#ewan mcgregor imagine

[ficsforfandoms]

The Rest Of My Life

Prompt - ‘I’d like to laugh with her for the rest of my life.’ 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Christian, any fool who took a single glance at him could sum him up quite as easily as somebody who had known him since he was just a small boy. They would tell you he was a man in love, in love with what nobody could ever guess. There was never a woman in his life, Christian had no experience with love and yet his whole life seemed to revolve around love.

Christian himself would tell you how beautiful love was, how it was all one needed to be happy. He was content to sit at his typewriter for hours on end, his fingers dancing quickly across the keys in a desperate attempt to keep up with each new thought and idea that came to him.

Love was beautiful. It was breathtaking. It made the world a better place. Christian could spend the rest of his life waxing the most adoring words to describe the feeling of being loved and being in love.

He might never have been in love but oh how he had dreamed of it. The feeling of his lover curled into his chest, his fingers trailing through soft hair, caressing her cheek before feeling her lips against his, the words he wrote suddenly having a new meaning because they were all about her.

Christian wanted to be in love more than anything.

It was perhaps for that reason that Christian hadn’t protested so much when Toulouse insisted he joined them at the Moulin Rouge that evening, a place he would never usually have frequented but he knew he wouldn’t find love sitting in his room. It was one of the reasons he had left London, he needed to put himself out there, he needed to find her.

So he went to the Moulin Rouge and he stared in wide eyed wonderment at the sights, there were so many different types of people, lights and jewels shone around the room, Christian wasn’t able to take everything in fast enough before the girls were singing and his attention was pulled to the front of the room.

He was quick to join in on the festivities as Toulouse pulled him along with a giant grin on his face, the music loud and the drink in his hand cold, Christian was singing and dancing along with the rest of the crowd in no time.

You were the first to spot him, watching as he laughed with his group of friends, looking so happy and carefree, like there was nothing bad in the world. He was beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but there was something about him beyond his beauty that seemed to pull you to him.

You stayed where you were though, despite wanting to make your way over to him, choosing instead to just observe him. You were quick to look away when he turned your way, focusing on the near empty drink in your head and hoping when you turned back he hadn’t disappeared from view.

Christian was enchanted in a second of seeing you. Alone at the bar, bringing a glass to your lips, Christian couldn’t look away if he tried. The flood of people separating you seemed to vanish from view for Christian, the songs and the dancing suddenly not all that interesting to him anymore. Of course how could they be when compared to you?

“Toulouse,” Christian said, not looking away from you as he called his friend's attention, “she’s beautiful.”

“So go and talk to her.” Toulouse encouraged and if only it could be that simple, for him to simply walk across the room and close the distance between the two of you.

“Oh I couldn’t!” Christian insisted, finally pulling his gaze from you to look at Toulouse with wide eyes. “I wouldn’t know what to say, what to do! She looks like a woman I could only dream about, what chance would a penniless nobody like me have with a woman like that?”

“Christian, it is easy, just tell her you think she’s beautiful and go from there. Don’t you think she should have a say in whether she wants to be with you?” Toulouse asked, smirking when Christian didn’t immediately shoot him down but instead turned back to you.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Christian said absentmindedly, his attention solely on you again. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Good luck!” Toulouse’s call was muffled as Christian made his way through the crowd, people moving this way and that, causing him to stumble his way through the sea of people before he finally made his way to where you sat alone at the bar, hands wrapped around an empty glass.

“Excuse me?” Christian started and you couldn’t help but smile at the soft voice to your right, glancing over when you saw the man from across the room standing nervously at your side. “If you wouldn’t mind the company, I’d quite like to join you.”

Your smile widened and Christian was mesmerised. He could sit and stare at you all day, already he had hundreds of words running through his head that he was desperate to type out, finally having real inspiration for his poems.

“Please do take a seat.” You told him, gesturing to the seat next to you and Christian had to control his smile at your voice, you sounded as beautiful as you looked, a voice he’d quite like to listen to for the rest of his life.

“Could I buy you another drink?” Christian offered as he gestured down to your empty glass.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

It wasn’t long before the two of you had drinks in front of you, Christian unable to look away from you for even a single moment whereas you kept glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, thankful that he seemed as captivated by you as you were for him.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Christian.” He introduced himself, a pink flush spreading across his check that you could help but giggle softly at, a sound that had Christian’s heart speeding up.

“Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You told him with a smile and Christian wanted you to always smile at him like that.

“You truly are beautiful, Y/N.” Christian said, the words falling from his lips seemingly without his permission if his wide eyes and startled look was anything to go by but you just laughed again and the sound alone seemed to calm him.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” You asked him and watched as his eyebrows knitted together before he shook his head. “I figured, most men don’t speak to any women here quite so nicely.”

“That’s ridiculous! Surely somebody else must have noticed your beauty? One look from across the room and I knew I just had to know you!” Christian exclaimed, baffled at your words.

“You’re a romantic sort, aren’t you? I’ve never heard anyone speak quite like you do.” You told him with a soft smile, glad he had come to join you.

“Oh yes! I love everything about love, there’s no better feeling, nothing better in the whole world than love!” Christian told you enthusiastically and you couldn’t help but smile along with him.

Christian felt himself blush under your smile, knowing how he could get when the subject of love was brought up. Suddenly, here before you, it felt like everything he had known about love was wrong, it was so much more consuming than he could have ever thought it would be.

“I wish I believed in love half as much as you seem to.” You told him wistfully, glancing down into your drink and missing Christian’s wide eyed look of horror.

“You don’t believe in love?” He exclaimed and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love, of course it’s real,” You said before sighing, “It’s just that, I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if I was ever made to be loved like that.”

“Of course you were.” Christian said once the words were out of your mouth and you turned to look at him in confusion, he debated whether he should carry on before deciding it was worth it. “Of course you were made to be loved, I knew the moment I saw you that you were put here, right here in Montmartre, here on this very night in the Moulin Rouge, to be loved!”

“You can’t possibly mean that, Christian.” You brushed him off with a huff of a laugh but continued looking at him, the determined look on his face had you doubting your own words.

“But I do.” He insisted. “You see, I’m a poet, I write about love and never have I met anybody in my whole life who gives my words meaning. Suddenly everything I have ever written about faceless people seems dreadfully dull when compared to what I want to write about you!”

“I’ve never been loved before.” You told him softly.

“I’ve never been in love before.” He admitted, his voice just as quiet as yours and the two of you remained that way for several moments, the noises of the Moulin Rouge muted around you.

“You hardly know me.” You finally said, not sure if it was an attempt to stop whatever seemed to be occurring or an invitation for him to accept.

“I’d like to though, more than anything in the whole world.” He told you, everything about him radiated sincerity. “I quite think I’d like to spend the rest of my life getting to know you.”

You were silent again, left speechless as you stared at the man who gave you a sheepish smile, reaching up to push his hair back nervously as he waited for you to say something. You weren’t quite sure you could find any words though at the moment so instead just nodded, strangely taken with the young man and wanting to know him as much as he did you.

“Would you like to leave? We could go anywhere you like.” Christian asked and you nodded again, allowing him to take your hand and lead you away from the bright lights.

The two of you stayed that way, walking alongside each other long after the music and singing coming from the Moulin Rouge had faded, hands entwined as you both filled the silence. Christian told you about why he had come to Paris, leaving behind a life in London in exchange for a chance to make a new one, one filled with love and poetry. You told him about your life too, telling him of the adventures that you had that had led you all the way to Paris and the Moulin Rouge.

The two of you wandered the streets for hours, barely noticing the time pass as you traded secrets and stories. It wasn’t until yawns started to interrupt your conversations that you both realised that hours had passed since you’d left the Moulin Rouge.

“I don’t want this night to end.” Christian told you, looking at you with a sad, regretful look. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a night like this one.”

“I can say the same thing myself. I’ve rather liked getting to know you, Christian.” You said and watched as his expression morphed into a smile.

“We will do this again, won’t we? Oh, please say we will, Y/N!” Christian exclaimed, causing you to laugh, smiling brightly at him and Christian found himself returning the gesture without a second thought.

Your smile truly was contagious.

“I’d like nothing more.” You told him truthfully, giggling again as his smile spread impossibly wider as he pulled you closer to him.

“Can I walk you home?” He asked and you immediately agreed, even after spending so long together tonight you wanted to stay with him a little while longer.

The walk home consisted of much softer spoken conversation, the both of you knowing that in a matter of minutes you’d have to part ways. When your building came into sight you sighed softly and turned to Christian.

“I can’t wait to see you again.” Christian said as he reached over to brush a strand of hair away before his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

He gave you plenty of time to pull away but instead you leaned forward, meeting him halfway. Christian suddenly understood every word he had ever read, he realised every cliche was real when he felt your lips against his, the world around him forgotten as he kissed you back until you were both breathless and forced to pull away.

“Goodnight Christian.” You murmured, leaning up to place a lingering kiss against his lips before stepping back to memorise the dazed look on Christian’s face.

“Goodnight Y/N.” Christian whispered, keeping his gaze on you until you’d disappeared behind the closed door of your apartment building.

He stayed where he was for a few moments longer, just smiling to himself with the memory of your lips against his running through his head. You were truly unlike anybody he had ever met before, someone he knew he had to know, had to keep in his life.

Christian walked home with his smile firmly in place and let himself into his own rooms, shrugging his coat off before taking a seat at the table, his trusty typewriter already waiting for him.

Tonight I met her, the girl who gives meaning to every word of love, each line sounds beautiful and new because of her. Suddenly I know what love is, an all-encompassing feeling that I will treasure for the rest of my life, a life I hope to share with her. She’s beautiful, not just in the way she looks but in the way she talks, in the way she laughs. I laughed more tonight than I ever have in my life. I think…no I know I’d like to laugh with her for the rest of my life.

[acersthings]

Let Me Help You

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Next >

Summary: With a mission gone wrong, wounds tearing you up, and everyone in craze, you decide to keep your injury to yourself. At least, you thought you kept it to yourself.

Warnings: None! A little angst, but that’s all.

The mission couldn’t have gone any worse. You and your group were suppose to go see how the trades between Naboo and other planets were going after the events of the Trade Federation. Simple, right? Nope.

First, your jet had broken down, making you halt your journey on Tatooine. How much you had hated Tatooine. It was a hot, desert, dry planet. It was only nice at night. But, you were there at the rise of dawn. The sun was beating down on you.

Then, you got ambushed by Tusken Raiders. Of course, being a Jedi Master, you brushed them off. Not without any marks though.

Arriving at the Jedi Temple, your group was very irritated. The fact that their mission went wrong and that they have to deal with the Council. That’s not the best idea of relaxation.

You didn’t want to burden anyone with your injuries so you kept the harsh burns and wounds to yourself. It was hard. With every limping step you took, there was a shooting pain throughout your whole body. With every breath you took, there was a sharp pain inside your lungs.

Putting on a fake façade, you managed to act like your leg and whole body wasn’t currently on fire. You managed to walk without a limp and hide the pain in your face. You covered your bloody robes with your brown cloak, attempting to hide the newly crimson cloth.

Upon entering the Temple, every pair of eyes were on you. Kriffing great, you thought. The whole Temple knew of the failed mission. Meaning that everyone had questions. Meaning that everyone would have to stop you from going into your room.

“Master Y/n!” A familiar voice shouted.

You turned around to see Anakin Skywalker running towards you. Being Anakin’s superior and a couple years older than him, you were like his mentor. He came to you with his troubles when his Master wasn’t available. Or just fed up with Anakin. Anakin was one of the closest friends that you had.

“Anakin,” you smiled.

“Are you okay? Everyone heard about what happened. Is anyone injured?” The young Padawan’s questions came out at a rapid fire.

“Everyone’s okay, Anakin. Take a deep breath. You’re more stressed than I am,” you joked, making him smile.

“I was making sure. I can’t have you injured,” you and Anakin started to walk down the hallway.

“You’re swe-“

“That would mean I would have so much more work to do and honestly, I don’t think I can handle it.”

You scoffed and chuckled, “There it is. There’s the punchline.”

Anakin laughed and rested his arm on your shoulder. His weight on your back hurt. Like really hurt. You winced, but not enough for him to notice.

“Do you want to grab a bite to eat? I know you must be hungry and I-“

“I would love to, Anakin, but I must report to the Council. You know what they are like,” you rubbed your temples in exhaustion. The lack of energy and sleep was starting to take its toll.

“Yeah, you better hurry before Master Windu makes a fuss.”

Laughing, you walked past the Padawan. You felt badly about lying to Anakin. But, if he knew you were injured, he would make a very big scene. You didn’t want that right now. All you wanted was some Bacta patches and your bed.

You walked some more down the hallway, acting as if you were actually going to the Council. When you saw no one was looking, you steered the other way towards the Living Quarters.

You dropped your façade. You let go of your cloak and started to limp again. In a way, limping was making your injuries feel better.

Arriving at your door, you looked around. You swore to the stars you heard someone following you. No one was there. You felt something though. Someone. Shaking the feeling off, you opened the door. You almost wanted to cry at the comfort your room gave you.

Setting your dirty and bloodied cloak on the nearest chair, you rushed to the washroom. You turned on the faucet and rinsed your face, cleaning off the blood and mud. You breathe in deeply, groaning in pain. You looked through your bathroom cabinet to see if you had any patches. Just to your luck, there was a whole box full of them.

Grabbing the box, you closed the cabinet to be faced with a Obi-Wan Kenobi in the mirror.

“Kriffing hell! Obi-Wan,” you jumped in fear, not expecting him to be there, “don’t scare me like that.”

You realized he saw your bloodied robes and used your hand to cover up the bad markings on your ribcage.

“It’s not my blood,” you looked at the Master Jedi, who was looking at you with his piercing blue eyes.

“Move your hand.”

Those three words were only verbal response you’ve heard from him.

“Why? I-I’m fine, really,” you tried to walk past him but his strong grip grasped onto your arm.

“Move your hand,” he said, more demanding this time.

Sighing in defeat, you did move your hand. There was a tear in your robes that revealed the bleeding wounds on your ribcage and stomach. There was also a tear in your leggings, revealing a slashed cut in your mid-thigh.

Silently, Obi-Wan led you to the couch. He grabbed the patches and slowly lifted your robes. He had a first aid kit with him. Like he knew. Before you even arrived.

“How’d you know?” You asked quietly, watching him clean and patch the wounds.

“I felt it. And you aren’t that good of an actress. Anakin is easy to fool, but I’m not. I saw you wince in pain when he leaned against you, and I also saw you get off the transport jet,” he maintained his eye contact with the wounds, “this is going to burn, Y/n.”

He slowly poured a healing liquid on the ribcage wound and it burned like he said. You grabbed the nearest thing to grab. His arm. Hissing in pain, you threw your head back.

“I’m so sorry, I know it hurts,” he sympathetically looked up at you.

Obi-Wan hated seeing you in this state. He knew that you could take care of yourself, but not like this. He couldn’t leave you alone, to suffer to these wounds alone.

He finished up the wounds on your stomach and ribcage. The only one left was the one on your thigh.

“You need professional medical attention for this.”

You leaned back up and shook a Bacta patch in his face, “No. I don’t.”

Obi-Wan sent a small smile, “What is so bad about medical attention?”

“Everyone makes it a big deal. I don’t want it to be,” you shifted uncomfortably on the couch, “and I trust you. You can work your magic on my leg and I’ll be in working order in no time.”

Obi-Wan looked up at you. You two stared at each other. The only noise you could hear was yours and his heaving breathing. You could have sworn he looked at your lips but that was the loss of blood talking. But, as his eyes explained, he didn’t have to say anything. You could see the pleading look in his blue eyes. He wanted, no, he needed you to go to the medical droids.

You scoffed, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, that you’re pitying me.”

“I’m not pitying you, I just want you to get professional help.”

Looking down at him, a couple strands of hair fell in front of your eyes. You didn’t bother to move them, but he did. He slowly reached his slightly bloodied hand up and tucked the hairs behind your ear.

“Let them help you,” he held your cheek in his hand, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, “let me help you.”

You looked down and sighed. Slightly nodding, you watched as Obi-Wan let out a shaky breath, that he had been holding in this whole time.

“I really do despise you,” you grabbed onto his hand as he helped you up. You leaned onto his side, while his arm surrounded your shoulders lightly.

“You love me,” he chuckled softly.

Yeah I do, you thought to yourself. You just smiled in response. You really wished that the whole Jedi Attachments being forbidden rule wasn’t a thing. If anything, love and emotions make you stronger. They feed into you, as if your soul needed them to survive. You know that every time you around the certain Jedi Master, he makes you stronger. Because, you know you have something to fight for. You have something to come back to after a hellish day. Like today.

“Are you okay?” His heavily accented voice disrupted your thoughts. You saw that he was walking you towards the hallway.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you shook your thoughts off and leaned onto him. His warmth and Force signature felt so comforting, like a big blanket, wrapping you up on a cold winter day.

“I lost you for a second,” he informed you, “like you were deep in thought.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, looking down at you. He had to pretend that he didn’t hear every…single…thought…you just had. You had kept your walls down and he didn’t mean to snoop around, but he felt your Force calling out to him. But it wasn’t the Force. It was your thoughts about him. Oh, how much he had regretted searching into your mind.

He was screwed.

[hwalovs]

Hero and Leander (M)

Pairing; Alex Law, (fem) Reader Warnings; SMUT, unprotected PiV (wrap it freaks), AFAB reader, subby alex law is best alex law, kisses, cursing, just- Friends to Lovers. Alex is down-fucking-bad Word count; 3.4k

Summary; After inviting you over to work on homework together, Alex begins to understand Juliet when she compared his love for you to Hero and Leander. 

THIS IS NOT EDITED

Alex was never good at his studies, he could never fully understand what his professors wanted him to if it was anything other than journalism. 

You’ve known Alex since your sophomore year of college. And now, being a senior, you still weren’t used to his bold flirting or the fact you still find random pieces of women's clothing on the floor when you visit. 

Graduation was just around the corner, the professors ramping up on homework and projects, swamping you in essay after essay about pointless things you were never going to use after you left the classroom. 

Alex had invited you over when you talked on the phone that morning, saying you both could help each other while Juliet and David were both out at work. To him, it was the perfect excuse to have all of your undivided attention for himself. For you, it was the perfect plan to get done with your hardest essay to date. 

Laying on his bed, your legs crossed under you as your eyes narrowed at the lined page in front of you, Alex knew his determination to get any of his homework done was off of the table. Especially after moaning something about your professor and how it was making you rethink your decision on going to college.

You had on his favorite sweat pants of yours, a baggy old T-shirt, and no makeup on. With your class textbook splayed out next to your open notebook, Alex couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Alex couldn’t keep his legs still, his foot fidgeting, licking and biting at his lips, picking at the edges of his nails. He was nervous that you would notice, and you would do your normal thing of grabbing his hands and asking him what was wrong. 

How could he explain to you that he was so head over heels for you, that Juliet compared his infatuation with you to Hero and Leander. 

At first, he was offended. How dare she compare him to a swooning man who fell so in love with a priestess that he would swim across an ocean just to see her each night? 

The more he thought about it, eventually leading him to read into the story and many others like it, he thought that Juliet may actually be right about something. 

Yet, you could never return his feeling, you just went on a date the previous week. Sure, the date didn’t end well and Alex ended up taking you out to make up for it. But there was no way you reciprocated his affections. 

“Can you look at this for me? I keep thinking I should add something but I can’t think of where,” you asked softly, shattering his thoughts. 

 “Huh? Oh, yeah,” he shook his head, licking his lips as he held out his hand, “give it here.”

When you hand it over, Alex clears his throat and refuses himself the gratitude to get lost in your eyes again.

His eyes flicker over the page, eyebrows slowly furrowing until he harshly sighs, shaking his head. 

“I don’t get it.”

“Huh?” You ask, looking back up from your highlighted textbook on your lap, head tilting slightly. Fuck, he was down bad. 

Leaning forwards, you crane your neck to try and read what was confusing to him, eyebrows furrowed with that small frown on your lips as you lean in close. His attention was completely void from the paper and solely focused on how your hair tickled his cheek, and your lips were so close he could lean forwards just the slightest-

“Oh!” You smile, finding what you were looking for, “that’s just a typo, I was gonna fix it when I got back home but I can just-“

Alex had stopped listening. He didn’t mean to, but your lips were too enticing to be ignored.

He thought, that if he focused hard enough, he could smell your perfume from that morning, or maybe it was your shampoo? 

It didn’t matter to him, anything you did, anything you wore, Alex thought it looked best on you. He swore that when the sun rose each day, it was to warm your skin. He thought his heart was loud enough to hear across the apartment when you stretched, arms rising to the ceiling and your damn shirt showing him skin he yearned to kiss and touch. 

He had to stop himself from leaning forwards to steal a kiss from you each time you applied Chapstick. Or, when you would be eating a snack and would lick your lips, effectively wiping away the remaining crumbs, he had to shift in his place to hide his arousal. 

“Alex?” You're looking at him again, with those concerned eyes and downturned lips. He was nervous that his voice would give away his thoughts, but he licks his lips and swallow the lump in his throat. He wishes the blood would rush to his head, to aid in his thought process instead of down between his legs.

“Yeah?” 

“You still with me?” 

His head jerks a little too weirdly in a nod, his eyes looking anywhere but your eyes. Instead, focus on your lips. 

He wanted to kiss you. So so badly. You were still close enough, he could just move the littlest bit and finally, do what he’s wanted to since the day he met you. 

Pushing away any of his remaining doubts, his eyes meet yours again, and he jumps directly into the raging ocean. 

“Can I kiss you?”

His voice is so timid you almost don’t hear him. It stuns you into silence, never hearing Alex so nervous about something. Staring at him, you process what he said slowly. The final pieces of the puzzle finally click into place and you lean forwards slightly, nodding your head gently. 

Hands moving to grip your cheeks gently, he tilts his head and leans towards you, finally kissing you. 

His lips are soft, gentle, and almost nervous. You don’t think you can feel him breathe until his chest shudders and his head tilts further, pulling you closer gently. 

Smiling lightly into the kiss, you place a hand on his cheek, tongue sliding lightly against his lip and you swear he shivers. Your thumb gently rubs at his jaw, sucking at his lower lip until he inches closer, hands dropping from your cheeks to your thighs. He hopes you don't feel them shake over your sweatpants, but you do. You feel the smallest of tremors as he moves them up slowly, stopping when they bump the bottom of your hips.

He tastes like cigarettes and toothpaste, but you don't care. You moan softly and inch closer, the textbook falling from the bed. Sliding his hands underneath your thighs, he pulls you onto his lap. The essay was forgotten somewhere on the bed, the only thing he was focusing on was you and the way your weight settles perfectly on his aching cock.

You’re the first to pull away, smiling as you leave light kisses down his jaw, sucking on his neck. He tilts his head back, giving more space for your lips and he doesn't notice his hips canting upwards against you, grinding against your cunt. Lightly pushing at his shoulders, he leans back onto his elbows, extending his legs to push his heels into the mattress, grinding harder to satisfy the burning in his gut. 

Hands sliding up his shirt, your fingers dance across his skin, lips kissing up the side of his neck until you place your lips next to his ear, “take this off, baby.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever taken his shirt off faster, throwing it to the ground as you lean back, settling more of your weight onto him, looking over his chest and stomach with dilated, lust-filled, eyes and a smile that makes him blush. 

“What?” He asks softly, hands grabbing the sheets and stopping his hips. 

It takes you a second before you grab the base of your shirt, lifting it over your head and dropping it to the floor, leaving you in your sweatpants and sports bra. 

“Fuck,” he pushes himself up, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist while planting kisses across your chest, down the valley of your breasts. He slides his fingers under the elastic, pushing the fabric up until he can plant kisses across the skin he thought he would never see. 

He thinks, that for a moment, he’s just daydreaming. Maybe his thoughts were becoming too vivid when he zones out, but that's wiped from his mind when you whine softly as he sucks onto the skin of your collarbones, your hips greedily rolling down onto his. 

Your fingers move into the band of his pants, gently pulling against it with a faux pout, “wanna take this off for me?”

Nodding, he pulls away and pulls at the sports bra, your hands briefly leaving his pants to raise them, letting him take it off and throw it to the floor. But his touch never leaves your skin for longer than a few seconds, always roaming your body with a need you’ve never seen him possess before. His cheeks are a bright pink, hair messy as he falls back onto the bed and grabs your hands gently, catching his breath. 

“Are you sure?”

You laugh, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his lips, “I should be the one asking you, my love.”

His response takes a second, heart racing as he decides if he wants to say it. Yet, he finds his lips forming the words before he can stop himself, fully drowning himself in his lust.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, darling.”

The fire in your gut grows at the fuel he throws onto it, burning bright and hot as his lips glisten under the light from your kisses and his eyes focus entirely on you. Just on you. You were the center of his universe at this moment, just as he was the center of yours. 

“Good thing we’re on the same page then,” you coo as you pull his pants down, thumbs hooking into his boxers along the way. 

There's a small, light trail of hair that leads down to his cock, which was hard and leaking, a small bead of precum leaking down the tip. When your hand wraps around the base, Alex whines, hips thrusting into your grip while his hands shoot to grab the fabric of your pants. He’s wanted this for so long, that when he imagined your touch it was nothing like this. He thought that you would be the one under him, withering from his mouth and fingers, your hands grabbing at the sheets in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. 

But it was him under you, desperate for your hands and your mouth on his skin. He was grabbing at your pants to ground himself so he wouldn’t begin to think this was a dream. He wanted to be in your warmth when he barreled into ecstasy by your touch, not by himself in his bed with a fire in his gut he was too embarrassed to do anything about.

Your hands leave his throbbing cock to pull your pants off, discarding them with his and his attention goes to your glistening cunt. His fingers leave the bed and slide up your thigh, stopping just short of touching you to look up, waiting for your nod of approval before sliding his fingers through your folds, moaning lightly at the wetness on his fingertips. 

You let your head roll back with a moan when his fingers press into your clit, circling the small bundle before sliding down to slide the tip of his finger into you. It was easy, your hips pressing into his hand until he was knuckle deep inside you, circling his finger against the pillowy flesh. His other hand leaves the bed, thumb pressing lightly into your clit while his finger pulls out slowly, adding another and thrusting back in, curling them once more.

“You’re, fuck,” you whine, hand pressing against his chest, “You’re doing so well.”

Smiling, he bites his lip and speeds up his thrusts, adding more pressure to your clit, and focuses solely on how your eyebrows furrow or how your eyes clench shut when his fingers press into that spot. 

He doesn't stop when your hand grabs his wrist, hips canting down into his thrusting fingers, he’s determined to feel you clench around his fingers, to cover his fingers in your come so he can lick it away. 

When he feels you flutter around his fingers, he smiles, pressing down onto your clit and thrusting his fingers in until his knuckles bump against your skin, curling his fingers, “Come on, darling,” he encourages, your whines turning into moans, head falling back as your hips ground against him. 

When you come, your hips stutter, and he moans softly with you, slowing his fingers while continuing to circle his thumb.

“There you go,” he sighs, stopping his thumb when your hips jerk away, breathing deeply until you finally set your shaking hips onto his thighs, his fingers immediately going to his mouth to lick away your taste. 

Your hand envelops his cock once more, and he whines around his fingers, sucking and licking away your taste while you rise up onto your knees, angling your hips over him, and slowly sliding down. Both of you moan in the satisfying bliss. He was thick inside of you, the stretch an addicting feeling you know you'll crave hours into the night. His fingers leave his mouth to grip your hips, denying himself the want to thrust up and take you hard and fast just like how he imagined. 

Hips rolling, you rise up once more, but you freeze, watching his eyes flicker from between your thighs, to your face. His eyebrows furrow, and when he tries to pull you back down, to bring your warmth back around him, you press a hand to his stomach.

“Please,” He whimpered. The blunt of his nails digging into your thighs. His hips threatened to buck up into you, cock throbbing with need, but you still didn’t move. 

“Please, what, Alex?” You’re taunting him. Smirking at the sight of his burning cheeks and swollen lips, spit and come made his bottom lip glisten in the light, his tongue licking it away as he clenched his eyes shut, head pushing back into the bed before looking at you again. 

“Just-“ he tries again, hands moving back to your hips, thrusting up to try and entice you to move, to bring him any form of relief. He was fidgeting, any type of relief be brings to himself, you take it away, cooing down at him with a tilt to your head. 

You begin to pull away, smirking at his desperate incoherent babble of pleas when the tip stops just short of leaving your cunt. His feet plant against the bed, and he tries to bring your warmth back, but you won’t allow it. 

“You can do it,” your hands move from his chest, thumb tapping against his chin and fingers card through his hair. 

He doesn’t waste a second after that, “please, fuck me- do something, just please, darling, I need you-“ 

You drop your hips back. Leaning down to swallow down his moans and whines while grinding against him. Your thighs already burn, an ache in your knees you haven't felt in a long time, but you don't stop. You aid the fire in your gut with the sweet relief of Alex and his beautiful sounds and wild hands against your skin. He kisses along your neck, your shoulders, any place his lips could reach. 

His hips buck up to meet yours, the sound of skin on skin filling his room. 

“So good to me,” he babbles, stuffing his face into your neck while his hands grip your waist, “wanna-” he says again, cut off by his own whine. 

Pulling away, you grab his face and look at his fucked out face, “what do you want, baby?” you moan, hips stuttering as your thighs burn. 

“Fuck,” his arms wrap around your waist tightly, stopping your hips and flipping the both of you over, dragging your thighs higher onto his waist while thrusting hard and deep. 

It's his turn to swallow down your moans and whines, your hands threading into his hair until he lifts to grab your wrists, pinning them gently above your head. 

Your back arches off the bed, head thrown back as that familiar coil begins to tighten in your gut, hips canting up to meet his. 

“Wanna make you come,” he whimpers, hair falling into his eyes as he watches you, not wanting to miss anything. 

Hips non-stop, pelvis rubbing deliciously against your clit, you drown in him; his scent, and his sheets, the way his cock hit that spot just right, in his breath against your skin, and the lingering kisses across your jaw. 

One of his hands drops from your wrists, licking his thumb briefly before circling your clit again, smirking at the way your moans rise in pitch, hips jerking into him. 

“Come on, darling,” he encourages again, cursing under his breath when you clench tight around him, his hips stuttering, “want you to come around me, being so- fuck- so good to me.”

Hips thrusting into you harder, thumb pressing just the slightest harder, you come. Alex thinks he forgot how to breathe, your cunt clenching around him so tightly his hips almost stop. 

“There you go,” he growls, grinding his hips against yours to help you ride out your high. His hands let go of your wrist, and you wrap them around his neck, gripping his hair tightly and pulling gently. His thumb leaves your clit, and he kisses down your neck, sucking onto the skin while you catch your breath. 

“Wan’ you to come, baby,” you coo, kissing the side of his face.

“Don’t wanna end this,” he retorts, his hips slowing, pushing from his orgasm to drown in your more. Your hands cup his cheeks, nose bumping into his as you give him the softest kiss he’s felt, your tongue gliding against his easily, moaning at the faint taste of you on his tongue. 

“Use me, Alex,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist, urging him to speed up, to fuck you harder, “I’m yours, baby.”

It’s the nail in the coffin, “Oh, fuck yes.”

Pushing away from your neck, he kisses you tenderly as his hips begin a brutal pace, the bed creaking as he wraps an arm under your knee, pulling your leg up onto his shoulder to get deeper, to feel all of you clench tight around him. 

When Alex comes, he does hard, his hips grinding into you as he whines. Leaning down to bite onto your neck, grip on your leg tightening as he rides it out. His forehead is sweaty, and his cheeks are bright red. Your moaning so sweetly under him, he thinks he may as died and gone to heaven.

His hips slow to a stop, but he doesn't pull out, wanting to stay in your warmth for as long as he can. Lightly trailing kisses across your neck and jaw until he meets your waiting lips, sucking on your bottom lip until he can lick into your mouth. 

Your thighs burn, and when he slowly drops your leg from his shoulder you wrap it back around his waist. 

“Alex,” you whisper, pulling away. He only hums, going back to nuzzle his face in your neck, “We gotta clean up,” you lightly rub his shoulder. 

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“Wanna stay here forever,” his voice slurs as he begins to lay his remaining weight onto you, arms sliding under your body to lock you into place. 

“Jesus- Alex, your sheets are gonna be ruined!” you chuckle, threading your fingers through his hair as his cock softens inside you, come beginning to drip down onto the sheets. 

“Let them be ruined, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Jesus Christ, fine. Ten minutes.”

Alex only hums, knowing neither of you would get up until Juliet or David get home. Even then, Alex wouldn’t let you get up, he didn’t want to leave the warmth of you, he wanted to stay until his sheets were soaked and ruined. You knew this in your mind, and you were okay with it.

Ewan McGregor Tag List;  @citrusmando @lluckpng​

Wanna be tagged? Send a comment or a message and I’ll gladly tag you!

[slivergrey]

Hello everyone

This is Silvergrey here!

You can address me as Rose, I love writing so much, I write for the following people (currently :) it will become bigger):

Pedro Pascal

Gerard Butler (so underrated)

James Mcavoy

Ewan McGregor

Tom Cruise

[harpyytales]

Office Love

Pairing; Alex law x Reader (Implied fem) Warnings; Suggestive content, Alex Law is his own warning, soft make out sesh in the office ;) Word Count; 1k

Summary; The office may be boring, but Alex Law always makes it better.

THIS IS NOT EDITED

You sat in your small cubicle. Desk littered with different files and stacks of papers, all different stories and articles you were assigned to. All of them were basic sideline stories: Local Grandma Lives To See 98; Dog Shelters Reaching Capacity; This Miracle Plant Will Save Your Gut!- boring. 

You began shuffling through a few stacks of files mindlessly, only a couple minutes until your short, mandated break. When you feel the hairs stand on the back of your neck you raise your eyes, wondering what could give you this weird feeling that you’re being watched. As you scan the surrounding cubicles your eyes land on him staring directly at you, unwavering. It was slightly unsettling really, but he makes up for it with that small smile of his.

Alex Law is no stranger to you, hell you’re sure he isn’t a stranger to half the other women in this room. Lately though, instead of dancing from girl to girl, he has been solely paying attention to you. You don’t mind of course, but you can’t help but wonder what thoughts were going on in that beautiful head of his.

With a raise of his eyebrows and a tap of his watch you avert your eyes to a clock on the wall. Break time. You smile and get up, making your way to a small and mostly empty break room. No more than a minute later he comes walking in.

“A little funny how often our breaks matchup like this, you aren’t stalking me, are you?” You smile as you watch him take a quick look at the coffee bar.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He shoots back a grin and then looks as though he is contemplating something. “Actually it’s quite convenient, I need to discuss something with you about a story, but I need to get a few supplies from the closet. Would you mind walking with me?”

“Of course, lead the way.” You reply and begin following him out of the break room. You two feign small conversation on the way to the supply closet, a small space in a hallway practically no one walked through. 

Once you both walked in and the door was closed it was as if a switch flipped. No more than a second after you heard the click of the handle his lips were on yours, soft hands on your hips already pulling you close. You of course reciprocated, hands flying up to run through his gorgeous blonde locks. This always earned a soft sigh from him that never ceased to make your heart flutter. 

His lips moved against yours softly, sensually, as though he was taking his time. You’d be lying if this didn’t slightly catch you off guard. His usual methods more on the rough and quick side, not that you minded of course, you just never really expected to see this side of him. You felt the familiar warmth of his tongue against your lower lip, a question you were always eager to answer. Instead of plunging his tongue down your throat, he crept in. He let himself explore your mouth as though it was his first time tasting you.

He snaked one arm around your waist and brought the other up to cup your cheek, turning your face just slightly so he could pull you even closer, if that was even possible. You felt entirely out of your depth, usually these sessions were all about him, but this time the entire focus was you. A gentle thumb stroked your cheek as his other hand gently rubbed circles in your back. His sweet and smoky tongue danced with yours in delicate waltzes. It was completely out of character and honestly you were starting to feel slightly worried.

Once you both pulled away to breathe you looked at him curiously, eyeing his bottom lip that was wet with your saliva, “That was… quite different. Good, but different,”

You began to see a light blush creep onto his cheeks. Alex Law, blushing? You must be dreaming. “What can I say, I’m just full of surprises.” He replied with his signature, cocky grin.

“Is there a particular reason for this pleasant change in behavior, or should I be worried about our office shenanigans?” You asked with a small laugh, but he looked away from you. Before you could get the chance to ask him what was wrong-

“I want you to meet my roommates. Come have dinner with us, Juliet makes a brilliant Carbonara.” He stared into your eyes expectantly, awaiting an answer.

You stared back, eyes growing wide with surprise. “Come to your place? Meet your roommates? Are you sure? That feels like a big step for us, don’t you think? I don’t.. I don’t know if your roommates would even like me-” Your slightly panicked ramble was cut off when Alex rolled his eyes and kissed you again. Another soft kiss that had your words caught in your throat. He began moving his lips to your jaw and down your neck, softly nibbling and sucking in spots he knew all too well. With a sigh you were practically putty in his hands.

“Next Saturday,” He begins between kisses, “I’ll come pick you up at 6, dinner at 7.” He sounded very final in the matter. You were in no position to argue, you simply nodded and sighed as he continued to lick, nibble and suck along your throat. You were sure you were going to have to cover up with a scarf before you stepped back into the office.

He trailed his way back up and placed another, more passionate, kiss on your lips, hands holding either side of your face. When he pulled back he was practically beaming.

“Great, see you at 6.” He then tilted your head down and planted a very quick kiss to your forehead before abandoning you altogether and leaving the supply closet. But a moment later he was peeking back inside, “And for the record, they will love you.” and then he was gone again.

[lillianofliterature]

extending hospitality | obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader | 2/3

a/n: it’s been over a very long time since the first part (3 years? 4??) and you guys are still asking for a sequel (thank you so much)! Granted, my writing style has shifted some since the first part, so please take that into account if the narration sounds different in some ways. I don’t know why the next couple parts were so difficult to finish; possibly because I was worried it had been too long to continue it with a mixture of anxious perfectionism. The third part will be up within the next month. (If I didn’t split it up it would probably be about 10K which is a bit much for one post, so I’m splitting it up for size and to take extra care with the last few scenes I have in mind.) <3

Also, Anakin is assumed to be young in this one a little more bluntly than in the first part, somewhere between TPM and AOTC.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

summary: after Obi-Wan's gentle remedies and timid confessions, you wake the next morning to face the many consequences of a poorly concluded mission—and the unexpected truths that are uncovered with them. 

warnings: fluffy angst, angsty fluff, wound-related gore, infirmaries, nightmares, long-term injuries

word count: 5.9K

music: Bedroom Dreams and Aftermath by James Newton Howard

PART ONE

The traffic of Coruscant had grown busier as the morning hours approached. When the sun had risen to peek above the horizon of the paling sky, its gleaming reflection across the spires of the metallic city sent a golden beam of glowing light through the large window of Obi-Wan’s living space. His bleary eyes fluttered open as the luminous pattern of the sun’s rays filtering through the slanted shades sent warm clusters of stripes along his skin. 

He brushed his hand over his sleepy face, combing through his light auburn tendrils that had curled themselves in every angle imaginable during his deep slumber. He dragged his fingers over his eyelids and eyebrows, rubbing the sleepy dishevelment from them. When he sat up, his consciousness flooded back to him, and he remembered the vivid dreams he had experienced during the night. 

He cleared his throat as images of you played themselves out in his mind just as they had hours prior in his sleep. In one of the several scenes, he remembered,  there been a sweet smell floating akin to the scent of fresh pastries drifting in from a warmly lit home somewhere behind him, the tint of the moons against your bare shoulders, the brush of your lips against his, and a pair of twins running between his legs (that had oddly resembled Anakin in some subconsciously implied way). There were other tender visions he had seen in his slumber, but they blurred out of tangible recollection by the second. It had been a myriad across a lifetime of tender, intimate moments that felt so personal they could have been memories themselves. 

Except they weren’t.

Obi-Wan would have distinctly remembered feeling your lips move in unison with his, and even more so the events that would have taken place in order for you to share such open displays of affection; the processes, the decisions, the dramatic change of lifestyles. And none of those things had ever happened—nor could they. 

He hadn’t shared a kiss with anyone in his entire life, so the sensation was entirely foreign to him. And yet, the touch he shared with you in his dreams felt all too real, as if he knew exactly how it should taste and feel. It was a vow shared between companions and soulmates, an exchange of intimate touch from the place where your voice, words, and matters of the soul itself often poured. But most obviously, it was a physical display of attachment, one he had indirectly vowed never to partake of.

He felt himself grow a vibrant shade of red as he recalled the kiss with an eruption of fluttering in his stomach. He tried to banish the delusion from his thoughts by rubbing his eyes once more. 

How could he have such a vivid vision of something he had never experienced for himself? How could he have known how satisfying, no, fulfilling, it was to hold you so intimately in his arms and be granted the simplest pleasures of a life in which—

The carefree slamming of Anakin’s bedroom door drew Obi-Wan’s gaze upwards with a jump. The young boy’s footsteps grew louder until he padded into the wide entryway of the living area and surveyed the sight before him. His lopsided, sleepy smile turned to an inquisitive frown as he glanced around quaint furniture and back to his slowly-waking Master. 

“Where’s Master (Y/n)?” 

“Asleep in my room,” Obi-Wan answered swiftly, standing to fold the thin blanket he had used to cover himself with. Anakin took note of this action and the disheveled appearance of his Master’s tunic and trousers, as well as the creases in the soft fabric of the cushions. 

“Did you sleep on the sofa, Master?”

“Yes, I did, Anakin.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I couldn’t very well sleep in my bed with (Y/n) occupying it, could I?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s big enough for two people.” 

“Ah—Anakin!” The Jedi’s blush rushed back into his cheeks once more, the confusion on the boy’s young face reminding Obi-Wan that Anakin’s sometimes intrusive innocence was no reason for an overtly stern tone. He softened his expression and attempted as welcoming a smile as one could have at this unholy hour of the morning. His fingers wove contemplatively through his short beard.

“Did I say something wrong, Master? We sleep together as a troop when we’re out on missions, don’t we? With the other padawans and Masters? What’s so different from sleeping on the ground together rather than in a bed?”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, probing his mind for the best possible answer that would not only make sense to the boy but to himself as well.

“Well, bedrooms are places for solitude, for comfort. Usually, when someone retreats to their room, specifically their own bed, they wish to be alone there, to find peace. It’s a private place, very much unlike an open forest with no reasonable shelter.”

“But a place can still be peaceful if you’re with people you’re comfortable with, right? I used to sleep with my mother when I had bad dreams.”

Oh, Anakin.

His curious padawan had a talent for finding the solution to every issue, many times forgetting the aspects of the Jedi Code that must be adhered to in every circumstance. That was something Obi-Wan was trying his best to train and mature in Anakin. He didn’t want to squelch that ability in him, but help guide it into more Jedi-worthy territory. Not so much finding loopholes in every equation, but rather solving it head-on with the ability to adopt a wider understanding. 

“It’s never as simple as that. Falling asleep in the same bedroom, or more so, in the same bed with someone, may pose certain complications for both parties involved. As Jedi, we are not meant to allow any room for—“

Attachments, Obi-Wan almost blurted out. 

But that would be admitting that he harbored attachment for you, or at the very least that there was a risk for forming one, that sharing the simple comforts of a good night’s sleep while lying next to you would satisfy the well-hidden parts of him that had longed for your closeness a hundred times over. It would be a temptation he was unsure he would be able to overcome if put in that position, the temptation to finally admit to himself the depth of his own feelings, of the deep-seated yearning he harbored. The emotions that had long been clutched onto his soul and woven into his personal connection to the force itself.

Just the thought of being able to trust someone with the act of lying next to one another while in your most vulnerable state, where thoughts and dreams mingle, where bodies naturally entwine to seek comfort, brought a sense of grief upon him. There had been many nights in his life he had wished to feel the close proximity of someone falling asleep next to him, but he had never known it. Not under the silk duvet of his own bed, nor especially in the warmth of the only pair of arms he had ever found himself lingering within the grasp of more than a Jedi ever should.

“Room for what, Master?”

The two stared at each other for a stray moment of silence as Obi-Wan attempted to formulate a way to finish the sentence without actually finishing it. Anakin’s patient expression only made his nerves flare as the boy’s curiosity glistened in his inquisitive eyes. 

“Ah, never mind that.” Obi-Wan stepped forward and placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, leading him back toward his own room and hopefully away from the present conversation. “Enough of our morning has been spent on that topic. I think it’s about time we got dressed, hm?” 

Anakin shrugged his shoulders and dismissed his confusion as he left his Master’s side to get dressed for the day; after all, it wasn’t all that unusual for Anakin to not yet understand some—if not all—of the things that his master tried to explain to him. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly as he vacantly watched Anakin disappear into his own room again. Hoisting a hand on his hip, he quickly fell back on his habit of raking through his beard and hair once more, noticing now the bothersome texture of the oil that had gathered overnight. He became painfully aware of how uncomfortable he was with the lingering end of the conversation and his quality of hygiene. Forcing himself to dismiss his growing discomfort, he turned on his heel and took long strides toward his own room.

He tried reminding himself that it was nothing more than a dream and a brief obstructive conversation; there was nothing of significance to dwell on. It was quite an unsuccessful attempt, however. It wasn’t the dream itself or even the nosey innocence of his padawan that perturbed Obi-Wan, but his reflexive emotional response and apparent inability to reroute his pattern of thought that alarmed him. He was attached to you more than any Jedi Master should ever be attached to anyone or anything, and far more than he would ever like to admit to himself. 

The gentle rap of his knuckles on the door dissolved his thoughts enough to set them aside for revisiting later in the day. With no response from the other side, he slid the door open just enough to glance at the edge of his bed where he noticed the lump of your feet still under the covers. When you didn’t move after he whispered your name, he opened the door wide enough to let himself slip through quietly and let it glide shut behind him. 

Obi-Wan found himself making his way to your side of the bed ever-so-stealthily as he could manage in order to make sure you were only sleeping. As he rounded the corner of the bed, drawing near enough to see your face, he felt his body relax involuntarily. To his relief, your chest rose and fell evenly beneath the plump warmth of his duvet. It was when he reached forward to press his hand to your forehead that he noticed you hadn’t moved but an inch or so from the position he had left you in last night. He didn’t doubt that you were exhausted enough to remain that still while sleeping. With no excessive warmth or any sweaty sign of fever, Obi-Wan felt comfortable allowing you a little more rest while he showered and donned fresh clothes. 

In his closet, he nabbed a clean set of traditional robes and undergarments without much thought for the routine of it all, apart from the one thing that was hardly usual; the soft and steady sound of your even breathing and the unfamiliar shape of your figure keeping warm beneath his covers. 

Obi-Wan was quick to finish his shower, letting the cool water cleanse his stress and grime away while being mindful of the minutes spent unable to reach you should you wake. He hardly finished lathering his soap before he let the jets rinse it from his skin, convinced he really only needed to dash the drowsiness from his senses rather than a thorough wash. He shuffled a towel through his mid-length hair, not even bothering to use the hair-drying device attached to the wall. He was content to deal with a damp head of hair given the present circumstances that required his attention. 

With his fresh garments and belt fastened, he tapped the panel by the doorframe which activated the locking mechanism, letting the door glide open with a hushed fshhh. His gaze set immediately upon the same lump beneath the duvet—with a brief pause, he could see your breathing was still steady—before he crossed over to the humble closet, discarding his used clothes through a laundry chute. In the brief seconds it took him to cross the room and reach you, a hundred and one thoughts rushed through his mind. 

Images he’d seen in his sleep flashed like vivid holograms while he anticipated the gentlest way to wake you and address the necessary tasks set before you. Obi-Wan didn’t want to disturb your rest, knowing the moment you woke up you would be flooded with the pain you’d been numb to while you slept. He could only assume how sore you must have become through the night, and if perhaps his meager remedies hadn’t done for you as well as he’d hoped they would, meaning the pain might be more severe today as the adrenaline had long left your senses.

He didn’t really know how to approach you as he stood there for a brief moment, pulling the covers back from your chin where you’d tucked them over your nose, cradled blissfully in warmth. There wasn’t exactly a surplus of situations where Jedi found themselves waking the very object of their—very forbidden—attachment as they curled themselves in the familiar haven of their own bedding. Nor especially when said attachment was teetering on the brink of vast discomfort with any slight adjustment made. 

He resolved to be as gentle as he could manage while waking you, hoping his soft tone and ghostly touches wouldn’t startle you. “(Y/n), it’s morning,” He whispered. “(Y/n)?”

Your expression contorted, your brows drawing together as your lips pursed briefly. When you just barely turned your head upward from the pillow for a brief moment, he noticed the bright red mark your hand had made from being pressed under your cheek all night. The imprints of his sheets ran along your forearms and neck, and he briefly wondered if he’d missed more of your wounds the previous night. He waited as you seemed to decipher whether the voice stirring you awake was a figment or truly there—the way one nearly nods off dismissively before they can be convinced to open their eyes and shuck off their blankets. 

“Come on,” He brushed a strand of disheveled hair from your cheek before peeling the duvet back entirely. “It’s time I take you to the infirmary.”

You groaned as you felt the warmth evaporate from your skin, the breeze of his movement sending goosebumps up your legs and arms. Thankfully, he hadn’t opened the blinds that concealed the wall-wide window directly across from you. What little sunlight that had begun to fade in from the opposite-facing horizon was already enough to make one feel as if they were staring into a star itself. 

When you tried to turn onto your back to pull yourself up, the soreness in your bruised abdomen and the all-encompassing throbbing from the cauterized gash in your thigh overwhelmed every one of your senses. For a split second, it was as though you forgot how to smell or breathe or see; all you could feel were the bruising abrasions, scrapes, and gashes that had been very humbly medicated the night before. The sharp hiss you sucked in must have been louder than you’d been able to notice—Obi-Wan was quick to reach forward and gently force you back down to your (or, his) pillow, slowing your trusting pace. 

“Can’t the infirmary come here?” Your whisper was strained as you tried to balance the rising pain by clenching your fists around wads of wrinkled sheets. 

“Afraid not,” He said, carefully unraveling the duvet from around your legs and depositing it in a lump on his preferred side. You heard vague instruction from him as he ever-so-carefully lifted your legs for you and turned you toward the bedside, guiding your feet onto the crushed texture of the carpeted floor. You didn’t see how he grimaced as he noticed the white bandages had turned dark crimson during the night. “You’re going to need a lot more than a check-up from a nurse droid, darling.” 

Darling?

You felt the mattress dip beside you as he positioned himself next to you, offering the support of his shoulder and right arm to provide the leverage you needed to stand. He’d said it so effortlessly, with such little hesitation. It made you wonder if, perhaps, he’d said it too quickly even for his own very strict verbal filter to sort it out—but the look of concentration on his face as he tried to narrowly avoid your wounds as his arm wound behind you told you he hadn’t even realized it. Or if he had, he was too concerned with the present situation to bother about it. 

The proximity you suddenly shared brought a faint wafting of floral musk to your nose. You opened your mouth to comment on it when he suddenly stood, lifting you up with him, and the wave of pain was once again deafening. Somehow, you felt worse now than you had before, like every little scrape and burn had been magnified and torn open even wider. 

You realized you were dizzy when you swayed away from him and his grip brought you back flushed against him. Little blue speckles of light fluttered across your vision. A long, deep breath and a series of patient blinking cleared most of them up—but every now and then you still noticed one or two in your peripheral vision. 

Obi-Wan seemed to notice; he didn’t force you forward until you were standing steadily enough to chance a step toward the door. The walk wasn’t so bad, except for the turn around the bed’s corner—something about the change in direction made you aware that the muscles in your thigh felt stiff, almost frozen, or even numb. 

Another step reminded you that it wasn’t numb. Definitely not numb. 

You could feel every strand of muscle beneath the scorched gash of mangled skin constrict and strain beneath the weight of your body. The ligaments of your knee felt bruised under the pressure, if that was even possible, like every other part of your leg was trying to make up for what the muscles in your thigh weren’t capable of doing at the moment. You did your best to keep your weight balanced on your other leg, utilizing Obi-Wan’s assistance more than you were sure he had bargained for.

“Did you shower?” You inquired, somewhere halfway between delirious and trying to distract yourself. “You smell lovely. I wager I don’t.” 

His chuckle reverberated against your side. He wasn’t about to tell you the detectable scent of his soap was so fragrant because he’d rinsed so quickly he’d probably left some remnant of a sud in his hair. “No one smells pleasant after near-death excursions to the underlevels. Or any excursion to the underlevels.”

His comment made you feel better about the stench you could vaguely pick up off of yourself. It wasn’t just the copper-twinged remnant of blood or the odor of your dried sweat and morning breath, but the smell of scorched flesh and fumes that clung to your hair and had seeped into the nightwear he’d given you. You smelled fresh off a battlefield, or, as he’d pointed out, fresh out of Lower Coruscant.

Your steps were slow and you were grateful that he didn’t rush you or lean out from under your very-dependent grasp. When you both stopped before the door, he didn’t even bother to use the pad or the indented handle but merely waved his hand—the one attached to the arm that was secured around your waist—to operate it. It glided open, bringing with it the stark contrast of the direct light of the sun. You winced, squinting as he half-supported, half-carried you through the living area and toward the shallow foyer where the main door was (the very same you had stumbled through only hours before). 

“Whoever it was tailing you last night would hopefully have had the common sense not to attempt an assassination on temple grounds once you managed to get yourself here,” He informed smartly, as though he’d been thinking this over very carefully in the last six or so hours, which you didn’t doubt he had. “And if they didn’t, they’ll be in custody by now.”

You didn’t bother to argue and, in all honesty, you didn’t have the mental capacity to worry about whoever else had been chasing you before you’d fumbled up the steps to the temple’s expansive living quarters. Thinking of it now, it probably hadn’t been your best idea to lead an obvious assassin to your home—but the only thing on your mind last night, the only person that came to mind in the numbing frenzy of it all, was Obi-Wan. 

Groggily, you were aware that he had called for Anakin and what you assumed were words of quick explanation being exchanged, but you didn’t hold onto any of their words. You could hear them, of course, and you were conscious, but quite literally every tangible thought you could currently manage was poured into staying upright and somehow making it to the infirmary. 

The kshhh of the main door brought your gaze upward again, away from your bowing feet. You lamented the absence of your strength. Where had the tolerance gone that you had held so tightly to the previous night? Where had your resolve disappeared to? 

“Do you think you can manage the stairs? I can arrange for transport as soon as we step outside.”

They loomed before you, antagonizing the dizziness muddling your depth perception. He held tighter to you when he felt you lean forward a little too far. You felt his gaze pierce your left cheek as you stared down the wide flight of steps. They were just stairs—stairs you’d walked a hundred times before—but now they stretched out like a slippery chasm. 

How on earth had you run up these stairs mere hours ago?

“I could carry you if that would make this easier—”

“No.” Absolutely not. “I can do it.”

And you did do it, remarkably enough, until you collapsed at the bottom of the stairs in an apologetic heap of bloodied numbness. There was a hand to your cheek and the scent of his floral soap right under your nose again—the texture of his robes pressed against your skin as he held you flushed against his chest, crouched on the marble floors, and the jumbled urgency in his voice as he barked orders into his commlink. 

You felt weightless at one point, as though you’d been lifted off the ground in a frenzy of rushed conversation. Some vague part of your mind, the little consciousness you had left, noted the feel of the frigid metal of a medical transport when your clammy skin flattened against it. There was the sensation of someone else’s warmth in the palm of your hand.

The hours spent in the infirmary passed like a brief, dark void of tampered consciousness. The sedatives the medical droids and specialists had given you worked quickly and efficiently, putting you under before you’d even had the chance to worry about what they’d be doing to you or how much it would hurt. Thankfully, you felt nothing more than vague movement and the tinkering of metals and droidspeak, fuddled with groggy dissonance. 

Obi-Wan stood in the adjacent observation room, fists clenched together at his back, watching pensively as his makeshift bandages were cut loose from your flesh and the horrific aftermath of your excursion was visible again. The blood you had lost during the night was nothing short of alarming. Even as the gauze was peeled carefully from your flesh, the crimson moisture quickened once again, just as it had the night before. A tight knot in his stomach formed with ferocity—like someone’s hand had reached inside him and yanked at his gut. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubbed against the tips of his fingers where your blood had stained his skin.

He waited there for little more than an hour, his mind burdened with the gore of your flesh and blood, until one of the droids came to inform him that you were in a stable condition and it was only a matter of time for recovery. You would heal from your injuries, although several of them would leave scars on the marred layers of your skin, and there was speculation that the wound to your thigh would render your muscles partially ineffective even after you’d healed. 

“Partially ineffective?” Obi-Wan questioned. Sometimes he wished droids would speak more clearly and with less need for very vague explanations. But maybe that was simply his frustration and his shock confusing the words he was hearing, and not really any fault of the droid. 

“That is to say immobilized, sir. There was extensive and irreparable damage done to her rectus femoris, a muscle that is directly attached to the hip and is responsible for the movement of the knee.”

Obi-Wan swallowed the mass rising in his throat, the stinging threat of remorse. “She’ll be unable to bend her leg?” 

“In short, that is the conclusion of our analysis. There is a chance, however, that the leg will not be rendered entirely inoperable, so long as the patient undergoes physical therapy after her wounds have healed and the risk for blood loss has subsided. Certain treatments will make mobility somewhat feasible, but not definitive. It can be assumed that mobility aids should be considered.”

“Could this—could this have been prevented if she’d been brought here sooner?”

“The measure of time in which she was brought here is irrelevant in relation to the wound’s permanence. The damage was done upon impact from the particular weapon and range at which the device was detonated.” 

For the first time in nearly five years, Obi-Wan felt sheer fury broiling beneath the surface of his stern expression, bubbling up to his chest like little air bubbles in a carbonated drink. The last time he’d felt this urge to fume and seethe, his eyes had been locked onto the yellow-gold orbs of Darth Maul as he stepped over the corpse of Qui-Gon Jinn. He’d felt, at that moment, what it was to thirst for bloodshed, to want to take a life. 

And now he felt what it was to desire retribution; for what had happened to you, for the blatant disregard of the council and their skewed priorities, for the permanence of your injuries that should never have happened in the first place. You should never have been alone on a mission like that, not with the way things had been turning up in relation to the crime syndicates and their far-reaching alliances. Not alone, not misinformed of what you might be walking into. 

And had the council even been made aware of what had transpired in the last twelve hours? Had they even inquired of their own volition about your whereabouts, the progress of your mission, or if you’d even made it back alive? Or were they nose-deep in senate affairs that the Jedi were not even supposed to be meddling with in the first place? 

Obi-Wan sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment. He calmed his thoughts, sorting them in his mind like archives of information. Folding his arms over his chest, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he released the air from his lungs slowly. Walking hot-headed into the High Council’s Chamber with a mind muddled with anger and growing resentment would get him nowhere—in fact, it would only earn him unsolicited advice on how to better manage his emotions. 

But he couldn’t help but feel angry…and even somewhat hurt. 

Since when did the Jedi set aside compassion and connection with each other for the approval of senators and the accomplishment of political foreign affairs? How were they supposed to help heal the galaxy if they could not even protect each other from the horrors lurking in Coruscant itself? If they were so heavily influenced and, by association, distracted by politics and favor?

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and opened his eyes again. You were still unconscious on the exam table, your vitals being monitored through blinking lights, a nurse droid standing over you in watchful anticipation. There was something ironic about the scene before him—the diligence of the droids and how quickly they’d repaired and assessed the damage done to your body, how little they haggled with each other to ensure the quality of your treatment. 

And yet, where was the Jedi Council at present? 

Oblivious and in denial, seemingly without a care for anything—or anyone—presiding beyond the walls of the temple and the Senate Rotunda. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t alone in what he was feeling—he could sense the discomfort swelling within your mind as he’d brought you here, a discomfort that spanned beyond physical impairment. He could feel it even now, swarming within your subconscious as you lay there idle. You felt betrayed by the council, by the men and women who were appointed to govern the affairs of the Jedi with wisdom and careful consideration. You felt abandoned in the circumstances that had brought you here.

Your situation was nothing short of simply being tossed into the undercity like bait to a pack of ravenous massiffs. What other outcome had the council expected? That you would miraculously defend yourself against a hive of bounty hornets? Unlikely. 

There were others, too, that had begun to disapprove of what the Jedi was becoming. Other masters, guardians and knights, and even the youngling caretakers, conversed in murmurs about the almost militia-grade alterations being made within the Order in the last several years. Guardians turned into assassins; peacekeepers into soldiers. Lately, it was as common to lose a fellow Jedi as it was to hear of an ill-fated street fight in Lower Coruscant, and sometimes the two incidents even correlated. The term “expendable” had been muttered among these questioning voices. 

“Master Kenobi?” The same droid questioned. 

Obi-Wan’s attention whipped into focus. “Ah—yes—pardon?”

“It will be some time before the sedatives wear off completely, sir. Would you like to wait here until Master (L/n) is released from our care? A refreshment droid can be summoned to suit any supplementary needs you may require.”

Obi-Wan glanced back through the viewport. Your eyes were still shut and your expression blank. He fought the intrusive thought that this might be what it would be like to see you lifeless rather than unconscious—dead and beyond saving. His gaze fell upon the droid again. 

“I have something that’s just come up,” Obi-Wan informed the droid. “I would like to be informed if she wakes. Or if there are—...any other complications.”

“Of course, sir. You will be notified immediately.” 

Obi-Wan paused before the wide doorway of the High Council Chambers with that uneasy knot twisting deeper into his core. Before departing the infirmary, he had sent out an urgent summons for the members of council that were presently on-world to reconvene for an emergency conference. He’d skimped on the details deliberately, hoping the air of mystery would provide him with some time to prepare his words carefully. 

He had, of course, detailed in the summons that it had to do with your latest mission and the “state of Master (Y/n)’s current affairs” or some vague explanation as such. He hadn’t been quite sure what had left his mouth over the commlink—only that on the other side of the door looming before him were the very members of council who had nearly sent you to your death less than twenty-four hours prior. 

He wouldn’t walk in and stand before his fellow members of the council and conform to any sort of outrageous displays of emotion, no matter the state of his mind at present. No matter that part of his heart was lying dormant on an operating table with more wounds than freckles on her body, and a leg that might never bend again. 

From somewhere in his memory, your voice reverberated in his thoughts. Something you had said months, maybe years, ago. Something you’d murmured to him before crossing over the very same threshold he was hesitant to enter now after some other sour encounter off-planet or excursion-gone-haywire that you both had been leading. 

I’m going to need that dramatic flair of yours, Kenobi.

He found himself smiling with a ghost of a laugh on his lips as he recalled your need for his “dramatic flair”, which he remembered feeling quite offended by at the time (and further proving your point). You’d addressed the council about things similar to this before on so many occasions, he realized. Over the years, more and more mistakes kept being made at the cost of the Jedi Order and its devoted members, at the cost of people across the galaxy who truly needed help.

Younglings being sent out unprepared for the demand of off-world missions. Communications between worlds being interrupted by the Galactic Republic’s use of Jedi Order transmissions to call in favors. Dozens of Senate errands being disguised as “urgent inter-sector negotiations”. The council rushing through briefings and forgoing vital intelligence in the process. 

And now, sending Jedi on impromptu missions unprepared and isolated to be nearly slaughtered by bounty hunters and scummy syndicate associates, of all nominal creatures.

A Jedi was lying in an infirmary with wounds marring her flesh like the vines grappling to the surface of the temple shrines, with a leg that might never mend; a Jedi who’d devoted her life to the Order and had such profound loyalty that she’d spent the previous night defending the very council that had failed her. Someone very dear to him—someone who held his heart in her hands like a jogan fruit ripe for devouring. 

But of course, to the seemingly detached members of the council, he worried this matter might be regarded as just another unfortunate happenstance, another incident insured by the risky statistics of the trade. It was just like you’d told him last night; this was the life of the Jedi, in which nothing is guaranteed or promised, not even life itself. 

It was your job to risk your safety for the betterment of others, for those in need—but why did it feel as though you were risking death more often than just a few scrapes and recoverable injuries? If life was so sacred, so revered and cherished, then why had you stumbled home with death in your gaze? Why was there presently an outcry of desertion among his peers? 

Obi-Wan shifted on his feet, glancing up at the shadows woven between the temple’s architecture. Part of him felt as though he were a stranger in these halls as of late. Something had shifted in the Order in the last few years, something he’d not been able to put his finger on; neglect of devotion, a vague detachment in fellowship. He didn’t feel safe anymore, he didn’t feel connected to those around him. The thread that bound the Jedi together felt frayed in some sense he had yet to fully recognize. 

He was disappointed in himself that it had taken your brush with death to put a more concentrated effort into discerning these crises. Not yet a council member himself, it was difficult for Obi-Wan to present his concerns without the implied superiority of his wiser leaders. Many issues brought to the attention of the council were either dismissed or dealt with privately after being brought to their attention. Of course, Obi-Wan wasn’t one to allow his pride to affect his trust in others…but that sentiment of blind trust dissipated the moment he’d nearly lost you due to the same negligence. 

If your injuries alone weren’t enough to open the council’s eyes to what the Order had become, he was going to need that dramatic flair of his to offer some clarity to their blinded perspectives.

tags:  @alex12948 @rubygraves113 @obii-waan-kenobii @rootsec @yana-versio​ @tessaem @izbelross​ @beakami​

[bi-bard]

Ask Me Why So Many Fade, but I'm Still Here - Roman Sionis Imagine (Birds of Prey)

Title: Ask Me Why So Many Fade, but I'm Still Here

Pairing: Roman Sionis X Reader

Based On: Karma

Word Count: 1,222 words

Warning(s): violence, mention of criminal activity

Summary: Roman never seemed to comprehend that you can only push someone so close to the edge before they snap. Play with your food, you give it a chance to bite back.

Author's Note: *whispering* Hey, hey... did you catch that Hannibal reference in the summary? Did you like it?

MIDNIGHTS - TAYLOR SWIFT WRITING CHALLENGE

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Gotham was a city almost constantly on the verge of collapse.

A city crumbling to its very core meant that you had to take careful, calculated steps to avoid falling off the edge.

A delicate game.

I had spent my entire life learning exactly how to survive in Gotham City. Not just survive but thrive.

I played the game well.

The biggest obstacle in my game was one man. Roman Sionis.

He was ambitious. I admired that. That's why I gave him a second chance when his first deal almost sent my profits into the shitter.

His second deal didn't do much better.

All it did was make my blood boil and my mind race with possibilities.

I went to see Roman in his club.

It was... an interesting place.

Not a place where I liked to spend my time.

I walked up to the table Roman was sitting at with some group of people. I didn't know or recognize any of them. But I didn't really care to. I tapped the table.

"Roman," I grinned.

"(Y/n)," he cheered. "Pleasure to see you! Sit, drink!"

"Actually, I'm here to talk," I replied. "Can we go somewhere quiet?"

"Oh, you can discuss anything out here."

"Roman," I said sternly. "Quiet?"

"Fine, fine."

He managed to pull himself out of the booth. We walked toward the back of the building to a secluded room. I looked around as Roman shut the door.

It was what one would expect from a room in Roman's club. Red walls, low lighting, kind of strange artwork. I almost rolled my eyes at it. I wondered how much money he had wasted on a room like this.

"What did we need to discuss," he asked, walking by me. He went to grab us each a drink.

"Our deal," I explained. "You screwed me over, Roman."

"Oh, please, I'm sure it's fine," he waved me off. "I gave you a good deal."

"Bullshit," I snapped. "The only reason I'm still standing is because I saved myself. You tried to ruin me."

"Quite the accusation-"

"After two bad deals, you expect something different," I raised an eyebrow. "Roman, you are going to screw yourself over if you continue making deals like that."

He glared at me.

"I'm trying to be helpful. Understanding. I've been in this city a long time."

No response.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm expecting my money back. If you don't pay, then-"

Roman cut me off by pulling out a gun and aiming it at my head. I closed my eyes for a moment. Roman wouldn't shoot me himself. He would despise the mess.

"If you've been here for so long, then you can understand the danger of threatening someone like me on their own turf."

I sighed before pushing the gun away. "I wasn't threatening you."

He glared at me.

"Good luck, Roman," I said. "I hope you end up okay."

"Get out of my club."

I smiled at him before turning around and heading out.

The next few weeks were quiet.

I was rebuilding.

I was researching and working and making plans. It was like resetting the foundation. Making everything stronger. Leaving less room for rotten deals to make it in and make an impact if they somehow did.

It was very beneficial.

I made some amazing moves for myself and my group.

But, of course, no period of peace could last forever.

"(Y/n)!"

I sighed at the sound of Roman's voice. I handed the clipboard in my hands over to the man I had been talking to before turning my attention to Roman.

"Roman," I said, walking over to meet him in the middle of the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My club just got ambushed," he snapped. "The whole place is trashed. Most of my men are missing. I was lucky that I was out on a job when it happened, they have no idea where I am."

"Why should this concern me," I asked.

"I need resources to get out of Gotham for a little bit," he explained. "Regroup, get my men back, get my money back."

I sighed. "Roman... why would I help you?"

"We're partners. We work together."

"Every deal I have made with you has almost screwed me over. I was simply smart enough to know how to save my own ass. You have cost me a lot, Roman."

"Oh, come on-"

"And when I came to get my money, you thought it was a good idea to pull a gun on me."

He rolled his eyes.

"Tell me, Romie," I grinned at the glare I received for the nickname. "Are your men missing or did they resign?"

"What?"

"I just heard that they may have gotten a better opportunity. Better pay. A boss that can truly think through every consequence of their actions."

He didn't respond.

I stepped forward, leaning in so I could whisper in his ear, "Look around you, Romie."

He quickly did a circle, staring at the faces of the men around us.

I stepped back again. "I guess it really wasn't that hard to convince people that your leadership was... flawed."

"You son of bitch-"

"Language, Romie!"

He paused.

"Search him."

One person stepped forward and got all of Roman's weapons.

"It wasn't that difficult. I didn't have to do much convincing. Apparently, deals you've made haven't benefitted any of the men working with you."

I held out my hand to one of the men, quietly asking for the bat in his hand. He gave it to me. I admired it for a moment. The look on Roman's face was enough to tell me that he was realizing the situation he was in.

"I grew up in this city," I explained. "I saw it through so many transformations. I understand the beating heart of this city."

I stepped forward, tapping the bat against Roman's chest.

"I could've helped you," I continued. "I could've kept you from drowning. Protected you and taught you. You could've been part of Gotham's elite. If had just been smart enough to not screw me over."

His jaw clenched.

"But, hey, can't change the past," I shrugged as took a few steps back. "So, I just watched. You screwed yourself, Romie. That's how you ended up here. I need you to know that. I'm not saying I'm a god or the devil... I'm merely the one you're going to face on judgment day."

One of the men kicked the back of Roman's knee, causing him to fall to the ground in front of me.

I used the end of the bat to tilt his chin up. "Beg."

"For what," he asked. "Your forgiveness?"

"Oh, no... you lost any chance of that a long, long time ago," I shook my head.

I stepped back and twirled the bat in my hand before preparing to swing. I let it gently touch Roman's temple as I lined up my shot.

"I want you to beg for mercy," I instructed. "If you're lucky, I'll just kill you... if you aren't, well... don't wanna spoil the fun."

He stared at me silently.

"Your choice," I shrugged.

"(Y/n), wait-"

"Nighty-night, Romie."

I brought my arms up before taking a swing at him.

And I smiled.

Never had there been a more satisfying sound.

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Author's Note: Villain!readers are so much fun!!

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[alisonwritesimagines]

Anywhere With You ~Obi Wan Kenobi Imagine~

Summary: Obi-Wan says his goodbye to you but you'd rather run away with him as this is your final chance.

Author’s Note: Happy May the 4th! Somewhat part two of Wildest Dreams. You do not need to read it but highly suggested.

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none, just fluff

Please do not post this anywhere!!!

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not a main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

The fall of the Jedi has come. Padmé, your long-time friend, had just passed away and Obi-Wan was nowhere to be found. You stood on your balcony as you overlooked part of your planet.

Your advisors suggested taking down the monarchy in order to save your planet. It was so the Galatic Empire doesn't overtake the planet too much and kill you and your family. It was safer to let the people either leave the planet to find a better home or surrender to the Galatic Empire and spare the lives of the people.

"What should we do once the monarchy is down?" Your younger brother and the chief of your army asked. The two of you sat alone in the meeting room, discussing what you should do next.

"We need to leave. Our advisors will stay behind and make sure the people are safe while the Empire is in control. We have no choice. If we want our people to live, this is what we need to do."

"So we're just going to give up?"

"The Jedi is down and the Empire is too powerful. We do not have the numbers for a rebellion against them."

"What if we did? What if we create an army strong enough to go against the Empire?"

"We would need the help of other planets."

"Luckily we have the connections. I entrust in you to talk to them and convince them," you tell him.

"I won't let you down. What will you do though?" Your brother asked. The doors opened suddenly making you and your brother stand up.

"Your majesty, you have a visitor," one of your advisors said.

"Who is it?" You asked. You looked over to see Obi-Wan walking inside in a hurry.

"Obi-Wan?" You asked.

"I'll leave you two alone," your brother said as he walked off.

"I'm sorry for barging in on you. I needed to say my goodbyes before I leave," Obi-Wan tells you.

"Your goodbyes?" You questioned.

"I've been forced into exile. I'm leaving right now but I needed to say goodbye to you, my love," Obi-Wan tells you.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" You asked worriedly.

"No. I do not have much time. I needed to see you one last time," Obi-Wan said.

"Wait, Obi-Wan, take me with you," you tell him.

"I can't. I don't want any harm coming to you," Obi-Wan tells you.

"Obi-Wan, I have to leave my planet anyway. Wherever you go, take me with you."

"I can't lose you, my love."

"Obi-Wan please. I want to be with you. I haven't stopped thinking about you since I've left," you tell him.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you either. But where we are about to live, won't be anything like here. Are you sure you want to leave?" Obi-Wan asked you.

"I'm sure. I want to finally be with you, Obi-Wan."

"If you can pack light," Obi-Wan tells you.

"Okay. Let me say my farewell to my brother," you tell him before walking off.

Your brother was hesitant at first before accepting your decision. You gave him a communicator with which you two can keep in contact.

"Stay safe. And may the force be with you," your brother tells you.

"Stay safe as well," you tell him before giving him a hug.

After packing some clothes, a couple of books, and some money, you walked over to where Obi-Wan was waiting for you. Your advisor was standing nearby, packing some food and other things.

"Thank you for all your help with the planet. I owe you everything," you tell your advisors.

"Thank you for letting the planet thrive as much under your ruling. We will do our best to keep it that way," one of your advisors said.

"Thank you," you said. You walked back over to Obi-Wan before holding his hand.

"Are you ready?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Yeah. We won't be separated again will we?"

"No. We'll live out our lives together now," Obi-Wan tells you. You nodded before walking onto his ship with him.

[cinebration]

Opening Requests!

Hi, everyone! I am opening requests again! Please read the rules carefully before submitting your request(s).

Rules

Send to my ask box! Please keep in mind that these requests are meant to be one-shot drabbles.

No smut. No pregnancy fics or A/B/O fics. No crossover fics. No actor x reader. All reader characters must be 18 or older. Other AUs acceptable.

I’m asking this time that requests do not ask me to continue fics I have written, regardless of whether they are multi-chapter or one-shots.

Identify the gender of the reader if you want something other than female.

Because I try to remain as true to character as possible, I reserve the right to reject or tweak requests to keep the characters in character.

Below are character lists divided by actors.

Oscar Isaac

The Moon Knight Boys, Poe Dameron

Pedro Pascal

Javi Gutierrez, Din Djarin, Ezra, Maxwell Lord

Diego Luna

Cassian Andor

Christian Bale

Gorr the God Butcher, Alfred Borden, John Preston, Patrick Bateman, Russell Baze

Henry Cavill

Napoleon Solo, August Walker, Captain Syverson, Geralt of Rivia, Sherlock Holmes, Walter Marshall

Tom Hardy

Eames, Eddie Brock, Alfie Solomons, James Keziah Delaney, Bob (The Drop), Forrest Bondurant, Tuck, Tommy Conlon

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes, Charles Blackwood

Chris Evans

Ransom Drysdale, Jake Jensen, Colin Shea

Ewan McGregor

Roman Sionis, Dan Torrance, Obi-Wan Kenobi

I’m also open to other characters and fandoms if you want me to try my hand at something!

[parvulous-writings]

Sick // Alex Law x Reader

Request: Hi I love your work! I was wondering if we could get some good old Alex Law x GN!Reader hurt/comfort with the reader comforting Alex? Injury, sickness, etc, just something for that poor boy. hi if your requests are still open, alex law x reader where he's sick and reader takes care of him? love your writing!

Requested by: ​(Unsure as these were old requests)

Summary: the requests! 

 Warnings: Mild language 

Words: 2K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!   If you’d like to support me more, consider donating to my kofi! I’d appreciate it loads!!   

Not my gif 

Alex Law rarely got sick – that was one of the many points of himself that he bragged about, when he got the chance to. So rarely, in fact, that it was a small joke between yourself and Juliet that when he did eventually get sick – which, naturally he would, as was life – that it would be ‘the end of the world’. Of course, that joke came around to bite you in the ass eventually. The day started out fine – until you saw Alex standing there, his auburn hair a mess; unbrushed and erratic. His eyes seemed to have a hard time staying open, and you couldn’t recall a time he’d looked so under the weather – not even when he’s had some of his worst hangovers. Juliet looked up from her morning cup of tea, and sighed quietly; although she and David had to work today, there was little doubt that Alex would cause a fuss for you during that time. “Go back to bed, Alex.” She called to him as he slowly shuffled into the kitchen to try and get himself some food. He grumbled some half-words in reply to her, but besides that, ignored her presence, yours too. You and Juliet shared a look with one another, which loosely translated would have been something akin to “uh oh” or “oh shit”. Juliet’s expression shifted to an apologetic one; as much as she wanted to stay and help you handle the ill Law, she really could not keep asking for time off of work. “I’ll get you something,” She told you quietly as she passed, “My treat. I think you’ll have earnt it after today.” Her eyes darted briefly to Alex again, who was now slumped over a half-eaten bowl of cereal.

“Thanks, Jules…” You whisper. “Wish me luck… I feel like he’s going to kick up a fuss about everything.” You start to walk her towards the door, as Juliet gives a half-scoff, half-laugh. “As if he doesn’t normally.” “You know what I mean.” You reply, shaking your head slightly. “Mhm – I’ll see you later…” She gave a polite nod, before closing the door on her way out. You turned on your heel, and quickly moved back to the kitchen, where Alex was now putting his empty plate in the sink. “I think you should go back to bed, Alex,” You suggested to him, “I’ll make you a drink, and you can-“ “I don’t want to go back to bed.” Alex contested, “I don’t need to go back to bed.” You sighed at this; and so it begins. This was how the day was going to go - the man child of the apartment kicking up a fuss about every little inconvenience he can. “I think you do. You never know, if you’re nice to me, I’ll try to set up the telly in your room.” Were you treating him like some stroppy teenager? Maybe – but sometimes there was no other way to treat him. He could be just as difficult as a teenage boy; sometimes you and Juliet mused if he had ever actually grown up at all. You were both of the school of thought that no, he had not. David, on the other hand, would occasionally stick up for his so called friend – but only when he could first, be bothered to, or second, see a blaring misconception or mistake in your arguments. “Or,” The auburn haired man interrupted your thoughts, “I could just lay on the sofa and watch from there.” You had little time to protest to this rebuttal, as the auburn haired man got to his feet, and wandered through to the living room, leaving his now empty cereal bowl discarded on the table, for you to clean up. You sighed in annoyance, quickly moving the dirty bowl into the sink to wash up a little later, before trailing after Alex to make sure he didn't cause any trouble. Thankfully, however, it didn't seem like he was going to right at that moment. There he was, in his usual spot, legs up on the arm-rest of the sofa - despite how many times you or one of the others had told him not to sit like that - arms folded over his chest as he stared over at the screen of the apartments television. Very little was different from normal, every day life, the only noticeable difference was the fact that he was wearing his old dressing gown, rather than his usual day to day clothing of a sweater and jeans. "Get me some tissues, will you?" Alex grumbled, sniffling quietly to make his point. "You could have done that yourself before sitting on your arse again," You pointed out, but slowly started to make your way to the bathroom regardless. You had to keep the status quo somehow. With a slightly annoyed shake of your head, you grabbed a roll of toilet paper, before returning to the sick man on the sofa. You tossed the item at him with the intention of hitting the top of his head, but accidentally hit him smack in the middle of his face instead. With a cry of both surprise and protest, Alex sat upright, giving you a harsh glare. "What the fuck was that for?" He asked, irritably grabbing the toilet roll from where it had settled into his lap, rolling a few pieces around his hand, before tossing the rest aside for the time being. You gave a slight shrug in response to his question. "Sorry," "Damn right." He huffed, turning his face away from you as he wiped his nose. "What are you trying to do, kill me?" If he hadn't been in such as fowl mood, this joke would have been a lot clearer, however, it ended up sounding like a sour jab at you. "No, I'm trying to look after your sorry arse, because you're clearly feeling too sorry for yourself to do it alone." You responded, quite calmly. Alex froze mid nose-wipe, his eyes turning slightly to rest on you, narrowing slightly in irritation. You stood your ground though, all but used to the way the man could act when ill, or just in a bad mood. "I'm not a baby." He grumbled, shaking his head slowly at you, auburn hair swaying slightly with the movement.  "Could have had me fooled." You retorted, raising your brows as you folded your arms over your chest. "I've offered to help you, but you've shoved it back in my face... If you need me, I'll be doing housework." You informed him, before turning heel and heading into the kitchen to start the unavoidable task of housework. About an hour had passed before Alex finally started to move himself; rolling himself off of the admittedly not very comfortable sofa to go and find you. "Y/NNN..." He whined, coming to lean against the doorframe of the kitchen. "What, Alex?" You responded, quite curtly, not even turning to look at him, keeping the majority of your attention focused on your current task - cleaning out the sink. "Can you make me some soup?" He asked, and with a sigh you put down the sponge you had been using, turning your head to face him. "Why can't you get it yourself?" You reply, gesturing over to the cupboards. All Alex did in reply to this was pout, giving you the best puppy dog eyes that he could muster. You sigh, somewhat annoyed by his sudden and renewed bout of pestering, before setting to work heating the soup in the microwave. "You want me to feed it to you next?" You asked him, your irritation somewhat clear. When you looked over at him, though, he genuinely seemed to be taking a moment to really think on the offer. "Uh... No..." He replied after a few moments silence. "No, I think I've got it... Thanks." He stumbled off after you handed him the almost scalding soup. You tried to shrug off the encounter as just him being ill - but something in the back of your mind kept saying 'Maybe it's not. Maybe he wants to spend some time with you.' You paused; why would he even think of doing that, let alone want it? All too much did he treat you and the other flatmates as little more than something he had to smile and endure - unless he wanted something from any of you. Curiosity overcoming you, you returned to the living room, brows creased in a look that would have been familiar to your flatmates - the one of questioning, or interrogation. However, the man you had wished to quiz about his motives would not be responding; he had passed out, the bowl of soup left mostly empty beside him on the floor. He looked incredibly peaceful like that, away from the problems that often plagued the flat, and it's inhabitants, such as the 'friendly' disputes and tensions. You took the remainder of the soup away, not wanting him to accidentally fall on the bowl, should he try and roll over like he did from time to time in bed; quite a few times had you and your fellow residents woken up thanks to the unmistakable thump of Alex falling onto the wooden floors, followed briskly by a torrent of curses - directed at what exactly, you could never be sure. All you were sure of, was that Alex was going to be in a foul mood that morning. You were almost certain that if he were to do the same now, he'd be in an absolutely vile mood when he woke up - or maybe he'd keep sleeping if it the illness were bad enough. You decided to keep an eye on him; to check in on him every so often, when you got a spare moment from the housework you were getting on with. When he started to stir about an hour and a half later, you took a minute to break from your current task, getting him a glass of water from the kitchen and placing it on the table beside him, so he could reach it if and when he wanted to. He gave a half-hearted grumble when you started to walk away; he seemed to have picked up on the fact that you had been there, if only for a moment. "Where are you going...?" He asked, his voice little over a murmur. "To do some more housework... Are you feeling a little better?" You questioned, your voice soft, full of a little more compassion than it had been the last time the pair of you had spoken. "No..." He replied, shuffling where he lay in a futile effort to get comfortable; it would not work, nothing would be end up being as comfortable as he wanted it to be so long as he was ill. He moved again, looking at you once more, before flinging his arm over the back of the sofa. "Come over here..." He tried to beckon you over to join him, but ended up making more of a grabby hand in your direction. Though part of you wanted to just ignore him and get on with your day, you could hardly stop yourself from moving round the sofa to attempt to lay with him - with a great amount of difficulty, due to such a thin surface; you ended up a tangle of limbs, both somehow lying one on top of the other. "You better not tell Juliet about this..." You murmured to him, but Alex shrugged off your concern. "Just tell her I dragged you here and fell asleep... She'll probably believe you..." He yawned, trying to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, but ended up making more contact with your shoulder instead. It didn't take him very long to fall asleep after that, the warmth radiating from you soothing him into a somewhat peaceful slumber. You didn't try to make a fuss about it - somewhat glad that you were able to help him and finally get him to settle down. About fifteen minutes or so later, you felt your eyes get heavy too; maybe the need for a nap was infectious, or maybe it was the fact that your body was finally getting a chance to rest - you didn't really care all that much, you just gave in to sleep, snuggling up to the man next to you. 

[mlmxreader]

The Jealous Type | Obi Wan Kenobi x m!reader

Anonymous asked: "Say it. Say you're mine." obi wan x male reader

summary: Obi Wan isn't the jealous type, bit sometimes people cross the line and he does get a little possessive.

tws: possession, jealousy

You and Obi Wan worked well as a team, you always had, after so many years working together it wasn't really a surprise though; you were his right hand man, by all accounts, and wherever he went, you followed. You were always there at his side, and no one was ever surprised when Obi Wan walked into the room and you were following closely behind; a man of your status, being so close to Obi Wan Kenobi himself, you were often the object of people's desires, and while you laughed them off, Obi Wan never did. He wasn't the jealous type, not usually, but he did like to remind you of who it was your heart belongs to; he wasn't the jealous type, but sometimes people crossed a line and he wasn't particularly fond of that.

It seemed like a normal day, you and Obi Wan were out doing what you needed, when some Marshal introduced himself to you; you had to admit, he was rather handsome - greying hair, hazel eyes, a charming smile and a little bit of facial hair. He was charming by all accounts, but the second you looked over at Obi Wan, you forgot all about the handsome Marshal.

"So, uh, can I buy you a drink?" He asked, snapping your attention back to him.

You shook your head, chuckling as you stuffed your hands in your pockets and offered a polite smile. "No, thank you. I have too much to do today."

"You sure?" He raised a brow. "Handsome fella like yourself, out here all alone... ain't right."

"Oh, he's not alone," Obi Wan growled as he walked over, jaw clenched. "Believe me, he really isn't."

The Marshal looked between you and Obi Wan, and saw the way that he looked at you, how those blue eyes were so focused on you that it was hard to think that he had strayed from your side at all; the way that Obi Wan laid his hand so calmly around your waist and so casually pulled you into his side, like it was nothing more than an instinctive and unconscious reaction, like breathing. The way that you immediately leaned into him, and put your hand on his chest. Even the Marshal could tell that you and Obi Wan were close.

He cleared his throat, and took a step back. "My apologies. I didn't realise-"

"I assume you didn't ask, either," Obi Wan guessed, and when the Marshal held up his hands, Obi Wan nodded. "May we continue with our business, Marshal?"

"'Course," he nodded, no harm was done, he flashed you and Obi Wan a polite smile. "Give me a shout if you need anything - and, uh, if you two want that drink, I'll be there at six."

You and Obi Wan thanked him, and let him go on his way, but as soon as he was out of earshot, Obi Wan had you backed up against a rock feature, hungry as he kissed you harshly and let you grab his hair and put a hand at the back of his neck, starving as he pinned your wrists above your head and moaned softly against your lips when you bucked your hips into him. He used the Force to hold you up when you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He pulled away, his voice low and gruff as he dared to demand, "who do you belong to?"

"You," you whimpered, making a vain attempt to kiss him again. "Only you, Obi Wan."

"Again," he growled. "Say it. Say you're mine. I need to hear you say it again."

"I'm all yours," you breathed out. "Only yours. Only ever yours."

He dared to smile, letting go of your wrists so that he could gently cup your face in his hands, admiring your features and how fucking desperate you were, how he could so easily see that need in your eyes as he nodded. "I'm so sorry for getting jealous..."

"I like it," you whispered. "You know that."

"I'm not being too rough with you, am I?" He frowned a little, tilting his head to the side.

You shook your head, daring to break free of his grip so that you could gently kiss him again, just one more kiss. "No, you're not. It's okay... kiss me like that again, though, please?"

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it.

[stardancerluv]

Unlikely Delights

Chapter Ten

Summary: Sometimes Dan has a rough day and you are there to pick him up.

Warning: none.

It had been a particularly long and hard day, Mrs. Dealy had passed and well, she had been one of his favorites. He really tried to not get favorites. He knew it never ended well, I mean that is why they were there. But some were real characters and she certainly was that.

He had been there for her, like he had been now for quite a few. He had reminded her of the lazy pink, purplish evenings with a gentle breeze on the soft beaches of Florida she had grown up on before she had made the trek north.

She had made the trek north, for her husband. Up here she had made a lovely life for herself and the children she had. But in these final hours, she missed the sun-kissed days of her youth. So when she asked for him, he helped her. She had a strong will, he could practically feel the sun and feel the sand under his feet. And when she reached out, right as she finally passed all the warmth disappeared like the slamming of a heavy metal door.

Sometime later, chewing absently on his bottom lip, where even petting Azzy, had not been of help. He still was in a funk. His mouth on one twitched upward, when he felt his phone buzzed. It was you telling him, when your study session should be over. It was running a little later then usual and he was grateful you had told him.

For a few short minutes later, after not really reading the magazine he had been shuffling through he got up to leave. His day was over and soon, he’d be able push it all away and just focus on you.

*****

Dan kicked some snow around with his boot as he waited for you just outside the grounds of the school. His gloved hands were deep in his pockets. Today, still nagged on him. His eagerness to be enveloped by your warmth. It always made feel him better then any blanket ever could.

Your energy, your thoughts hit you before he spotted you. Moments later, he saw your smile as you rounded the corner. A cloud of misted breath sounded the two of you once you were in each others arms.

He squeezed you a little tighter, enjoying the feel of your softness despite the layers of clothing between the two of you.

Your eyes twinkled as you finally looked up at him. “Long day?”

He nodded.

Your gloved fingers ran through his hair, he leaned into your touch. “Let’s go and get some pie?”

He smiled. “That’s a perfect idea.”

@blondekel77 @thebeckyjolene @blackberries45 @mrskenobi19 @hollow-r-us @shantellorraine @reiaux

[acersthings]

As It Was - Imagine

Obi-Wan x Reader

Inspired by the song, "As It Was", by Harry Styles :)

A short little imagine I wrote today and I decided to finish!

Summary: You wish it was the same as it was. But, it never would be after Order 66. You were lonely. You had no other friends or family to seek shelter in. You missed your secret lover, Obi-Wan, who, as you were told, was killed in action. You missed your whole life and the scorching heat on Tatooine wasn't making it any better....

The sun was always such a lovely symbol. A symbol for happiness and bright light. Sometimes, the sun could be a torturous thing. Like today.

Tatooine had always been an arid and hot planet. Sandy, too. You never were on the bandwagon for liking Tatooine. Every time you were stationed here or just had small business to attend to during the Jedi times, you always wished the trip to be quick and not a pain. You thought Anakin's disliking of sand was hilarious, but now, you were starting to agree.

Wiping a band of sweat off your forehead, you breathed in deeply. You never thought that you would become a mechanic on the planet you hated dearly. Times were rough. The Jedi Order had fallen. You had lost your best friend and your lover. Your Master. Everyone who you had known and grown to love at the Jedi Temple. The past was always coming back. You had no way of letting go when you knew there were still ties to be loosened.

"Here you go," you finished your work on a junk speeder, "50 peggats."

The travilier groaned as they handed you the amount needed and sped away.

"You are so welcome," you sarcastically spoke, cleaning up your station.

The sky was getting darker and you knew it was almost closing. Sighing, you grabbed your tools and started closing up. Refilling oil, counting peggats, and cleaning. You didn't work with anyone. It was nice. It was like being your own boss. It was a lot different from the Temple. No one was telling you where to go or what to do. You felt independent but also confused.

You’ve been commanded your whole life and never actually had your own free will. Now, you did. It confused you. A lot.

Closing the gate to your shop, you locked it tight. Walking past the diminishing crowds, you saw the lovely colors in the sky on Tatooine. Times like these were really when the dry planet’s beauty shined. The two suns sat parallel next to each other, shining so brightly. The sky was a purple and orangish mix. You’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

You loaded your bag onto your speeder but stopped. You felt something. Something you haven’t felt in a long time. A Force presence. Gasping, you looked around the environment. There was only light chatter and laughter. You shook off the feeling, realizing it probably was just the tiredness taking over.

It felt like someone was watching you. Your every movement. Ignoring the feeling, you hopped onto your speeder and drove away to your humble home.

…………………………………………

He watched as you left your shop. He watched as you looked around, searching for something. He watched you walked toward your speeder.

No, he thought to himself, that can’t be Y/n.

He wanted to go talk to you but he couldn’t. Gravity was holding him back. Even if he did go talk to you, he would have nothing to say. He would just want to look you in the eyes and see that you’re real. That you were alive.

He shook it off and proceeded to ride his Eeopie home.

………………………………

The next day was a repeat. Wake up, eat, get cleaned off, and open the shop. But, you felt it again. The presence, as if it never left. You looked around. Still, nothing. Sighing, you started to unlock the door.

“Did you just open?”

A voice startled you.

“Uhh,” you turned around to face a middle-aged man, “I’m going to. I’ll be open in five minutes, tops.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “thank you.”

You began opening the door again. This time, with no interruptions, you turned on the light and started to open up. Clean the counters, grab oil, restock. All part of the daily routine.

“Hey,” you waved, “you can come in now!”

He sent a small smile and walked in, refreshed at the breeze of the cool air.

“What can I do for ya?” You smiled, brushing the hair off your face.

“My younger nephew,” he started, “he accidentally smashed a part of our speeder’s engine, pretending it was a Republic’s Pilot Jet. I was wondering if you had the parts to the engine I needed?”

You chuckled softly and answered, “Yeah, what do you need?”

“Just a simple compressor for a modern speeder.”

You turned around and walked back to the shelves. Using your finger to search for the part, you found the part.

“A-ha!” You exclaimed, “here you go.”

The man accepted the part and asked, “How much?”

“It’s on the house,” you smiled.

“Are you sure? I can pay you.”

“Just make sure your nephew doesn’t hurt himself. At that age, that’s where the fun begins for them,” you waved off his payment.

“Thank you….”

“Y/n!”

“I’m Owen, it was nice meeting you. Thank you, Y/n,” he waved goodbye and left.

“Anytime,” you nodded.

You watched as Owen left your shop and walked towards another person. Owen pointed towards your shop and the other man looked at you. You didn’t want to invade any longer so you looked away and waited for the next customer. Grabbing a broom, you started to sweep the dusty floors. You heard the bell ring at the front door, notifying you someone was here.

“One second! Sorry, I was…”

You approached the front of the shop. Your heart stopped. Your whole body froze. The world around you stopped. You could hear your bumping heartbeat in your ears. You blinked rapidly, to maybe see if you were hallucinating. But, you weren’t. You uttered the name you never thought you would again. In a million light years….

“Obi-Wan?”

He removed his robe’s hood and revealed himself to you. He had aged, but just like fine wine. His auburn hair had grown longer and darker, with a tad bit of grey. His beard had grew, longer than you have ever seen it. His eyes…weren’t the bright blue anymore. They were broken. They seemed to be a dull grey with a hint of the signature blueness.

You two stared at each other. Neither of you could believe it. There was nothing to say. Tears filled your eyes as you walked towards him. He seemed to hesitate at first, wanting to step back. But, he embraced you in a very long overdue hug.

The hug was a simple gesture but it reminded the both of you of all the hugs you shared on Coruscant. When you were both relieved to see each other alive after a mission. His short auburn hair and trimmed beard. His Jedi robes and cloak, blowing in the wind. It wasn’t the same feeling. It was not the same as it was. But, you were okay with it.

“I-I thought you were dead,” you cried, falling into his arms.

His rough, calloused hands ran through your hair as he kissed your forehead.

“That night,” he spoke for the first time, “they sent me here before I could talk to you. To say goodbye. To say I love you.”

You smiled through the tears and looked up at him. He wiped your cheek with his hands, which you held in place with yours.

“I’m just so happy you’re with me.”

“I, as well, Y/n,” he agreed.

You smiled and leaned in to hug him again.

“Can I stay with you? I understand if it’s too much and if you don’t want it, I-“

He chuckled lightly at your rambling and shushed, “It would be a honor for you to stay with me. But, it’s not the same. I’m not the same brave, courageous Obi-Wan anymore. I’m just Ben Kenobi, an old, filthy nobody.”

He looked down at you with sorrow in his eyes. You held his face in your hands and brushed his hair from his eyes.

“Obi-Wan. Ben. Maker, your name could be Yoda for all I care. You could have dyed your hair pink. You could have bathed in oil. Filthy or not filthy. Old or not old. I still wouldn’t care. You would still be the man I fell deeply in love with,” you caressed his cheek.

Ben looked like he wanted to cry. And, he did. A few tears slipped loose. Your grip tightened around his stomach and your head was well-rested against his chest.

The two of you stood with each other. In the other’s warm embrace. Your Force signatures danced around you, as if they were celebrating the reunion. Yeah, sure, it wasn’t going to be the same as it was. It never was going to be. But, that didn’t matter. You two had each other. That’s all that really did matter. It felt like it was only you two in the world, together.

[hwalovs]

Popcorn and Pretzels

Pairing; Alex Law, reader Warnings; Alex in and of himself. cursing, suggestive themes, a massive amount of fluff.  Word Count; 1.1k

Summary; Alex Law and horror movies don’t mix, good thing he has you to hide behind. 

OR

Rainy days and Alex Law, watching a horror movie and refusing that he was the one that was scared. 

THIS IS NOT EDITED

If there was one thing you loved about the spring weather, it was the rain. It gave you the excuse of staying inside and finding a nice book to read, or to snuggle up with the love of your life and catch up on what was going on at work, funny stories, and to share the much needed kisses he says he has to give you. 

You don’t know what compelled Alex to suggest a horror movie marathon. You knew Juliet had a small collection in her room, sometimes bringing them out when our whole group would get together for a movie night on a random Friday of the month. You and Alex would always end up leaving the living room early, not even half-way through the movie, to go and snuggle up in his room under the moonlight. 

He suggested it while laying on his side, propping his head up on his hand while tracing random shapes onto your thighs, the bottom of his shirt riding up to show your underwear. His fingers would trace up the skin of your thighs, over your waist and up your arms, before dancing lightly across your cheeks and back down. The curtains were open behind him, the gloomy light shining onto his skin, through his hair, giving him a glow nobody else would see but you. 

It took a moment for you and Alex to finally get out of bed, and while David and Juliet were out at work, for most likely the entire day, you and Alex decided to move every blanket from every closet, and every bedroom, onto the living room couch in front of the small box TV. You gave him the task of moving the TV closer while you popped the popcorn, waiting in front of the stove with your arms crossed. When it was done, you made sure to leave a little room on the side to pour in Alex’s chocolate covered pretzels. 

You refused to let him go into Juliets room to grab the small collection of horror movies, not knowing if the woman had personal things laying about. While with Alex, you learned that if you didn’t have everything either personal or slightly embarrassing put away, he would always bring it up at the worst times. 

After sliding the VHS tape into the player, you hurried to join him on the couch before the movie started, not wanting to miss the intro credits in case something was shown or mentioned that would be important later. His comforter was front and center, wrapping around the both of you and consuming you in a warm cocoon while the rain pounded against the windows. 

When bringing up the fact that he’s never wanted to watch a horror movie with you, always deflecting to a rom-com or straight comedy, Alex told you that he only thought to this so he had an excuse to cuddle you when you got scared. But you loved horror movies, you grew up on them. Sure, sometimes a really well timed jump-scare will make your body jolt, but it was a good jolt, the type that has you coming back for more. Alex was the one who hid behind the blankets, or through his fingers. Sometimes, he would place you onto his lap so he could hide behind your body, curl himself around you and find distraction in placing random kisses across your skin. 

With the curtains drawn, and every light in the flat off, the bowl of popcorn and pretzels forgotten, sitting on the floor at the base of your feet, you continuously ran your fingers through his hair, trying to comfort his tense form as the movie continued to get more dark and scary. 

“Who chose this fucking movie?” He hisses, stuffing his face into your neck when the music ramps up, high pitched violins and flutes. 

“You did, Alex,”  you smile, glancing down at him. His eyes are clenched shut, and his hands grip at the fabric of your shirt. “It’s almost over.”

“I highly doubt that, feels like we just started.”

You cant help the small chuckle that bubbles from you, running your fingers through his hair once more, stopping at the base of his neck. The thick comforter was bunched around his shoulders, perfectly hiding his form if someone were to enter the room. Laying between your legs, face either stuffed in your neck, or in your chest. 

“Remind me to never pick a horror movie ever again.”

“Aw,” You coo, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to sway side to side, “then who’ll protect me from the scary monsters?”

“Your guardian-fucking-angel,” He nuzzles his face deeper into your chest, voice muffled against your skin. 

By the time the movie reaches its climax, multiple jump-scares happening seconds apart, Alex threw in his imaginary towel, fully covering his face with the comforter and hiding his face. Laughing, you try and remove the shield, to watch his eyes clench shut and his eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t let you, lightly slapping your hands away and trying to argue that it was warm and safe and away from those fucking demons you worship so much.

“Alex, come on!” You laugh, trying once more to pull the blanket away. Yelling, he slaps your hands away and further wraps the blanket around himself, only showing a lump of his body. 

“No! Stephen King and his fucked-up mind can go to hell!” he says, tightening his grip on your waist, “who the fuck thinks of this kind of stuff?!”

“A great writer, my love.”

“No-” he seethes, “only someone with a therapy needing mindset thinks of this shit.”

When the end credits roll, he finally removes the blanket from his face, sitting up fully with a pout. He moves to the corner, crossing his arms while furrowing his eyebrows. You knew he would do this, pout until the embarrassment of being scared passed. 

“Baby,” you coo, laughing under your breath. Grumbling, he looks to the TV, ignoring you fully. You manage to unravel his arms, sliding onto his lap with both bare legs straddling his thighs, squishing his face between your hands. 

“Did my baby get scared?” You coo again, leaning forwards to leave a soft kiss on his nose. He whines, slapping your hands away and dropping his head back against the arm of the couch. Hands lazily dropping to the tops of your thighs. 

Leaning down, you place light kisses up his neck, across his jaw, and finally to the tip of his nose. His lips slowly flickering up into a soft smile.

“We’re never watching a horror movie again,” he says, hands disappearing under the fabric of your shirt to trace shapes into the skin of your waist. 

“Whatever you say, my love.”

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[scribble-dribble-writes]

You can tell the animation department spent extra time on him 😍

[ghostlingpupskywalker]

This gives me life.