bright smile. “Yeah I did. Thanks!”

(17) "give me that I'll carry it for u"

Sometimes, Hoseok stops by at the reception to help out, especially during finals or midterms when you could really use those two years of monitoring an empty email inbox to study. Today, one of the newer residents, Somi, is on the desk and is playing Club Penguin on the computer, and you’re shoved into the back storage room with Hoseok, filing everybody’s mail and parcels.

It’s so messy in here, and looks like it hasn’t had a good clean out since it was first built, which might sound ridiculous, but have you seen all of this dust?

“Can you guys take out the trash?” One of the other workers, Siwon, pokes his head into the back room.

“You only just asked us to do this, though,” Hoseok points out with his hands on his hips.

Siwon shrugs, “Okay. And? Get to work.”

He turns and leaves as Hoseok gives him the middle finger, groaning as he arches his back to relieve pain that’s developed from being hunched over for too long. The trash bags are enormous and bulky with weight, shoved into a single room that absolutely honks. Hoseok grimaces as he opens the door and drags some bags out, deliberately ignoring a suspicious juice leaving a trail behind one of the ones he’s just brought into the back room.

“That literally stinks,” you complain.

“Yep.”

While Hoseok continues to haul bags out of the trash room, you take it upon yourself to drag the bags out to the back, towards the giant tip that’s collected by the bin-men the following day. After two or three trips, Hoseok steps out of the room and notices you struggling to pick a big bag up off the floor over your shoulder, like Santa’s sack.

“Give me that, I’ll carry it for you,” Hoseok offers, already stepping forward.

“No!” you protest stubbornly. “I’ve got this.”

“You’re so full of bullshit,” Hoseok howls. He ignores you and snatches the bag out of your hands. You’ll never admit it, but it feels good to not have the twisty material burning your fingers. “Sit down. You’ve worked hard.”

“Don’t patronise me,” you scold.

He giggles, “sorry. You’re too cute. Keep filling in those forms, kill two birds with one stone?”

You wait until Hoseok’s out of the room to cradle your fingers. Fucking hell, that hurts.

(18) helping ur friend decide what to wear while also reminding them that they look amazing no matter what

“You’re not going to the Met Gala, Jimin. Just wear jeans, my dude.”

“No. No, no, ignore him.” You throw a glare in Jeongguk’s direction and shift on your stomach, watching Jimin frantically search through his wardrobe. “This is important. This is serious. He’s going to see a potential employer, Jeongguk.”

“Yeah,” Jimin taunts, “so go be jobless and broke somewhere else.”

Jeongguk snorts, “I have a job, though…”

“Okay, get out of my room. Y/N, help me.”

“You looked good in the last four outfits,” you say to him honestly. “What’s wrong with this one, hm?”

You stand up, moving to one of the outfits laid out on the floor. It’s a pretty combination of clothes; a patterned white shirt that’s both formal and casual, with black trousers and brown shoes.

“I don’t like the shoes,” Jimin mumbles, continuing to search.

“Okay...Why don’t we just…” You crouch, moving a pair of black shoes from outfit number three to outfit number two. Now the shoes are black, and the outfit looks great. “Do that? What do you think?”

Jimin looks down at it, biting his bottom lip. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, totally,” you nod with enthusiasm. “It shows your personality whilst also remaining professional. And you looked super handsome in it.” Jimin faces you with a shy smile, “Trust me. It’s the one.”

It takes some reluctance and convincing, but Jimin eventually settles on outfit number two. All it took was some convincing and abuse of his praise kink.

(And he got the job.)

(19) being involved in every bad hair decision (dyeing ur friend's hair grey in between playing with their switch)

Three games into Mario Kart, you realise that you urgently need to email Nintendo and play I’m-Karen-Let-Me-See-The-Manager. Nintendo Switches are so dangerously addictive that Seokjin has you watching him play as grey hair dye bleaches his scalp. You can’t help but watch as he wins race after race, a streak of ten to beat tonight with King Boo as his racer every damn time.

“Fuck, your hair!” You must have said that so many times that Seokjin’s bound to get sick of it. He glances up at his reflection and eyes the sight on his head.

“Looks fine,” he shrugs.

“Let me remind you that it looks fine because the colour’s okay at the front. It looks kinda...patchy at the back.” You reach for the dye, “We’re low. Seokjin, we’re in trouble.”

He shrugs again. “Whatever. We can make a new trend.”

“Hell no. If it looks shit, I’m paying for you to get it done professionally ...which, you should have just done in the first place. I'm not a hairdresser!”

“And thank fuck for that!” Jimin steps into the living room and laughs nervously. “That looks hideous!”

This time, Seokjin’s eyes raise icily.

“It’s not that bad…” you mutter. “It’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

“The only way to save your hair is to just sacrifice it all,” Jimin sighs. “You know what, I’ve got a razor in my cupboard, let’s bring forward bald Seokjin.”

“I’ll take the patchy scalp,” Seokjin threatens.

“It’s really not that bad,” you pout quietly, attempting to fix the mess at the back of his head.

Okay - you’re lying. It’s awful. It’s a total disaster. But when Seokjin gets a good look at it, and he does take a good long look, he just shrugs and puts down the mirror.

“It’s a trend,” he decides. Mario Kart resumes and you’re rendered absolutely speechless.

(20) paying attention

When forced into a group of friends outside of your own, you always had a tendency to stand out in the worst ways possible. It’s not as if you stood out for being different, or funny or pretty. No; outside of your close circle of friends, you were the obvious outsider. You stuck out like an imposter, like a red flower amongst white ones.

This get together hosted by one of Jeongguk’s other friends, Joshua, takes place in his crazy expensive lake house in the countryside, owned by his parents and left to him when he turned eighteen. It’s remarkable that you got invited, to be honest. But, when Jeongguk’s your best friend, you get vouched for, granted permission to stay for the weekend in the one of many rooms, with the exception of sharing a room with two other guys. Jeongguk doesn’t mind sharing a bed for the weekend with Jimin, as long as you’re comfortable in your own.

And you’re not blind - it’s not hard to figure out why a big group of girls who had managed invitations were clinging to your circle of friends. You had lucked out in a way that ensured your entire group were visuals, everybody stunning in their own unique way. Joshua and his friends are here too, obviously, but their eyes are only on a certain segment of the group. From this angle, one of the girls who made her way over to the sofas sits with her back in your general direction, and it sort of feels like primary school all over again where you were the odd one out.

You try not to let it bother you, though. As the guys play polite and laugh when needed and talk casually, something slips up in conversation: “Well, actually-” One of the girls is talking, blinking repetitively in Namjoon’s direction with a sweet smile, “I think I have more guy friends than girls. Girls are so hard to talk to sometimes.”

“Right?” one of the others says with a sigh. “I wish I had more male friends. I want to move in with some in the future.”

You inhale. This is a good conversation to jump into. “Same,” you say. The girl in front of you turns around slightly, perhaps only just remembering that you were there in the first place. “I’ve been friends with these guys forever now, and living with them is so…” You notice after a short ramble that the girls turned back around, and she’s not even listening. You trail off, looking bored, “who am I even talking to?”

But from across the coffee table on the other couch, Yoongi furrows his brows and sets his glass down. “Y/N’s right,” he announces, and you look up at the same time as the other girls. Like they’re confused, they look at the group and then back at you, as if wondering the connection. “You know, guys are always told being friends with girls is impossible, but Y/N’s the glue that keeps us together.”

Jeongguk nods, “Mhm, exactly! You know, they said that it would be hard being friends with girls because you’d catch feelings, but Y/N’s so repulsive that it’s not even that hard...”

You glare at him, “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

“Trust me,” Chaeyoung pops up, having been sat silently in between Taehyung and Mark for the past twenty six minutes, “it’s not all that.” The girls look at her, “Men are disgusting. I don’t know how Y/N does it. These guys are the repulsive ones...I was in their flat for five minutes and I think I caught three diseases.”

“Hey, don’t drag my apartment into this,” you pout. Yoongi shakes his head with a smile and watches you, happy that the frown that was once on your features had disappeared into a smile. Hey, in a weird way, this was a good conversation to jump into!

The girls around you share glances, as though they’ve just clocked on to how important you are to these guys and how ignoring you won’t make them like them more, and eventually, you’re included in the conversation. You make a mental reminder to thank the fuck out of Yoongi for paying attention to you, even when you’re silently in the background.

(21) being aware and understanding of someone's financial situation ("dw I'll pay for u")

“We all need matching ones. Look, one each!”

Jeongguk excitedly crouches in front of one of the display cases, marvelling at the sight of tiny little charms on foam boxes, smiling up at you all. It makes you weak seeing how childlike Jeongguk actually is, how he gets excited over shiny things like a little magpie. Today is one of those rare afternoons where you’re all miraculously free, and it had been Namjoon’s idea to go out somewhere and hang out. Seoul is filled with beautiful and secret places to explore like a tourist and he takes up the opportunity.

This shop is dinky and in a weird place between an ice-cream shop and a fish market, probably scammy and has definitely seen better days. But Namjoon likes it, and Yoongi vouches for it because he’s been here before with Namjoon when they brought a watch for Jimin. Okay, yes, it was a designer watch, but it was way cheaper from this shop and, wait, who cares if it’s fake? Nobody noticed until now.

You stand behind Jeongguk, peering down at the charms. They’re all so cute and cartoon-like, each charm you view immediately reminding you of another friend. For Jeongguk, the rabbit. Taehyung could have the paintbrush or camera, Jimin definitely could have the apple because of the fact that his new favourite thing to say is An Apple A Day Keeps The Demons Away. It makes no sense, but he learns to roll with it.

“They’re cute,” Hoseok comments, smiling widely.

“They should be cute, for thirty dollars a charm!” you gape, pointing out the price. “I thought this was a shop that sold things cheaper?!”

“They’re usually around sixty,” Namjoon shrugs.

“For why?” you exclaim.

Nobody hears that, or if they do, they ignore it. With a sigh, you turn away from the case and start looking at something else. Thirty dollars for a small charm is insane, and you don’t have that kind of money. As Taehyung and Jeongguk start picking charms for everybody, your heart rate quickens.

How can you tell them that you don’t want a charm because you can’t afford a charm without disappointing them and sounding like you’re asking one of them to buy you one? In your panic, Seokjin worms his way up behind you and rests his arm up on your head like an arm-rest.

“Have you picked a charm?” he asks, and you look away instantly. “Hey,” he says, noticing that, “what’s up, buttercup?”

You sigh reluctantly. “I can’t afford to get one of those…”

Seokjin blinks and frowns slightly. “Oh. Well, that’s okay. I’ll pay for you.”

“No way!” you hiss at him, poking a finger into his chest. “Kim Seokjin, don’t you dare-!”

“Hey, I owe you, it’s cool,” Seokjin assures you.

“Owing me because I paid for your McDonalds is not the same as spending thirty dollars on a tiny charm.”

“They’re friendship charms,” he explains. “It’s symbolic for our friendship. Look, stay silent and pretty and let me get you something nice. Please?”

In this one instance, Seokjin doesn’t take no for an answer and invites himself into the small huddle of guys around the charms and picks one out for you. Seokjin picks you a love heart, because he knows that no matter what, there’s a love between the guys and you that nothing can pull apart.

(22) looking stupid in public together (dancing in stores to overplayed pop songs)

You hear it at the same time as Jeongguk.

One thing you don’t mind that much about Korea is that the sound of random K-POP groups follows you around everywhere you go. You actually kind of like it, because the songs are catchy enough and Jimin and Hoseok like it for the dances. But, my God, if you have to hear Momoland’s Bboom Bboom one more time, you might explode.

Over the hum of the refrigerators in the small GS25, where you and Jeongguk are examining the surprisingly large collection of flavoured milks, you hear those guitar strums and just as the horns roll in, you and Jeongguk share a glance and immediately do The Thing.

The Thing is recreating the entire dance routine to the song, which you had both decided to learn when you were bored and procrastinating during midterms. Everybody else in your friendship group deems it the single most embarrassing thing that you and Jeongguk do in public next to jaywalking, and maybe you can see why. The chorus rolls by and you’re both shimmying, pointing finger hearts to each other, and it’s rolling to an end when one of the cashiers turns the corner with a big tray of iced coffee in her arms.

She pauses and so do the both of you, in an intense stare off until she cowers and scurries to put down the tray and carefully shelf the drinks. Jeongguk looks at you with the urge to laugh and picks a random milk off the shelf, urging you out of the aisle to pay. When you’re outside and free from the judgement of the cashier, Jeongguk laughs on the floor for about five straight minutes.

(23) looking stupid in public together (singing loudly in ur car)

“JUST GO AHEAD AND HATE ON ME AND RUN YOUR MOUTH!”

“So everyone can hear!”

“HIT ME WITH THE WORST YOU GOT AND KNOCK ME DOWN!”

“Oh, baby, I don’t care.”

“KEEP IT UP AND SOON ENOUGH, YOU’LL FIGURE OUT!”

Both of your voices: “You wanna be, you wanna be, A LOSER LIKE ME!”

In the backseat, Yoongi shrinks further down until his bum is hanging off the chair, in the footwell where his knees are. “Please kill me.”

(24) hugging people when u say hi and goodbye to them

Hoseok is one of the best friends you could ever ask for. One, he’s friendly. Two, he’s funny. Three, he’s cute. Four, he hugs you when you arrive somewhere and again when you leave, and you absolutely love it.

“Y/N, hi!” His voice is the first to call out to you when you walk into the Open Day fair at your Uni. You look awful, overslept and still half asleep, but he comes towards you with a smile and engulfs you in a hug. “You look cute. Sleep well?”

That’s not to say the other guys don’t hug you, because they definitely do. But, Hoseok’s always the first.

(25) being there for someone even if u can't help them

“Go ahead. Laugh at me like everybody else.”

Jimin and Jeongguk are the ones who are unfortunately tasked with dealing with a tragically grieving Y/N. It’s unfortunate to you, but they don’t mind one bit. The last thing they expected to see when they came back to Jeongguk’s apartment to watch more episodes of Mindhunter on Jeongguk’s TV, was you curled up on the window seat with red eyes and a runny nose.

“Why would we laugh at you, baby?” Jeongguk asks, rubbing your back. He’s sat next to you and Jimin is by your feet, rubbing them and your legs with his soft hands.

You sniff uglily, but none of them say anything. “Cause. Cause it’s just a fish, I guess.”

“It was still your pet,” Jimin points out sadly. “Susan was a great fish.”

You sniff again, crying some more. “I just feel like a bad owner. Maybe the bowl wasn’t big enough, and maybe I didn’t feed her enough...I don’t want her to have died because of me.”

“Hey, now,” Jeongguk assures softly, “I’m sure she died peacefully. You were the best fish Mom ever. Susan’s in a better place now.” He glances over at Jimin nervously, “Like, fish heaven?”

For a moment you don’t say anything, and Jeongguk thinks maybe that was too much. But then you turn to him with a hopeful expression. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jeongguk replies.

“Susan’s still with you in your heart,” Jimin adds. He’s not too great at the comforting thing. “You were so good to her. If I was a fish, I’d want you to be my Mom.”

Jeongguk looks at Jimin with a deadpan face. Maybe that was too much, but you smiled, and that’s something to Jimin. Even if he doesn’t know what to do to help, the least he can do is be there for you.

(26) "this reminded me of u"

[03:15AM] namjoon: hehe [03:15AM] namjoon: this reminded me of u ^__^ [03:16AM] namjoon: [1 Image Attached]

[03:20AM] y/n: there r no words….

(27) allowing people to be human, with everything that this entails

University truly has been the best years of your life. There’ve been rough spots financially and mentally, but your key support system has been the circle of friends you’re proud to love and live with. Even when they’re a little bit chaotic, sometimes really annoying and loud and tiring, you still love them, and every quality that comes along with loving them.

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